I  i 


_^IBRARY  OF  PRINCETON 

Jll  -  6  ''^^./^ 


THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


BS  2420  .G312  1881  .004. 
Geike,  Cunningham,  1824 

1906.  ,  . 

The  life  and  words  of  Chris 


THE 


LIFE  AND  WOKDS 


CHKIST. 


CUNNINGHAM   GEIKIE    D.D. 


The  LIFE  was  the  Light  of  Men,"— John  i,  4, 


NEW  YORK : 

AMERICAN    BOOK    EXCHANGE, 

7  6  4    Broadway. 

1881. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGES 

I.  Inthoductoxy -....1 1—  10 

II.  The  Holy  Land 11—  17 

III.  Palestine  at  the  time  of  Christ 1&—  30 

IV.  The  Reign  op  Herod 30 —  44 

V.  The  Jewish  World  AT  THE  Time  op  Christ 45 — 51 

VI.  The  Rabbis  at  the  Time  op  Christ,  akd  their  Ideas  rr- 

SPECTINa  THE  MESSIAH 62 —  B8 

VH.  Birth  op  John  the  Baptist 59 —  73 

Vin.  The  Announcement  to  Mary 73 —  80 

LX.  The  Birth  of  Christ 80—  88 

X.  At  Bethlehem 88—  96 

XI.  The  Magi 96—109 

YTT   Nazareth,  and  the  BIarly  Days  op  Jesus 109—123 

Xm.  Early  Boyhood 123—139 

XIV.  Social  Influences 139—149 

XV.  The  Passover  Visit  to  Jerusalem 149 — 160 

XVI.  Early  Years 161—169 

XVn.  Life  under  the  Law 170—180 

IVin.  Judea  under  Archelaus  and  Rome 181—193 

XIX.  The  Roman  Procurators 198—207 

XX.  Herod  Antipas  and  Christ's  own  Country 208—215 

XXI.  The  Galil^jlns  AND  the  Border  Lands 216—225 

XXn.  Before  the  Dawn 226—242 

XXIII.  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  at  Hand 243—257 

XXIV.  The  Voice  in  the  Wilderness 258—269 

XXV.  The  New  Prophet  in  the  Wilderness 270 — 284 

XXVI.  The  Baptism  op  Jesus  and  the  Death  of  John 284—303 

/  XXVII.  The  Temptation 303-314 

XXVni.  The  Return  from  the  Wilderness 315 — 323 

XXIX.  The  Opening  op  Christ's  Public  Ministry 839—343 

XXX.  Visit  to  Jerusalem *44 — 355 

XXXI.  From  Jerusalem  to  Samaria 356—373 

•yyyn   Opbnino  or  th«  Mimibtrx  in  Galiijs 873 — 36S 


CONTENTS.  n 

CHAPTER  '*  PAGES 

XXXIII.  Capernaum 382—393 

XXXIV^  Ljoiit  and  Darkness 3!M— 409 

XXXV.  The  Choice  of  the  Twelve,  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  410 — 422 

XXXVI.  The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  (continued) 422-^32 

XXXVU.  The  Sermon  on  tue  Mount  (concluded) '. 433 — 445 

XXXVIII.  Open  Conflict 445—458 

XXXIX.  Galilee 45&-467 

XL.  Darkening  Shadowb— Life  in  Galilee 4G7— 477 

XLI.  The  IJuustino  of  the  Storm. 478 — 480 

XLII.  After  the  Storm 489—501 

XLIII.  Dark  and  Bright 501—515 

XLIV.  The  Turn  of  the  Day 515—531 

XLV.  The  Coa.sth  of  the  Heathen 532—544 

XL VI.  In  Flight  once  more 54-1 — 558 

XLVII.  The  Transfiguration  557—567 

2LVIII.  Before  the  Feast 507-578 

XLIX.  At  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles 578—590 

L.  Aiter  the  Feast 591—599 

LI.  The  last  Month  of  the  Year COO— 01 1 

LII.  A  Wandering  Life Oil— C24 

LIU.  In  Peiiea 025—041 

LIV.  In  I'erea  (continued) 041— C59 

LV.  Palm  Sunday 059—075 

LVl.  Jerusalem 075-087 

LVU.  The  Interval 087—702 

I.,VILI.  Farewell  to  Friends 702—718 

LIX.  The  Iarewell 719-735 

LX.  The  Arre.st 735—745 

LXI.  The  Jewish  Trial 740-756 

LXII.  Before  Pilate 750—773 

LXIII.  Judas— The  Crucifixion 774-  791 

LXIV.  The  liESUBHECTiON  and  thb  Forty  Days 792—812 


LIST  OF  AUTHOEITIES. 


Th£  following  are  some  of  the  authontu's  used  in  this  book  ;  many,  how* 
eur,  being  necessarily  omitted: — 


Andrews,  Tha  T,ifo  of  Our  lAiril  upon 

tho  Kiirtli.     I,.m.l()ii,  IHti;!. 
Aufjusti's  I'roili^rlcn  il.  KiroheiivUter. 

~  vols.     LiMn/.i^c,  18.'W. 
Aii(nisti  u.  I)t>  Wi"tU''sUebersptziin{j,  d. 

Alt.    u.    Neuou    Test.      Heidclborg, 

181». 

BixriiiK-Qould's  Tlcivtlit'nism    and  Mo- 

snisni.     8vo.     London,  ISO'.). 
Uaring-Gould'sChristinnily.  8vo.  1870. 
I'ost  Mcdiiiival  rroacli- 

ors.     London,  l.Sti."), 
Biinnifj.nrtcn's  Lcidonsfj^i'schichtc  Josu 

Christ i.     Hallo,  ir.vr. 
Eanni;;arti"n's        (icsrhiohto        Jesu. 

IJraunsrliwt'ic.  18.V.I. 
Baiirs  (K.  CM,  T)ri>   Droi  F.rsteii  Jahr- 

linndcrli-.     TiU)inj,'cn,  IHtv!. 
BfUf^clii  (Jnoniiiii,      l.ondini.  IRV). 
Ui'rtin-au  K.,  l)io  .Siclicn  (iruiipcn  Mo- 

saisclior  (icsctzi-.      tjoltintjen,    1H40. 
!Pi>ssfr's  Ijihoistundon.    »  vols.     Ilttllo, 

18(1 ». 
Bnnu't's  I,(>s  Evangiles  Apocryi>hcs. 

Paris,  isii:t. 
Bunscn   (Krnt'stl,    Chronology  of  tho 

UiUlo.     London.  1874. 
Bunscn's  Das  Lobcn  Josu.     Ijcipzig, 

I8(),'i. 
Bu.xlorf's  I.,t>xii'on,   Chaldaiouin  Tal- 

nuidi<'Mni    ft    Ivabbinii'uni.       Folio. 

liasil.'ic,  l(>:i!l. 
Buxlort's Syiiagoga Judaioa.  Basilea>, 

1080. 

Cnmi>bcll    tPritifipaU,    On    tho   Four 

(iospi'ls.     AbcnltH-n,  180,1. 
Caspari,  Chronologisch-goographisoho 

KndcilunK',  iVc.     J  lamb.,  I8li',l. 
Cohen's   Historisoh   Ki'it.    Darstellung 

d.  ,liidisi.'lu'n  Uottosdionstcs.     Leip- 

y.iK,  181-,l. 
Curtis'  Waudorer  ixi  Sii'ia»     Luudou, 

vea. 


Davidson's  (Pr.  S.>  Tischendorf's  Nevr 

Test.     London,  1875. 
De  Wettes  Ilandbuch  z.  Neuen  Test. 

lA'ipzig,  ";8,'j7. 
Do  Wette's Archiiologie.    Loipzi;;,  18:50. 
Delitzsch's  Kin    Tag  in    Capernaum. 

Leipzig,  lS7."i. 
Delitz.soh's  Sehet  Welch  cin  Mensehl 

Leipzig,  187'J. 
Delitzsch's  Durch  Krankheit  zur  Geno- 

sung.     Leii)zig,  187;t. 
Delil/.sch's  Jildisches   TTandworkerlo- 

beii  zur  Zeit  Jesu.     Erlangen,  18tiy. 
Delitzsch's  Jesus  uud  llillol.     Krlan- 

gen,  18U7. 
Derenbourg's  Palestine  apr(>s  les  Tai- 

niiids,  i»k:c.    Paris,  18(i7. 
Dillmann,  d.  Buch  Henoch.    Leipzig, 

1,S.V1. 
Dillmann,    d.    Buch   d.    Jubiltton,    in 

Kwald's  Jahrbuch,  18-19— IS.'il. 
Diiltinger's  Tho  (ieiitilo  and  the  Jew, 

^:e.     a  vols.     Lt)ndon,  18tW. 
Diillinger's  Christenlhum  uiid  Kirchu. 

Kegensburg.  1808. 
Duke's  Rabbiuisclie  niumenlcse.  Leip- 
zig, 181-1. 
Dupanloup    (Eveque  d'Orleans),  Ilia- 

toiro  do  N.  S.  Josua  Christ.    Paria. 

lS7li. 


EV)raiHl's,  The  Oosi>el  History.     Kdia- 

bui-gh,  18ti3. 
Eci'o  Homo.      Cth  edition.      London, 

18l)(i. 
Eichhorn's   Einleitung  In  d.  N.  Test. 

Leipzig,  18:.\). 
Eisenmenger's      Entdecktos      Juden- 

thum.    2  vols.     Konigsberg,  1711. 
Ellicott's  (Bishop)  Historical  Lectures 

t>n  tho  Life  of  Our  Lord  Josu:i  CUi'ist. 

London,  18ti8. 
Elsey'w  AuiiotutioiuL    8  >-ol&    LoodoQ. 

t&.7. 


VUl 


LIST  OF  AUTHORITIES. 


Ewald's   Geschichte.      Vols.    1  to   6. 

Gottingen,  im4.     * 
Ewald"3     jVlterthiimer.       Gottingen, 

1866. 
Ewald's  Die  Drei  Ersten  Evangelien. 

2  vols.    Gottlng-en,  1870-2. 
Eusebius,  Eccles.  Ilist.     London,  1857. 

Farrar's  Life  of  Christ.  2  vols.  Lon- 
don, 187-1. 

Eritzsche's  Libri  Apoc.  Yet.  Test. 
Greece.    Lipsiae,  1S7]. 

Furrer's  Wanderungeu  durcli  Paliisti- 
na.    Zurich,  186.3. 

Fiirst's  Hebraisches  Handworterbuch. 
2  vols.    Leipzig,  1863. 

Gresenius,  Thesaurus  Linguae  Hebraeaj 
et  Chaldaeas.    4to.    Lipsiae,  1835. 

Gfrorer's  Das  Jahrhundert  d.  Heils. 
Stuttgardt,  lasS. 

Gieseler's  Eccles.  History.  5  vols. 
Edinburgh,  1W6. 

Godet's  St.  Luke.  2  vols.  Edinburjrh, 
1875. 

Godwj-n's  Aaron  and  Jloses.  London, 
1667. 

Greswell's  Harmonia  Evangelica. 
Oxon,  1850. 

Grotii  Annotationes.     Londini,  1727. 

Guillenaard's  Greek  Testament.  He- 
braistic Edition,  S.  Matthew.  Cam- 
bridge, 1875. 

Hagenbach's  Kirchengeschiehte.   Vol 

1.    Leipzig.  1861. 
Hannas  (Dr.)  Life  of    Our  Lord.-  4 

vols.    Edinburgh,  18C.3. 
Hartemann's  Leben  Jesu.    Stuttgart, 

1839. 
Hase's  Leben  Jesu.     Leipzig,  1865. 
Hausrath's  Neutestamentliche  Zeitge- 

schichte.    Vols.  1  and  2.    Heidelberg, 

1874. 
Herder's    Geist    des    Christenthums. 

Leipzig,  1798. 
Herzogs  Eeal-Encyklopadie.    22  vols. 

Gotha,  1866. 
Hess'  (J.  i.)  Leben  Jesu.    3  vols.    Zu- 
rich, 1773. 
Hess'  (M.)  Kom  und  Jerusalem.    Leip- 
zig, 1862. 
Hilgenfeld's  Die  Judische  Apokalyp- 

tik.    Jena,  1857. 
Hilgenfeld's      JUessias       Judseormn. 

Lipsiae,  1869. 
Hofmaxm's  Leben  Jesu  nach  d.  Apok- 

rj-phen.     Leipzig,  1*37. 
Hugs  Einleitung.    Stuttgart,  1847. 
Hurwitz,  Heimann,  Sagen  der  Ebraer. 

Oettingen,  1888, 


Hutton  (R.  H.),  Es-sajys  Theological 
and  Literary.    2  vols.    London,  1871. 

Irving  (Edward),  John  the  Baptist. 
London,  1864. 

Irving  (,Edward\  Our  Lord's  Tempta- 
tion.    London,  18(>4. 

Jacox,  Secular  Annotations  on  Script- 
ure Texts.     London,  1875. 

Jost's  Geschichte  des  Judenthums. 
Leipzig,  1857. 

Josephus,  Opera  Omnia  (Dckker;. 
Leipzig,  18.56. 

Josephus,  Whiston's  Translation. 

Keim's  Jesu  von  Nazara.  3  vols.  Zu- 
rich, 1867. 

Keim's  Geschichte  Christus.  Ziirich, 
1866. 

Kittos  Cyclopaedia  of  Biblical  Litera- 
ture.   3rd  edition.    Edinburgh,  1860. 

Kuinoel's  Novum  Test.  Libri  Historici. 
3  vols.     London,  1835. 

Kurzgefasstes  Eseg.  Handbuch  zum 
Alten  Test.  17  vols.  Leipzig,  l&tl— 
18(>4. 

Lange's  Life  of  Christ.    G  vols.    Edin- 
burgh, ISIM. 
Lange's  Kommentar — Matthaus,  Mar- 

kus,  Johannes.    Bielefeld,  1860. 
Langens  Judenthumin  Palastiua,  &c. 

Freiburg,  1866. 
Lightfoot  s  Hors;  Hebraics.    4  vols. 

Oxford,  18,59. 
Liicke's  Kommentar  ii.  d.   Cchriften 

Johannis.    Bonn,  1820. 
Luthardts  Das  Johanneische  Evange- 

lium.     Niirnberg,  1852. 
Luthardts   Fimdamental    Truths   of 

Christianity.     Edinburgh,  1869. 
Lynch's  Exploration  of   the    Jordan 

and  Dead  Sea.    Philadelphia,  1849. 

McClellan's  New  Testament.    London, 

1875. 
Martineau's    (Harriet)    Eastern    Life, 

Present  and  Past.     London.  1850. 
Martensen's  Chi-istiau  Etliics.     Edin^ 

burgh,  1873. 
Maundrells  Journey.    London,  1810. 
Melvills  (H.;  Sermons.    0  vols.    Lon* 

don. 
Jlerivale's  Conversion  of  the  Iloman 

Empire.    London.  18C5. 
Merrill's  (Rev.   Selah)  Galilee  in  tho 

Time  of  Christ.    Bib.  Sacra.    Ando, 

ver,  U.  S.,  1874. 
Meyer's  Kommentar  ii.  d.  New  Test. 

Gottingen,  1858. 


LIST   OF  AUTHORITIES. 


IX 


Michaells'  Mosaisches  Reoht.    3  vols. 
Frankfurt  a.  Mayn,  ITi'/. 

Mill's  British  Jews.     I^ndon,  1S.>3. 
■'     Nablous  and  the  Jlodera  Samar- 
itans.    London.  1?&\. 

Milman's  History  of  Christianity.    Svo. 
New  York,  1801. 

Mommsen's  Romische  Geschichte.  3 
vols.    Berlin,  1868. 

Monod's  (.Adolphe)  L'Enfpjjce  de  Je- 
sus.   Paris,  1860. 

Neander's  Life  of   Christ.      London, 

1857. 
Newman's  (J.  H.)  Sermons.    10  vols. 

London,  ISfiO. 
Norks  Rabbinische  Quellen  u.  Paral- 

lelen.    Leipzig,  1839. 
Nork's    Etymoiogisch     Real-Worter- 

buch.    4  vols.    Stuttgart,  1845. 
Nugenfs  (.Lo-d^  Lands  Classical  and 

Sacred.    Loudon. 

Oosterzee"s  d.  Evan,  nach  Lukas- 
Bielefeld,  18G7. 

Pagnini   Thesaurus    Linguae    Sanctae 

Folio.    1  :-.;■,-. 
Palestine  £.xploration  Fund  Reports, 

i8;c-7*;. 

Passov,  'a  Handworterbuch  der  Griech- 
ischen  Sprache.     2  vols.      Leipzig, 

ia3i.  '■   ° 

Paulus,    Das    Leben    Jesu.    3      vols, 

Heidelberg,  18ii8. 
Paulus,   Die  Drei  Ersten  Evangelien. 

3  vols.    Heidelberg,  181;J. 
Pressel,  Das  Lebea  Jesu.    Reutlingen, 

1357. 
Pressens6"s  Jesus  Christ,  His  Times, 

Life,  and  Work.    London,  1353. 

Recovery  of  Jerusalem  (The).  8vo. 
London,  1871. 

Roland's  Antiquitat€s  Sacrae.  Utrecht, 
1712. 

Renan— Yie  de  Jesus.    Paris,  1870. 

Les  ApOtres.        "       1806. 

"        Saint  Paul.  "       1869. 

L'.^techrist.        "       1S73. 

Reynolds'  John  the  Baptist.  London, 
1875. 

Riggenbach's  Vorlesungen  ii.  das  Le- 
ben Jesu.    Basel,  185s; 

Robertson's  (F.  AV.)  Sermons.  3  vols. 
London,  1873. 

Robinson's  (Dr.  E.)  Biblical  Research- 
es in  Syria  ajid  Palestine.  3  vols. 
London,  1860. 

Robinson'.s  (Dr.  E.)  Lexicon  of  the 
New  Testament.    New  York,  1858. 

Robinson's  (Dr.  E.)  Harmony  of  the 
Gospels.    London. 


Rohr's  Palastina.    Zeitz,  laSo. 
Rosenmiiller's    (D.   J.  G.)  Scholia  ia 

Novum      Testamentum.         Norim- 

bergas,  180-1. 
RosenmuUer's  CE.   F.   K.)  Handbuch 

der  Biblischen  Alterthumskunde.    5 

vols.    Leipzig,  1825. 

Scapidse    Lexicon    Grajco  -  Latinum. 

Fol.  Oxonii,  1820. 
Schenkel,    Das   Charakterbild    Jesu.  i 

Wiesbaden,  1864. 
Schenkel's    Bibel-Lexicon.       5    vols. 

Leipzig,  1860. 
Schleiermacher's^  Predigten.    4    vols. 

Berlin,  1W4. 
Schleiermaeher's  Leben  Jesu.    Berlin. 

1864. 
Schleusner's  Lexicon  in  Nov.  Tes*.    2 

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Schnecken  burger's     Vorlesungen    ii. 

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Frankfurt-am-Main,  1SG2. 
Schottgen,  Horce  Hebraieae  et  Talmu- 

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Schrader's  Der  Ajwstel  Paulus.  5  vols. 

Leipzig,  1830. 

Schiirer's  Lebrbuch  d.  Neutest.  Zeit- 
geschichte.     Leipzig,  1874. 

Scrivener's  Nov.  Test.  Groecum.  Cam- 
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Schmidii  N.  T.  Concordantiss.  Glas- 
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Scpp,  Da?  Leben  Jesu.  6  vols.  Re- 
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2  vols.   Schaflfhausen,  1873. 
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Roman    Biog.    and  Jlyth.      3  vols. 
London,  185;3. 
Smiths  (Dr. )  Dictionary  of  the  Bible. 

3  vols.    London,  1860. 

Smith's  (Dr.)  Dictionarj-  of  Greek  and 
Roman  Antiquities.    London,  1869. 

Stanley's  Sinai  and  Palestine.  Lon- 
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Stanley's  Jewish  Historv.  London, 
1&56. 

Stanley's  Sermons  on  the  Apostolic 
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Steinmeyer's  Miracles  of  our  Lord. 
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Stephen's  Incidents  of  Travel  in 
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Thomson's  The  Land  and  the  Book. 

London,  1863. 


LIST  OF  AUTHORITIES. 


Tholuck's  Bergpredigt  Christi.  Ham- 
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Tholuck's  Kommentar  z.  Evangelio 
Jahannis.     Hamburg,  1837. 

Tholuck's  Sittliche  C'harakter  d.  Hei- 
'     denthums.    Gotha,  180". 

Tischendorf  s  Pilati  circa  Christum 
I  Judicio  quid  Lucis  afferatur  ex  Act- 
Is  Pilati.    Lipsife,  18.55. 

Tobler    (T.),    Bethlehem.    Gallen    u. 

I    Berne,  1849. 

Tobler  (T.)  Nazareth.    Berne. 

Transactions  of  Society  of  Biblical 
Archaeology,  1872-76.    London. 

Trench's  (Archbishop)  Notes  on  the 
Parables.     London,  I860. 

Trench's  (Archbishop)  Notes  on  the 
Miracles.     London,  1856. 

Tristram's  Natural  History  of  the 
Bible.     London,  1873. 

Tristram,  the  Great  Sahara.  London, 
1870. 

Tristram,  the  Land  of  Moab.  London. 

Ullmann's    Die    Siindlosigkeit    Jesu. 

Gotha,  \ms. 
Ullmann's  Historisch  oder  Mythisch? 

eotha,  186G. 


Von  der  Aim's  Urtheile  heidnischer  u. 
Jud  Schriftsteller  ii.  Jesus.  Leip- 
zig, 1864. 


Webster  and  "Wilkinson's  Greek 
Test.    2  vols.    London.  185.5. 

Weidemann's  Darstellungen  d.  Lebens 
Jesu,  &c.    Gotha,  1864. 

Weil's  The  Bible,  the  Koran,  and  the 
Talmud.     London,  1846. 

Westcotfs  Intro,  to  Study  of  the  Gos- 
pels.    London,  1860. 

Wieseler's  Beitrage.    Gotha,  1860. 

Wieseler's  Chronologische  Synopse. 
Hamburg,  1843. 

Williams'  Commentary  on  the  Gospel 
Narrative.    6  vols.    London,  1869. 

Winer's  Realworterbuch.  2  vols.  3 
Auf .    Leipzig.    No  date. 

Winer's  Grammatik  Neutestament- 
lichen  Sprachidioms.  Siebeute  Auf. 
Leipzig,  1867. 


Zunz,  Die  Gottesdientslichen  VortrUg» 
der  Juden,  &c.    Berlin,  1832. 


PEEF  ACE. 


No  apology  is  needed  for  the  publication  of  another  Life  of  Christ, 
for  the  subject,  to  use  the  words  of  Mr.  Carlyle,  is  "of  quite  peren» 
nial,  infinite  character,  and  its  significance  will  ever  demand  to  be 
anew  inquired  into,  and  anew  made  manifest." 

The  freshness  and  interest  of  the  name  of  Jesus,  and  its  power  as 
a  great  factor  in  the  spiritual  history  of  the  world,  increase  with 
each  generation.  The  influence  of  His  life.  His  words,  and  His 
death,  have,  from  the  first,  been  like  leaven  cast  into  the  mass  of 
humanity.  He  made  religion  spiritual  instead  of  ceremonial  and 
external;  universal,  instead  of  local.  He  gave  us  the  magnificent 
dowrj''  of  a  faith  in  One  Common  Father  of  the  whole  human  race, 
and,  thus,  of  a  world-wide  brotherhood  of  all  mankind.  He  con- 
firmed the  doctrine  of  our  immortality,  and  scattered  abroad  the 
germs  of  a  heavenly  life  by  His  fundamental  requirements  of  love  to 
God  and  our  neighbour.  All  reforms  of  individual  and  public  life 
lie  veiled  in  these  principles,  awaiting  the  advance  of  our  moral 
sense,  to  apprehend  and  apply  them.  They  have  already  given  free- 
dom to  the  slave;  raised  woman;  purified  morals;  mitigated  war; 
created  liberty;  and  made  humanity  a  growing  force,  in  things 
private,  civil,  and  political.  All  that  love  to  our  fellow-man  can 
prompt  finds  itself  only  a  copy  of  that  Life  which  was  spent  in  con- 
tinually doing  good,  and  the  noblest  self-sacrifice  for  others  finds 
itself  anticipated  by  Calvary. 

To  the  individual  Christian,  Jesus  is  the  Divine  Saviour,  to  be- 
lieve in  Whom  is  life  everlasting :  to  know  Whom  is  to  have  peace 
with  God.  Love  has  no  diviner  emblem  than  the  Good  Shepherd : 
Beneficence  no  ideal  so  perfect,  as  that  "it  is  more  blessed  to  give 
than  to  receive :"  Fidelity  to  duty  no  loftier  standard  than  a  life  laid 
down  at  its  command :  Self-sacrifice  no  dream  so  perfect  as  the  rec- 
ord of  His  death  ou  the  Cross. 


3tii  -  PREFACE. 

To  write  the  story  of  such  a  life  is  no  easy  task,  but  it  is  one 
beyond  all  others  important  for  the  best  interests  of  the  age.  It  is 
impossible  to  describe  the  infinite  dignity  of  His  person,  but  His 
words  and  acts  are  His  legacy  to  us,  which  it  is  vital  to  study  and 
apply. 

I  have  tried  in  this  book  to  restore,  as  far  as  I  could,  the  world  in 
which  Jesus  moved;  the  country  in  which  He  lived;  the  people 
among  whom  He  grew  up  and  ministered;  the  religion  in  Avhich  H& 
Jwas  trained ;  the  Temple  services  in  which  He  took  part ;  the  ecclesi- 
astical, civil,  and  social  aspects  of  His  time ;  the  parties  of  the  day, 
their  opinions  and  their  spirit ;  the  customs  that  ruled ;  the  influences 
that  prevailed  ;  the  events,  social,  religious,  and  political,  not  men- 
tioned in  the  Gospels,  that  formed  the  history  of  His  lifetime,  so  far 
as  they  can  be  recovered. 

In  this  picture.  He,  Himself,  is,  of  course,  the  central  figure,  to 
which  all  details  are  subordinate.  I  have  tried  to  present  His  acts 
and  words  as  they  would  strike  those  who  first  saw  or  heard  them, 
and  have  added  only  as  much  elucidation  to  the  latter  as  seemed 
needed.  All  His  Sayings  and  Discourses  are  given  in  full,  for  a  Life 
in  which  He  is  not  His  own  interpreter,  must  be  defective. 

No  one  can  feel  more  keenly  than  myself  how  open  such  a  book 
must  be  to  criticism.  Where  the  best  and  wisest  have  differed,  I 
could  not  expect  that  all  will  agree  with  me,  and  I  cannot  hope  to 
have  escaped  oversights,  or  even  errors,  in  treating  a  subject  so  ex- 
tensive. I  can  only  plead  my  honest  desire  for  truth  and  correctness, 
in  mitigation  of  judgment. 

I  trust,  however,  that  my  book,  as  a  whole,  presents  a  reliable 
picture  of  the  Life  of  Our  Lord  in  the  midst  of  the  world  in  which 
He  moved,  and  that  it  will  throw  light  on  the  narratives  in  the 
Gospels,  by  filling  up  their  brief  outlines,  where  possible. 

For  the  various  sources  to  which  I  have  been  indebted  I  must  only 
refer  to  the  books  named  in  the  list  of  authorities  at  the  beginning, 
I  have  used  them  freely,  but  always,  so  far  as  I  know,  with  due 
acknowledgment; 

And,  now,  go  forth.  My  Book,  and  may  He  whose  honour  thou 
seekest,  bless  thee,  and  thy  Unknown  Reader! 


THE   LIFE  OF   CHRIST. 


CHAPTER  L 

INTRODUCTORY. 

The  life  of  Jesus  Christ,  which  is  to  be  told  in  these  pages,  raust 
ever  remain  the  noblest  and  most  fruitful  study  for  all  men,  of  every 
age.  It  is  admitted,  even  by  those  of  other  faiths,  that  He  was  at 
once  a  great  Teacher,  and  a  living  illustration  of  the  truths  He 
taught.  The  Mohammedan  world  give  Him  the  high  title  of  the 
Masih  (Messiah),  and  set  Him  above  all  the  prophets.  The  Jews 
confess  admiration  of  His  character  and  words,  as  exhibited  in  the 
Gospels.  Nor  is  there  any  hesitation  among  the  great  intellects  of 
different  ages,  whatever  their  special  position  towards  Christianity; 
whether  its  humble  disciples,  or  openly  opposed  to  it,  or  carelessly 
indifferent,  or  vaguely  latitudinarian. 

We  all  know  how  lowly  a  reverence  is  paid  to  Him  in  passage 
after  passage  by  Shakspere,  the  greatest  intellect  known,  in  its  wide, 
many-sided  splendour.  Men  like  Galileo,  Kepler,  Bacon,  Newton, 
and  Milton,  set  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ  above  every  other.  To 
show  that  no  other  subject  of  study  can  claim  an  equal  interest, 
Jean  Paul  Richter  tells  us  that  ' '  the  life  of  Christ  concerns  Him 
who,  being  the  holiest  among  the  miglity,  the  niglitiest  among  the 
holy,  lifted  with  His  pierced  hand  empires  off  "their  hinges,  and 
turned  the  stream  of  centuries  out  of  its  channel,  and  still  governs 
the  ages."  Spinoza  calls  Christ  the  symbol  of  divine  wisdom; 
Kant  and  Jacobi  hold  Him  up  as  the  s;,Tnbol  of  ideal  perfection,  and 
Schelling  and  Hegel  as  that  of  the  union  of  the  divine  and  human. 
"I  esteem  the  Gospels,"  says  Goethe,  "to  be  thorouglily  genuine, 
for  there  shines  forth  from  them  the  reflected  splendour  of  a  sub-^ 
limity,  i^rocecding  from  the  person  of  Jesus  ChriLit,  of  so  divine  a 
kind  as  only  the  divine  could  ever  have  manifested  upon  earth." 
"  How  petty  arc  the  books  of  the  pliilosophcrs,  v.ith  aU  their  pomp," 
Bays  Rousseau,  "  compared  with  the  Gospcb!  Cixu  it  be  that  writ- 
ings at  once  so  sublime  and  so  simple  are  the  work  of  men?  Can 
He  whose  life  they  tell  be  Himself  no  more  than  a  mere  man  ?  Is 
there  anything,  in  His  character,  erf  tho  cnthuciact  or  the  ambitious 


«  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

sectary?  "What  sweetness,  what  purity  in  His  ways,  what  touchinf 
grsce  in  His  teachings!  Wliat  a  loftiness  in  His  maxims,  what  pro- 
found wisdom  in  His  words  I  What  presence  of  mind,  what  deli- 
cacy and  aptness  in  His  replies!  What  an  empire  over  His  passions? 
Where  is  the  man,  where  is  the  sage,  who  knows  how  to  act,  to 
suffer,  and  to  die  without  weakness  and  without  display?  My  friend, 
men  do  not  invent  like  this;  and  the  facts  respecting  bocrates, 
which  no  one  doubts,  are  not  so  well  attested  as  those  about  Jesus 
Christ.  These  Jews  could  never  have  struck  this  tone,  or  thought  of 
this  morality,  and  the  Gospel  has  characteristics  of  truthfulness  so 
grand,  so  striking,  so  perfectly  inimitable,  that  their  inventors  would 
be  even  more  wonderful  than  He  whom  they  portray."  "Yes,  if 
the  death  of  Socrates  be  that  of  a  sage,  the  life  and  death  of  Jesus 
are  those  of  a  God." 

Thomas  Carlyle  repeatedly  expresses  a  similar  reverence.  ' '  Jesus 
of  Nazareth,"  says  he,  "our  divinest  symbol!  Higher  has  the 
human  thought  not  yet  reached."  "A  symbol  of  quite  perennial, 
infinite  character,  whose  significance  will  ever  demand  to  be  anew 
inquired  into,  and  anew  made  manifest."  Dr.  Channing,  of  Boston, 
the  foremost  man  in  his  day  among  American  Unitarians,  is  equally 
marked  in  his  words.  "The  character  of  Jesus,"  says  he,  "is 
wholly  inexplicable  on  human  principles."  Matthias  Claudius,  one 
of  the  people's  poets  of  Germany,  last  century,  writes  to  a  friend, 
''No  one  ever  thus  loved  [as  Christ  did],  nor  did  anything  so  truly 
great  and  good  as  the  Bible  tells  us  of  Him  ever  enter  into  the  heart 
of  man.  It  is  a  holy  form,  which  rises  before  the  poor  pilgrim  like  a 
star  in  the  night,  and  satisfies  his  innermost  craving,  his  most  secret 
yearnings  and  liopes."  "Jesus  Christ,"  says  the  exquisite  genius. 
Herder,  "is  in  the  noblest,  and  most  perfect  sense,  the  realized  ideal 
of  humanity."  ^ 

No  one  v.-ill  accuse  the  first  Napoleon  of  being  either  a  pietist  or 
weak-minded.  lie  strode  the  world  in  his  day  like  a  Colossus,  a  man 
of  gigantic  intellect,  however  worthless  and  depraved  in  moral  sense. 
Conversing  one  day,  at  St.  Helena,  as  his  custom  was,  about  the 
great  men  of  antiquity,  and  comparing  himself  with  them,  he  sud- 
denly turned  round  to  one  of  his  suite  and  asked  him,  "  Can  you  tell 
me  who  Jesus  Christ  wa.j?"  The  officer  owned  that  he  had  not  yet 
,  tr.lien  much  thought  of  such  things.  "Well,  then,"  said  Napoleon, 
"lAvill  tell  you."  lie  then  compared  Christ  with' himself,  and  with 
the  heroes  of  antiquity,  and  showed  how  Jesus  far  surpassed  them. 
"I  think  I  understand  somewhat  of  human  nature,"  he  continued, 
"and  I  tell  you  all  these  were  men,  and  I  am  a  man,  but  not  one  is 
like  Him;  Jesus  Christ  was  more  than  man.  Alexander,  Caesar, 
Charlemagne,  and  myself  founded  great  empires ;  but  upon  what  did 
the  creations  of  our  genius  depend?  Upon  force.  Jesus  alone 
founded  His  empire  upon  love,  and  to  this  very  day  millions  would 
die  fcr  Ilim."     "The  Gospel  is  no  mere  book,"  said  he  at  another 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  8 

time,  "  but  a  living  creature,  with  a  vl^^our,  a  power,  which  conquers 
all  that  opposes  it.  Here  lies  the  Book  of  Books  upon  the  tabic 
[touching  it  reverently];  I  do  not  tire  of  reading  it,  and  do  so  daily 
with  equal  pleasure.  The  soul,  charmed  with  the  beauty  of  the 
Gospel,"is  no  longer  its  own:  God  possesses  it  entirely:  He  directs 
its  thoughts  and  faculties  ;  it  is  His.  Yfhat  a  proof  of  the  divinity  of 
Jesus  Christ!  Yet  in  this  absolute  sovereignty  He  has  but  one  ai:a 
— the  spiritual  perfection  of  the  individual,  the  purilicalion  of  his 
conscience,  his  union  with  what  is  true,  the  salvation  of  his  soul. 
'Men  wonder  at  the  conquests  of  Alexander,  but  here  h  a  conqueror 
who  draws  men  to  Himself  for  their  highest  good;  who  unites  to 
Himself,  incorporates  into  Himself,  not  a  nation,  but  the  whole 
human  race!" 

I  might  multiply  such  testimonies  from  men  of  all  ages  ana  classes, 
indelinitely ;  let  me  give  only  one  or  two  more. 

Among  all  the  Biblical  critics  of  Germany,  no  one  has  risen  with 
an  intellect  more  piercing,  a  learning  more  vast,  and  a  freedom  and 
fearlessness  more  unquestioned,  than  De  T.^ette.  Y*ct,  listen  to  a 
sentence  from  the  preface  to  his  Commentary  on  the  Book  of  Bevc- 
lation,  published  just  before  his  death,  in  1849:  "  This  only  I  know. 
that  there  is  salvation  in  no  other  name  than  in  the  name  of  Jesu3 
Christ,  the  Crucified,  and  that  nothing  loftier  oilers  itself  to  humanity 
than  the  God-manhood  realized  in  Ilim,  and  the  kingdom  of  God 
which  He  formdcd — an  idea  and  problem  not  yet  rightly  imderstood 
ancl  incorporated  into  the  life,  even  of  those  who,  in  other  respects, 
justly  rank  as  the  most  zealous  and  the  warmest  Christians  !  Were 
Christ  in  deed  and  in  truth  our  Life,  how  could  such  a  falling  away 
from  Him  be  possible?  Those  in  whom  He  lived  would  Avitucss  so 
mightily  for  Ilim,  through  their  whole  life,  wiiether  spoken,  written, 
or  acted,  that  unbelief  would  be  forced  to  silence." 

Nor  is  the  incidental  testimony  to  Christ  of  those  who  have  openly 
acknowledged  their  supreme  devotion  to  Him  less  striking.  There 
have  been  martyrs  to  many  creeds,  but  what  religion  ever  saw  an 
army  of  martyrs  willingly  dying  for  the  personal  love  they  bore  to 
the  founder  of  their  faith  ?  Yet  this  has  always  been  the  charac- 
teristic of  the  martyrs  of  Christianity,  from  the  days  when,  as  tradi- 
tion tells  us.  Peter 'was  led  to  crucifixion  with  the  words  ever  on  his 
lips,  "None  but  Christ,  none  but  Christ,"  or  when  the  aged  Poly- 
carp, — about  to  be  burned  alive  in  the  amphitheatre  at  SmjTna, — 
answered  the  governor,  who  sought  to  make  him  revile  Christ — 
"Eighty  and  six  years  have  I  served  Him,  and  He  never  did  me 
wrong;  and  how  can  I  now  blaspheme  my  King  Avho  has  saved  me?" 
Nearly  seventeen  hundred  years  passed  from  the  time  wlien  the  early 
confessor  died  blessing  God  that  he  was  counted  worthy  to  have  a 
share  in  the  number  of  martyrs  and  in  the  cup  of  Christ ;  and  a  man 
of  high  culture  and  intellect  lies  djing,  the  native  of  an  island  peo- 
pled only  by  outside  barbarians  in  the  days  of  Polycarp.     The  ai- 


'  4  \  THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST. 

tcndants,  ■vratcMn^'r  liis  last  moments,  see  his  lips  move,  and  'bending 
over  hini,  catch  the  faint  sounds,  "Jesus,  love! — Jesus,  love! — tho 
came  thing," — the  last  words  uttered  before  he  left  them.  It  was  the 
dcath-bcd  of  £ir  James  Macintosh.  Thus  the  character  of  Christ  still 
retains  the  supreme  charm  by  which  it  drew  towards  it  the  deepest 
ai^ections  cf  the  heart  i:i  the  earliest  age  of  the  Church ;  and  such  a 
character  muct  claim,  above  all  others,  our  reverent  and  thoughtful 
Gtudy. 

If  we  attempt  to  discover  what  it  is  in  the  personal  character  of 
Jc.TJS  Christ,  as  shown  in  His  life,  that  thus  attracts  such  permanent 
admiration,  it  is  not  difficult  to  do  so. 

In  an  age  when  the  ideal  of  the  religious  life  was  realized  in  the 
Baptist's  withdrawing  from  men,  and  burying  himself  in  the  ascetic 
solitudes  of  the  desert,  Christ  came,  bringing  religion  into  the  haunts 
and  homes  and  every-day  life  of  men.  For  the  mortifications  of  the 
hermit  He  substituted  the  labours  of  active  benevolence ;  for  the  fears 
find  gloom  which  shrank  from  men.  He  brought  the  light  of  a  cheer- 
fvd  piety,  which  made  every  act  of  daily  life  religious.  He  foimd 
the  domain  of  religion  fenced  off  as  something  distinct  from  common 
duties,  and  He  threw  down  the  wall  of  separation,  and  consecrated 
the  whole  sweep  of  existence.  He  lived,  a  man  amongst  men,  shar- 
ing alike  their  joys  and  their  sorrows,  dignifying  the  humblest  de- 
tails of  life  by  making  them  subordinate  to  the  single  aim  of  His 
Father's  glory.  Henceforth  the  grand  revolution  was  inaugurated, 
which  taught' that  religion  does  not  lie  in  selfish  or  morbid  devotion 
to  personal  interests,  whether  in  the  desert  or  the  temple,  but  in  lov- 
ing work  and  self-sacrifice  for  others. 

The  absolute  unselfishness  of  Christ's  character  is,  indeed,  its 
unique  charm.  His  own  life  is  self-denial  throughout,  and  He  makes 
a  similar  spirit  the  test  of  all  healthy  religious  life.  It  is  He  who  said, 
"It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive;"  who  reminds  us  that 
life,  like  the  wheat,  yields  frait  only  by  its  own  dying;  who  gave  us 
the  ideal  of  life  in  His  own  absolute  self-oblivion.  We  feel  instinc- 
tively that  this  Gospel  of  Love  alone  is  divine,  and  that  we  cannot 
withhold  our  homage  from  the  only  perfectly  Unselfish  Life  ever 
seen  on  earth. 

There  is  much,  besides,  to  which  I  can  only  allude  in  a  word.  He 
demands  repentance  from  all,  but  never  for  a  moment  hints  at  any 
need  of  it  for  Himself.  With  all  His  matchless  lowliness.  He  ad- 
vances personal  claims  which,  in  a  mere  man,  would  be  the  very 
delirium  of  religious  pride.  He  was  divinely  patient  under  every 
form  of  suffering, — a  homeless  life,  hvmger  and  thirst,  craft  and  vio- 
lence, meanness  and  pride,  the  taunts  of  enemies  and  betrayals  of 
friends,  ending  in  an  ignominious  death.  Nothing  of  all  this  for  a 
moment  turned  Him  from  His  chosen  path  of  love  and  pity.  His 
last  words,  like  His  whole  life,  were  a  prayer  for  those  who  returned 
Him  evil  for  good.     His  absolute  superiority  to  everything  narrow  or 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  5 

local,  so  that  He,  a  Jew,  founds  a  religion  in  which  all  mankind  are 
a  common  brotherhood,  equal  before  God;  the  dignity,  calmness, 
and  self-possession  before  rulers,  priests,  and  governors,  which  sets 
Him  immeasurably  above  them;  His  freedom  from  superstition,  ia 
an  age  which  was  superstitious  almost  l)eyond  example;  His  superi- 
ority to  the  merely  external  and  ritual,  in  an  age  when  rites  and  ex- 
ternals were  the  sum  of  religion;  all  these  considerations,  to  mention 
no  others,  explain  the  mysterious  attraction  of  His  character,  even 
when  looked  at  only  as  that  of  an  ideal  Man. 

Wh^a,  from  His  character,  we  turn  to  His  teachings,  the  claims  of 
His  Life  on  our  reverent  study  are  still  further  strengthened.  To 
Him  we  owe  the  expansion  of  whatever  was  vital  in  Ancient  Judaism 
from  the  creed  of  a  tribe  into  a  religion  for  the  world.  The  Old 
Testament  reveals  a  sublime  and  touching  description  of  God  as  the 
Creator  and  the  All-wise  and  Almighty  Ruler  of  all  things;  as  the 
God,  in  whose  hand  is  the  life  of  every  living  thing  and  the  breadth 
of  all  mankind;  the  God  of  Providence,  on  whom  the  eyes  of  all 
creatures  wait,  and  who  gives  them  their  meat  in  due  season ;  as  a 
Being  of  infinite  majesty,  who  will  by  no  means  clear  the  guilty,  but 
yet  is  merciful  and  gracious,  longsuffering,  and  abundant  in  good- 
ness and  truth :  as  keeping  mercy  for  thousands,  forgiving  iniquity 
and  transgression  and  sin,  and  as  pitying  them  that  fear  Him,  like  as 
a  father  pitieth  his  children.  But  it  was  reserved  for  Christ  to  bring 
the  character  of  God,  as  a  God  of  Love,  into  full  noon-day  light,  in 
His  so  loving  the  world  as  to  give  His  only-begotten  Son,  that  who- 
soever believeth  in  Him  might  not  perish,  but  have  eternal  life.  In 
the  New  Testament  He  is  first  called  Our  Father  in  Heaven — the 
Father  of  all  mankind.  The  Old  Testament  proclaimed  Him  the 
God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob — the  Portion  of  Israel:  Christ 
points  the  eyes  of  all  nations  to  Him  as  the  God  of  the  whole  human 
race. 

The  fundamental  principles  of  Christianity  are  as  new  and  as  sub- 
lime as  this  grand  conception  of  God,  and  spring  directly  from  it. 
The  highest  ideal  of  man  must  ever  be,  and  his  soul  reflects  the  image 
of  his  Creator,  and  this  image  can  only  be  that  of  pure,  all-embracing 
love,  to  God  and  man,  for  God  is  love.  Outward  service,  alone,  is 
of  no  value:  the  pure  heart,  only,  loves  aright:  it,  only,  reflects  the 
divine  likeness;  for  purity  and  love  are  the  same  in  the  Eternal.  A 
religion  resting  on  such  a  basis  bears  the  seal  of  heaven.  But  this 
divine  law  constitutes  Christianity. 

The  morality  taught  by  Christ  is  in  keeping  with  such  fundamental 
demands.  Since  love  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  law,  there  can  be  no  lim- 
itation to  duty  but  that  of  power.  It  can  only  be  bounded  by  our 
possibilities  of  performance,  and  that  not  in  the  letter,  but  in  spirit 
and  in  truth,  both  towards  God  and  our  neiglibour.  The  perfect  holi- 
ness of  God  can  alone  be  the  standard  of  our  aspiration ;  for  love  means 
tJbedience,  and  God  cannot  look  upon  sin.    To  be  a  peiiect  Christiaa 


«  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

is  to  be  a  sinless  man — sinless  throiigh  the  obedience  of  perfect  lore. 
Such  a  morality  has  the  seal  of  the  living  God  on  its  forehead. 

It  is  to  be  remembered,  in  realizing  our  obligations  to  Christ,  that 
there  was  a  perfect  novelty  in  this  teaching.  Antiquity,  outside 
the  Jewish  world,  had  no  conception  of  what  we  call  sin.  There  is 
no  word  in  Greek  for  what  we  mean  by  it :  the  expression  for  it  is 
synonymous  with  physical  evil.  There  was  either  no  guilt  in  an 
action,  or  the  deity  was  to  blame,  or  the  action  was  irresistible. 
Priests  and  people  had  no  aim  or  desire  in  sacrifices,  prayers,  or  festi- 
vals, beyond  the  removal  of  a  defilement,  not  considered  as  a  moral, 
but  a  physical  stain;  and  they  attributed  a  magical  effect  to  propiti- 
atory rites  through  which  they  thought  to  obtain  that  removal ;  this 
effect  being  sure  to  follow  if  there  were  no  omission  in  the  rite,  even 
though  the  vvill  remained  consciously  inclined  to  evil ! 

The  Romt.  1  was  as  free  from  having  any  conception  of  sin  as  the 
Greek.  Evei."  such  moralists  as  Seneca  had  only  a  blind  spiritual 
pride  which  Cv~nfouaded  God  and  nature,  and  regarded  man — the 
crown  of  natural  and  its  most  perfect  work — as  God's  equal,  or  even 
as  His  superior,  for  the  divine  nature,  in  his  creed,  reaches  perfection 
in  man  only,  ijvery  man,  he  tells  us,  carries  God  about  with  him  in 
his  bosom;  in  one  aspect  of  his  being  he  is  God — virtue  is  only  the 
following  nature,  and  men's  vices  are  only  madness. 

Compare  with  this  the  vision  of  God — high  and  lifted  up — of  awful 
holiness  but  of  infinite  love, — and  the  doctrine  of  human  responsi- 
bility, which  the  heart  itself  re-echoes — as  taught  by  Christ ;  and  the 
study  of  His  life  becomes  the  loftiest  of  human  duties. 

We  owe  it  no  less  to  Christ  that  the  belief  in  a  future  life,  with  its 
light  or  shadow  depending  on  a  future  judgment,  is  now  part  of  the 
creed  of  the  world.  Judaism,  indeed,  in  its  later  ages  at  least,  knew 
these  revelations,  but  Judaism  could  never  have  become  the  religion 
of  mankind.  Pagan  antiquity  had  ceased  to  have  any  fixed  ideas  of 
anything  beyond  this  life.  Immortality  was  an  open  question;  the 
dream  of  poets  rather  than  the  common  faith.  But  Christ  brought 
life  and  immortality  to  light  through  the  Gospel. 

Doctrines  such  as  these,  illustrated  by  such  a  Life,  and  crowned  by 
a  death  which  He  Himself  proclaimed  to  be  a  voluntary  offering 
"  for  the  life  of  the  world,"  could  not  fail  to  have  a  mighty  influence. 

The  leaven  thus  cast  into  the  mass  of  humanity  has  already  largely 
transformed  society,  and  is  destined  to  affect  it  for  good  in  ever- 
increasing  mef.sm-e,  in  all  directions.  The  one  grand  doctrine  of  the 
Brotherhood  of  Man,  as  man,  is  in  itself  the  pledge  of  infinite  results. 
The  seminal  principle  of  all  true  progress  musf  ever  be  found  in  a 
proper  sense  of  the  inherent  dignity  of  manhood;  in  the  realization  of 
the  trath  that  the  whole  human  race  are  essentially  equal  in  their  facul- 
ties, nature,  and  inalienable  rights.  Such  an  idea  was  unknown  to 
antiquity.  The  Jew,  speaking  in  the  Fourth  Book  of  Esdras,  ad- 
dressed God— "  On  our  account  Thou  hast  created  the  world.    Other 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  7 

nations  spninE'  from  Adam,  Thou  hast  said  are  nothing,  and  are  like 
spittle  and  Thou  hast  likened  their  multitude  to  the  droppmgs  from  a 
cask  'But  we  are  Thy  people,  whom  Thou  hast  called  Thy  first-born. 
Thine  only-begotten,  Thy  well-beloved."  In  the  Book  Sifri,  the  Rab^ 
bis  tell  us— "A  single  Israelite  is  of  more  worth  m  the  sight  ot  G-od 
than  all  the  nations  of  the  world;  every  Israelite  is  of  more  valua 
before  Him  than  all  the  nations  who  have  been  or  will  be.  ' 

To  the  Greek  the  word  "humanity,"  as  a  term  for  the  wide  broth- 
erhood of  all  races,  Avas  unknown.  All  races,  except  his  own,  were 
reo-arded  and  despised  as  "barbarians."  Even  the  Eg}Ttians,  m 
spUe  of  their  ancient  traditions  and  priestly  "wisdom,"  —the  t-artha- 
cinians  the  -Phcenicians,  Etruscans,  Macedonians,  and  Romans,  not 
to  mention  outlying  and  uncivilized  peoples,  were  stigmatized  by  tins 
contemptuous  name.  The  Greek  fancied  himself  appointed  by  the 
ffodsto  be  lord  over  all  otlier  races;  and  Socrates  only  gave  expres- 
lion  to  the  general  feeling  of  his  countrymen  when  he  thanked  the 
"•ods  daily  for  being  man  and  not  beast,  male  and  not  female,  Greek 
and  not  barbarian.  .      .  •  i       i    n     i 

The  RoJiAN,  in  common  with  antiquity  at  large,  considered  all  who 
did  not  belong  to  his  own  State,  as  hastes,  or  enemies ;  and  hence, 
unless  there  were  a  special  league,  all  Romans  held  that  the  only  law 
between  them  and  those  who  were  not  Romans  Avas  that  of  the 
stron"-er  by  which  they  were  entitled  to  subjugate  such  races  if  tbey 
coukf  plunder  their  possessions,  and  make  the  people  slaves.  _  The 
fact  that  a  tribe  lived  on  the  bank  of  a  river  on  the  other  side  of 
which  Romans  had  settled,  made  its  members  "rivals,"  for  the  word 
means  simply  the  dwellers  on  opposite  sides  of  a  stream.  It  was  even 
obiected  to  Christianity,  indeed,  that  its  folly  was  patent,  from  its 
seeking  to  introduce  one  religion  for  all  races.  "The  man,"  says 
Celsus  "who  can  believe  it  possible  for  Greeks  and  Barbarians,  in 
Asia  Eiirope,  and  Libya,  to  agree  in  one  code  of  religious  laws,  must 
be  utterly  c'evoid  of  sense."  Antiquity  had  no  conception  of  a  religion 
which  by  readily  uniting  with  everything  purely  human,  and  as 
readily  attacking  all  forms  of  evil,  could  be  destined  or  suited  to  the 
wants  of  all  huiiianity.  Nor  did  it  deign  to  think  that  the  aristocracy 
of  the  rr*e  could  stoop  to  have  a  religion  in  common  with  the  bar- 
barian to  whom  it  almost  refused  the  name  of  man. 

It  wa.=i  left  to  Christ  to  proclaim  the  brotherhood  of  all  nations  by 
rcveal-ng  God  as  their  common  Father  in  Heaven,  filled  towards 
them  v,ith  a  father's  love ;  by  His  commission  to  preach  the  Gospel 
to  all-  by  His  inviting  all,  without  distinction,  who  laboured  and 
were  heavy  laden,  to  come  to  Him,  as  the  Saviour  sent  from  God, 
for  rest  •  by  His  receiving  the  woman  of  Samaria  and  her  of  Canaan 
as  graciously  as  any  others;  by  His  making  Himself  the  frieucl  of 
publicans  and  sinners;  by  the  tone  of  such  parables  as  that  of  Dives 
and  Lazarus;  by  His  equal  sjnupathy  with  the  slave,  the  beggar,  and 
the  rule--  by  the  whole  bearing  and  spirit  of  His  life;  and,  above  alj. 


6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

by  His  picture  of  all  nations  gathered  to  judgment  at  the  Great  Day, 
with  no  distinction  of  race  or  rank,  but  simply  as  men. 

In  this  great  principle  of  the  essential  equality  of  man,  and  his 
responsibility  to  God,  the  germs  lay  hid  cf  grand  truths  imperfectly 
realized  even  yet. 

Thus,  it  is  to  this  we  owe  the  conception  o'f  the  rights  of  individual 
conscience  as  opposed  to  any  outward  authority.  There  was  no 
dream  of  such  a  thing  before  Christ  came.  The  play  of  individuality, 
which  alone  secures  and  exemplifies  those  rights,  was  unknown  oi 
restricted.  Among  the  Greeks,  the  will  of  the  State  was  enforced  on 
the  individual.  Morality  and  goodness  were  limited  to  what  wad 
voted  by  the  majority  as  expedient  for  the  well-being  of  the  com- 
munity at  large.  When  a  man  had  paid  the  gods  the  traditional 
sacrifices  and  ceremonies,  he  had  little  more  to  do  with  them.  Not 
only  could  he  not  act  for  himself  freely  iji  social  or  private  affairs ; 
his  conscience  had  no  liberty.  The  State  was  everything,  the 
man  nothing.  Rome  knew  as  little  of  responsibility  to  higher  laws 
than  its  own,  and  had  very  limited  ideas  even  of  personal  freedom. 
Christ's  words,  "One  is  your  'Teacher,'  and  all  ye  are  brethren;" 
"One  is  your  'Father,'  even  the  Heavenly;"  "One  is  your  'Guide,' 
even  the  Christ,"  were  the  inauguration  of  a  social  and  moral  revo- 
lution. 

The  SLAVE,  before  Christ  came,  was  a  piece  of  property  of  less 
worth  than  land  or  cattle.  An  old  Roman  law  enacted  a  penaltj'  of 
death  for  him  who  killed  a  ploughing  ox ;  but  the  murderer  of  a  slave 
was  called  to  no  account  whatever.  Crassus,  after  the  revolt  of  Spar- 
tacus,  crucified  10,000  slaves  at  one  time.  Augustus,  in  violation  of 
his  word,  delivered  to  their  masters,  for  execution,  30,000  slaves,  who 
had  fought  for  Sextus  Pompeius.  Trajan,  the  best  of  the  Rcrmans  of 
his  day,  made  10,000  slaves  fight  at  one  time  in  the  amphitheatre,  for 
the  amusement  of  the  people,  and  prolonged  the  massacre  123  days. 

The  great  truth  of  man's  universal  brotherhood  was  the  axe  laid  at 
the  root  of  this  detestable  crime — the  sum  of  all  villanies.  By  first 
infusing  kindness  into  the  lot  of  the  slave,  then  by  slowly  undermin- 
ing slavery  itself,  each  century  has  seen  some  advance,  till  at  last  the 
man-owner  is  unknown  in  nearly  every  civilized  country,  and  even 
Africa  itself,  the  worst  victim  of  slavery  in  these  later  ages,  is  being 
aided  by  Christian  England  to  raise  its  slaves  into  freemen. 

Aggressive  war  is  no  less  distinctly  denounced  by  Christianity, 
which,  in  teaching  the  brotherhood  of  "man,  proclaims  war  a  revolt, 
abhorrent  to  nature,  of  brothers  against  brothers..  The  voice  of 
Cliiist,  commanding  peace  on  earth,  has  echoed  through  all  the  cen- 
turies since  His  day,  and  has  been  at  least  so  far  honoured  that  the 
horrors  of  war  are  greatly  lessened,  and  that  war  itself — no  longer  the 
rule,  but  the  exception — is  much  rarer  in  Christian  nations  than  ia 
former  times. 

The  POOR,  in  antiquity,  were  in  almost  as  bad  a  plight  as  the  dava 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  • 

•  How  can  you  possibly  let  yourself  down  so  low  as  not  to  repel  a 
p>or  man  from  vou  with  scorn?"  is  the  question  of  a  rhetorician 
oi  the  imperial  times  of  Rome,  to  a  rich  man.  No  one  of  the  thou- 
sands of  rich  men  living  in  Rome  ever  conceived  the  notion  of  found- 
ing an  asvlum  for  the  poor,  or  a  hospital  for  the  sick.  There  were 
herds  of  "beggars.  Seneca  often  mentions  them,  and  observes  that 
most  men  tliiio;  an  alms  to  a  beggar  with  repugnance,  and  carefully 
avoid  all  contact  with  him.  Among  the  Jews,  the  poor  were  thought 
to  be  justly  bearing  the  penalty  of  some  sin  of  their  own,  or  of  their 
fathers.  But  we  know  the  sayings  of  Christ—"  It  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive:"  "I  was  an  hungered,  and  ye  gave  me  meat;  I 
was  thirsty,  and  ye  gave  me  drink ;  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  took  me 
in;  naked,  and  ye  ctothed  me;  I  was  sick,  and  ye  visited  me;  I  was 
in  prison,  and  ye  came  unto  me :"  "Give  to  the  poor."  The  abject 
and  forlorn  received  a  charter  of  human  rights  when  He  proclaimed 
that  all  men  are  brethren:  .sprung  from  the  same  human  stock;  sons 
of  the  same  Almighty  Father;  one  family  in  Himself,  the  Head  of 
regenerated  humanity. 

The  condition  of  woman  in  antiquity  was  little  better  than  that  of 
the  slave.  She  was  the  property  of  her  husband,  if  married;  if  un- 
married, she  was  ihe  plaything  or  slave  of  man,  never  his  equal.  The 
morality  of  married  life,  which  is  the  strength  and  glory  of  any  peo- 
ple, was  hardly  known.  Pompey  and  Germanicus  were  singular  in 
the  lidelity  that  marked  their  marriage-relations,  on  both  sides,  and 
were  famous  through  the  singularity.  The  utter  impurity  of  the  men 
reacted  in  a  similaf  self -degradation  of  the  other  sex.  In  Rome,  mar- 
riages became,  as  a  rule,  mere  temporary  connections.  In  order  to 
escape  the  puuLshments  inflicted  on  adultery,  in  the  time  of  Tiberius, 
married  women,  including  even  women  of  illustrious  families,  en- 
rolled themselves  on  the  official  lists  of  public  prostitutes.  St.  Paul 
only  spoke  the  language  which  every  one  who  knows  the  state  of 
morals  of  those  davs  must  use,  when  he  wrote  the  well-known  verses 
in  the  opening  of  his  Epistle  to  the  Romans.  The  barbarians  of  the 
German  forests  alone,  of  the  heathen  world,  retained  a  worthy  seu.se 
of  the  true  dignity  of  woman.  "No  one  there  laughs  at  vice,"  says 
Tacitus,  "nor" is  to  seduce  and  to  be  seduced  called  the  fashion." 
"  Happy  indeed,"  continues  the  Roman,  thinking  of  the  state  of  things 
around  "him,  "those  states  in  which  only  virgins  marry,  and  where 
the  vow  and  heart  of  the  bride  go  together!"  "  Infidelity  is  very  rare 
among  them."  The  traditions  of  a  purer  time  still  lingered  beyond 
the  Alps;  the  afterglow  of  light  that  had  set  efsewhere. 

These  traditions,  thus  honoured  in  the  forests  of  Germany,  were 
formulated  into  a  supreme  law  for  all  ages  and  countries  by  Jesus 
Christ.  Except  for  one  crime,  .husband  and  wife,  joined  by  God  in 
marriage,  were  not  to  l)e  put  asunder.  Woman  was  no  longer  to  be 
the  toy  and  inferior  of  man.  Polygamy,  the  fruitful  source  of  social 
corruption,  was  forbidden.     Man  and  woman  were  to  meet  on  equal 


10  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

terms  in  lifelong  union :  each  honouring  the  other,  and  both  training 
their  children  amidst  the  sanctities  of  a  pure  family  life. 

The  enforcement  of  these  and  kindred  teachings,  destined  to  re- 
generate humanity,  required  lofty  sanctions.  That  these  are  not 
■wanting,  in  the  amplest  fulness,  we  have  in  part  seen  already,  and 
Shall  see  more  and  more  as  we  advance.  Meanwhile,  enough  has 
been  said  to  show  why,  even  apart  from  the  mysterious  dignity  of 
His  divine  nature,  God  manifest  in  the  flesh,  and  even  independently 
of  His  being  the  Lamb  of  God,  who  takes  away  the  sins  of  the  world, 
Christ's  life  and  sayings,  alike  unique  among  men,  deserve  the  rev- 
erent study  of  all. 

"From  first  to  last,"  said  the  great  Napoleon,  on  one  occasion, 
"  Jesus  is  the  same;  always  the  same — majestic  and  simple,  infinitely 
severe  and  infinitely  gentle.  Throughout  a  life  passed  under  the 
public  eye.  He  never  gives  occasion  to  find  fault.  The  prudence  of 
His  conduct  compels  our  admiration  by  its  union  of  force  and  gentle- 
ness. Alike  in  speech  and  action,  He  is  enlightened,  consistent,  and 
calm.  Sublimity  is  said  to  be  an  attribute  of  divinity :  what  name, 
then,  shall  we  give  Him  in  whose  character  were  united  every  ele- 
ment of  the  sublime? 

' '  I  know  men ;  and  I  tell  you  that  Jesus  is  not  a  man.  Every- 
thing in  Him  amazes  me.  His  spirit  outreaches  mine,  and  His  will 
confounds  me.  Comparison  is  impossible  between  Him  and  any 
other  being  in  the  world.  He  is  truly  a  being  by  Himself.  His  ideas 
and  His  sentiments;  the  truth  that  He  announces:  His  manner  of 
convincing;   are  all  beyond  humanity  and  the  natural  order  of  things. 

"His  birth,  and  the  story  of  His  life;  the  profoundness  of  His 
doctrine,  which  overturns  all  difficulties,  and  is  their  most  complete 
solution;  His  Gospel;  the  singularity  of  His  mysterious  being;  His 
appearance;  His  empire;  His  progress  through  all  centuries  and 
kingdoms; — all  this  is  to  me  a  prodigy,  an  unfathomable  mystery. 

■"  I  see  nothing  here  of  man.  Near  as  I  may  approach,  closely  as  I 
■may  examine,  all  remains  above  my  comprehension — great  with  a 
greatness  that  crushes  me.  It  is  in  vain  that  I  reflect — all  remaina 
unaccountable ! 

"I  defy  you  to  cite  another  life  like  that  of  Christ," 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     HOLY     LAND. 

The  contrast  between  the  influences  which  have  most  affected  the 
TTorld,  and  the  centres  from  which  they  have  sprung,  is  very  strilcing. 
Greece,  the  mother  of  pliilosophy  and  art,  for  all  time,  is  not  quite 
half  the  size  of  Scotland;  Rome,  tlie  mighty  mistress  of  the  world, 
was  only  a  city  of  Italy;  Palestine,  the  birthplace  of  our  Lord,  and 
the  cradle  of  revelation,  is  about  tlie  size  of  Wales.  From  Dan,  on 
the  north,  to  Becrsheba,  on  the  south,  is  a  distance  of  only  139  miles, 
and  the  paltry  breadth  of  twenty  miles,  from  the  coast  to  the  Jordan ; 
on  the  north,  increases  slowly  to  onlj^  forty  between  the  shore  of  tlie 
Mediterranean,  at  Gaza,  and  the  Dead  Sea,  on  the  south. 

When  it  is  remembered  that  America  was  imknown  till  within  the 
last  four  centuries,  the  position  of  Palestine  on  the  map  of  the  ancient 
world  was  very  remarkable.  It  .seemed  the  very  centre  of  the  earth, 
and  went  far  to  excuse  the  long-prevailing  belief  that  Jerusalem  was 
the  precise  central  point.  On  the  extreme  western  limit  of  Asia,  it 
looked  eastward,  towards  the  great  empires  and  religions  of  that 
mighty  continent,  and  westward,  over  the  Mediterranean,  to  the 
promise  of  European  civilization.  It  was  the  connecting  link  be- 
tween Europe  and  Africa,  Avhich  could  then  boast  of  Egypt  a.s  one  of 
the  great  centres  of  human  thought  and  culture;  and  it  had  the  date- 
less past  of  the  East  for  its  background. 

Yet  its  position  towards  other  lands  was  not  less  striking  than  its 
real  or  apparent  isolation.  Separated  from  Asia  by  the  broad  and  im- 
passable deseft,  it  was  saved  from  becoming  a  purely  Eastern  coun- 
try, either  in  religion,  or  in  the  political  decay  and  retrogression 
which  have,  sooner  or  later,  marked  all  Eastern  States.  Shut  in, 
by  a  strip  of  desert,  from  Egypt,  it  was  kept,  in  great  part,  from  the 
contagion  of  the  gross  morality  and  gi'osser  idolatry  of  that  land; 
and  its  western  coasts  were  washed  by  the  "Great  Sea,"  which,  for 
ages,  was  as  much  a  mystery  to  the  Jew,  as  the  Atlantic  to  our  an- 
cestors, before  the  era  of  Columbus.  There  coidd  have  been  no  land 
in  which  the  purpose  of  God  to  "separate"  a  nation  "from  among 
all  the  people  of  the  earth,"  to  be  the  depositary  of  divine  truth,  and 
the  future  missionaries  of  the  world,  could  have  been  so  perfectly 
carried  out.  Nor  did  its  special  titness  as  a  centre  of  heavenly  light 
amongst  mankind  pass  away  till  the  whole  scheme  of  revelation  had 
been  completed ;  for  by  the  time  of  Christ's  death  the  Mediterranean 
had  become  the  highway  of  the  nations,  and  facilitated  the  diffusion 
of  the  Gospel  to  the  cities  and  nations  of  the  populous  West,  by  the 
easy  path  of  its  wide  waters.     The  long  seclusion  of  ages  had  already 


12  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  ] 

trained  the  Jew  in  religious  knowledge,  when  forced  or  voluntary 
dispersion  sent  him  abroad  to  all  lands,  with  his  lofty  creed :  the 
passing  away  of  that  seclusion  opened  the  world  to  the  ready  dissem- 
ination of  the  message  of  the  Cross. 

It  is  an  additional  peculiarity  of  the  Holy  Land,  in  relation  to  the 
history  of  religion,  that  its  physical  features,  and  its  position,  together, 
brought  it,  from  tlie  earliest  ages,  in  contact  witli  the  widest  range  of 
peoples  and  empires.  Egypt  and  it  are  two  oases  in  wide-spreading 
deserts,  and  as  such  attracted  race  after  race.  Vast  migrations  of 
northern  tribes  towards  the  richer  southern  countries  have  marlced 
all  ages;  and  Egypt,  as  the  type  of  fertility,  was  a  special  land  of 
Avonder,  to  which  these  wandering  populations  ever  turned  greedy 
eyes.  In  a  less  degree,  the  Holy  Land  shared  this  dangerous  admira- 
tion. It  was  the  next  link  to  Egypt  in  the^  chain  of  attractive  con- 
quests— Egypt  itself  being  the  last.  As  in  later  times  the  Assyrian, 
the  Chaldean,  the  Persian,  the  Greek,  the  Roman,  and  the  Turk  suc- 
cessively coveted  tlie  valley  of  the  Nile,  and  took  possession  of  it,  so 
in  tlie  very  earliest  ages,  as  many  indications  prove,  wave  after  wave 
of  immigration  had  overflowed  it.  In  all  these  inroads  of  new 
nationalities,  the  Holy  Land,  as  the  higliway  to  Egypt,  necessarily 
shared,  and  hence,  as  centuries  passed,  race  after  race  was  brouglit  in 
contact  witli  the  Jew,  in  spite  of  his  isolation,  and  the  Jew  into  con- 
tact with  them.  Sucli  a  fact  was  of  great  significance  in  the  religious 
education  of  the  world.  It  leavened  widely  distant  nations,  more  or 
less,  with  tlie  grand  religious  truths  which  had  been  committed  to 
the  keeping  of  the  Jew  alone ;  it  led  or  forced  him  abroad  to  distant 
regions,  to  learn,  as  well  as  to  communicate ;  and  it  reacted  to  en- 
sure the  intense  religious  conservatism  to  which  tlie  Jew,  even  to-day, 
owes  his  continued  national  existence.  That  was  a  titting  scene, 
moreover,  for  the  advent  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  in  which, 
small  thougli  its  bounds.  He  was  surrounded  not  by  the  Jew  alone, 
but  by  a  population  representing  a  wide  proportion  of  the  tribes  and 
nations  of  the  then-known  earth.  The  inscription  on  the  cross,  in 
Greek,  Latin,  and  Hebrew,  was  the  symbol  of  the  relation  of  Christ's 
life,  and  of  His  death,  to  all  humanity. 

But  perhaps  tlie  most  striking  peculiarity  of  Palestine  as  the  spot 
chosen  by  God  for  His  revelations  of  religious  truth  to  our  race,  and 
for  the  incarnation  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  is  tliat  it  presents 
witliin  its  narrow  bounds  the  characteristics  of  climate  and  produc- 
tions scattered  elsewhere  over  all  the  habitable  zones— from  the 
snowy  north  to  the  tropics.  The  literature  of  a  country  necessarily 
takes  the  colour  of  its  local  scenery  and  external  nature,  and  hence  a 
book  written  in  almost  any  land  is  unfitted  for  other  countries  in 
Avhich  life  and  nature  are  ditferent.  Thus  the  Koran,  written  in 
Arabia,  is  essentially  an  Eastern  book,  in  great  measure  unintelligible 
and  uninteresting  to  nations  living  in  countries  in  any  great  degree 
c!ilferent,   in  climate  and  modes  of  life,  from  Arabia  itself.      The 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  1^ 

'intenclecf  in  can-v  the  Truth  to  all  nations,  it  was  essential  that  the 
T?ibfshouklm4  this  cosmopolitan  attractiveness,  let  it  could  not 
hive  had  bt  that  such  a  country  as  Palestine  was  chosen  to  pro- 
dnce  t  \V  in  the  narrow  limits  of  that  strip  of  coast,  as  we  might 
Sfi  are  Sred  the  features  of  countries  the  most  widely  apart^ 
The  Dcaks  of  Lebanon  are  never  without  patches  of  snow  even  in 
Siheat  of  summer  Snow  falls  nearly  every  winter  a  ong  he  sum- 
Sits  S  the  Jenxl  ridge  of  Palestine,  and  over  the  tableland  east  of 
Se  Jord'n  tliough  it  seldom  lies  more  than  one  or  tvyo  days.  On 
the  othe  han  fethe  valley  of  the  Jordan,  summer  brings  the  heat 
of  the  tropic"  and  the  different  seasons,  in  different  parts,  according 
?o  he  Son  exhibit  a  regular  gradation  between  these  extremes. 
Thus  StCthe  extent  of  a^single' landscape,  tlu.e  is  e^;ery  chma 
frnm  the  cold  of  northcm  Europe  to  the  heat  of  India.      1  he  oak,  i  le 

mmmMmm 
wmmmmmm 

^"4rStt:;rlrLu;tm  countnes.is  no  l«s  a.  hon,e  for 
from  Vim  IV.,-  part  lie  come.  Iic  it  «>nny  Spain  w.^^^  "'' !'<''"' .^e 
will  reco"uiie  well-kuowu  forms  in  one  or  other  of  such  a  list  a>  11  e 
L  Ob  ?ho  otoandcr  and  ^villow.  ddrting  tlie  streams  and  ii^ater- 
cSsk  theljxamore.  tlie  %,  the  olive,  the  date-palm  .1- PrKle  » 
Tnrir,  the  uistachio  the  tamarisk,  the  acacia,  and  the  tall  tropical 
IriSs  and^reS  or  in  such  fruits  as  the  date,  the  pomegranate,  the 
S  the  orange;  the  shaddock,  the  lime,  the  banana,  the  almond, 
aid  tLe  pr?ekiy  pear.     The  sight  of  field,  of  cotton,  millet,  no*. 


■14  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

BUgar-canc,  maize,  or  even  of  Indian  indigo,  and  of  patches  of  melons, 
gourds,  ]  ur.ipliius,  tobacco,  yam,  sweet  potato,  and  otlier  southern 
«r  tropical  lield  or  garden  crops,  will  carry  him  back  in  thought  to 
his  home. 

There  can  be  no  more  vivid  illustration  of  the  climate  of  any  land 
than  the  vegetation  it  yields,  and  Palestine,  tried  by  this  test,  repro- 
duces climates  and  zones  which,  in  other  countries,  are  separated  by 
many  hundred  miles. 

A  book  written  in  such  a  land  must  necessarily  be  a  reflection,  in 
its  imagery  and  modes  of  thought,  so  far  as  they  are  affected  by  ex- 
ternal nature,  of  much  that  is  common  to  men  all  over  the  earth. 
The  Scriptures  of  the  two  Testaments  have  had  this  priceless  lielu 
in  their  great  mission,  from  Palestine  having  been  chosen  by  God  as 
the  land  in  which  they  were  written.  The  words  of  prophets  and 
apostles,  and  of  the  great  Master  Himself,  sound  familiar  to  all  man- 
kind, because  spoken  amidst  natm-al  images  and  experiences  com- 
mon to  all  the  world. 

Though  essentially  a  mountainous  country,  Palestine  has  many 
broad  and  fertile  plains.  It  is  a  liighland  district,  intersected 
throughout,  and  bordered  on  the  western  side,  by  rich,  wide-spread- 
ing lowlands. 

The  plain  on  the  western  side  extends  from  above  Acre,  with  an 
interruption  by  Mount  Carmel,  along  the  whole  coast,  under  the  re- 
spective names  of  the  plain  of  Acre,  the  plain  of  Sharon,  and  the 
Shefelah,  or  low  country,  the  land  of  the  Philistines  in  early  ages. 
From  this  border  plain  the  country  rises,  throughout,  into  a  table- 
land of  an  average  height  of  from  1,500  to  1,800  feet  above  the 
Jlediterranean ;  the  general  level  being  so  even,  and  the  hills  so  close 
together,  that  the  whole  length  of  the  country,  seen  from  the  coast, 
looks  like  a  wall  rising  from  the  fertile  plain  at  its  foot.  Yet  the 
general  monotony  is  broken,  here  and  there,  by  higher  elevations. 
Thus,  to  begin  from  the  south,  Hebron  is  3,029  feet  above  the  sea; 
Jerusalem  2;610;  the  IMount  of  Olives  3,724;  Bethel  2,400;  Ebal  and 
Gerizim  2,700;  Little  Hermon  and  Tabor,  on  the  north  side  of  the 
plain  of  Esdraelon  1,900;    Safed  2,775;   and  JebelJernijik  4,000. 

This  long  sea  of  hills  is  full  of  valleys  running  east  and  west,  which 
form  so  many  arms  of  torrent  beds,  opening  into  the  Jordan  valley  or 
the  Mediterranean.  These  valleys,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  watei'- 
shed,  towards  Jordan,  are  extremely  steep  and  rugged;  as,  for  in- 
stance, the  precipitous  descent  between  Mount  Olivet  and  Jei'icho, 
which  sinks  over  4,000  feet  in  a  distance  of  about  fifteen  miles.  The 
great  depression  of  the  Jordan  valley  makes  such  rugged  and  diffi- 
cult mountain  gorges  the  only  passes  to  the  upper  coimtry  from  tha 
east.  There  is  not  a  spot,  till  the  plain  of  Esdraelon  joins  the  valley 
of  the  Jordan,  open  enough  to  mauanivre  more  than  a  small  body  of 
foot  Boldiers.  The  western  valleys  slope  more  gently,  but,  like  the 
©astern,  are  the  only  means  of  communication  with  the  plains,  and 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.         •  15 

offer  such  difficulties  as  explain  the  security  of  Israel  in  ancient  times, 
entrenched  among  hills  which,  at  the  best,  could  be  reached  only  by 
rough  mountain  passes.  The  Jew  lived,  in  fact,  in  a  strong  moun- 
tain fastness  stretching  like  a  long  wall  behind  the  plain  beneath. 

The'appearance  and  fertility  of  this  highland  region,  which,  alone, 
was  at  any  time  the  Holy  Land  of  the  Jews,  varies  in  different  parts. 
The  southern  district,  below  Hebron,  is  a  gradual  transition  from  the 
desert,  from  which  it  is  approached  in  slow  ascent.  It  was  known 
in  Bible  times  as  the  Negeb,  or  south  country,  and  is  an  uninviting  i 
tract  of  barren  uplands.  As  we  pass  north  into  the  hills  of  Judah 
and  Benjamin  there  is  somewhat  more  fertility,  but  the  landscape 
is  monotonous,  bare,  and  uninviting  in  the  extreme,  for  most  of  the 
year.  In  spring,  even  the  bald  grey  rocks  which  make  up  the  view 
are  covered  with  verdure  and  bright  flowers,  and  the  ravines  are  filled 
■with  torrents  of  rushing  water,  but  in  svunmer  and  autumn  the  look 
of  the  country  from  Hebron  up  to  Bethel  is  very  dreary  and  desolate. 
The  flowers  vanish  with  the  first  fierce  rays  of  the  summer  sun :  they 
are  "  to-day  in  the  field,  to-morrow  cast  into  the  oven."  The  little 
upland  plains,  which,  with  their  green  grass,  and  green  corn,  and 
smooth  surface,  relieve  the  monotony  of  the  mountain-tops  farther 
north,  are  not  found  in  Judea,  and  are  rare  in  Benjamin.  The  soil, 
alike  on  plain,  hill,  and  glen,  is  poor  and  scanty.  Natural  w^ood  dis- 
appears, and  a  few  small  bushes,  brambles,  or  aromatic  shrubs,  alone 
appear  on  the  hill-sides.  "  Rounded  hills,  chiefly  of  a  grey  colour," 
says  Dean  Stanley— "  grey  partly  from  the  limestone  of  which  tliey 
are  formed,  partly  from  the  tufts  of  gi-ey  shrub  with  which  their  sides 
are  thinly  clothed — their  sides  formed  into  concentric  rings  of  rock, 
which  must  have  served  in  ancient  times  as  supportsto  the  ter- 
races, of  which  there  are  still  traces  to  the  very  summits;  valleys,  or 
rather  the  meetings  of  those  grey  slopes  with  the  beds  of  dry  water- 
courses at  their  feet — long  sheets  of  bare  rock  laid  like  flagstones, 
side  by  side,  along  the  soil — these  are  the  chief  features  of  the  greater 
part  of  the  scenery  of  the  historical  parts  of  Palestine.  These 
rounded  hills,  occasionally  stretching  into  long  undulating  ranges, 
are  for  the  most  part  bare  of  wood.  "Forest  and  large  timber  are  not 
known."  Fountains  are  rare  in  this  district;  and  wells,  covered 
cisterns,  and  tanks  cut  out  in  the  soft  white  limestone,  take  their 
place. 

Such  are  the  central  and  northern  highlands  of  Judea.  In  the 
■west  and  north-western  parts,  which  Ihe  sea-breezes  reach,  the 
vegetation  is  more  abundant.  Olives  abound,  and  give  the  country 
in  some  places  almost  a  wooded  appearance.  The  terebinth,  with  its 
dark  foilage,  is  frequent,  and  near  the  site  of  Kirjath-jcarim,  "the 
city  of  forests,"  there  are  some  thickets  of  pine  and  laurel. 

But  the  eastern  part  of  these  hills — a  tract  nine  or  ten  miles  in 
■width  by  about  thirty-five  in  length — between  the  centre  and  the 
steep  decent  to  the  Dead  Sea — is,  and  must  always  have  been,  iu 


16  •  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  truest  sense  a  desert.  Van  de  Velde  well  describes  it  as  a  bare 
arid  wilderness:  an  endless  succession  of  shapeless  yellow  and  ash- 
coloured  hills,  without  grass  or  shrubs,  without  water,  and  almost 
without  life.  Another  traveller  speaks  of  it  as  a  wilderness  of  moun- 
tain-tops, in  some  places  tossed  up  like  waves  of  mud,  in  others 
wrinkled  over  with  ravines,  like  models  made  of  crumpled  brown 
paper,  the  nearer  ones  whitish,  strewn  with  rocks  and  bushes.  Such 
is  the  desert  or  wilderness  of  Judea,  the  scene  of  the  earlier  retire- 
ment of  John  the  Baptist,  and  the  po^oularly  supposed  scene  of  the 
Temptation  of  our  Lord. 

Though  thus  barren  and  tminviting  as  a  whole,  in  our  day,  the 
universal  presence  of  ruins  proves  that  Judah  and  Benjamin  had  a 
teeming  population  in  former  ages.  Terrace  cultivation  utilized  the 
whole  surface,  where  there  was  the  least  soil ;  and  in  such  a  climate, 
with  an  artificial  supply  of  water,  luxuriant  fertility  might  be 
secured  everywhere  except  on  the  bare  rock.  The  destruction  of 
these  terraces  has  doubtless  allowed  much  soil  to  be  washed  into  the 
valleys,  and  lost,  and  the  destruction  of  the  natural  forests  of  which 
there  are  still  traces  must  have  greatly  diminished  the  supply  of  water. 
Even  in  the  now  utterly  barren  districts  of  "  the  south"  abundant 
proofs  have  been  discovered  that  cultivation  was  anciently  extensive. 
The  fact  that  there  are  no  pereijnial  streams  in  the  western  wadys, 
while  there  are  many  in  those  trending  to  the  Jordan  on  both  sides, 
where  the  forests  or  thick  .shrubberies  of  oleanders  and  other  flower- 
ing trees  still  flourish,  speaks  volumes  as  to  the  cause  of  the  present 
sterility. 

Passing  northward  from  Judea,  the  country  gradually  opens  and 
is  more  inviting.  Rich  plains,  at  first  small,  but  becoming  larger  as 
we  get  north,  stretch  out  between  the  hills,  till  at  last,  near  Nablous, 
Tve  reach  one  a  mile  broad  and  six  miles  long.  The  valleys  running 
west  are  long,  winding,  and  mostly  tillable :  those  on  the  east  are  less 
deep  and  abrupt  than  farther  south,  and,  being  abundantly  watered 
by  numerous  fountains,  are  rich  in  orange  groves  and  orchards. 
Nablous  itself  is  surrounded  by  immense  groves  of  olive-trees, 
planted  on  all  the  hills  around.  Nowhere  in  Palestine  are  there 
nobler  brooks  of  water.  The  rich  uplands  produce  abundant  crops 
of  grain  when  cultivated;  yet  it  is,  on  the  whole,  a  region  specially 
adapted  for  olives,  vineyards,  and  orchards.  The  mountains,  though 
bare  of  Avood,  and  but  partially  cultivated,  have  none  of  that  arid, 
worn  look  of  those  of  .some  parts  farther  south. 

North-west  of  the  city  of  Nablous  the  mountains  gradually  sink 
down  into  a  wide  plain,  famovis  as  that  of  Sharon,  mostly  an  expanse 
of  sloping  downs,  but  dotted  here  and  there  with  huge  fields  of  corn 
and  tracts  of  wood,  recalling  the  county  of  Kent,  and  reaching  to 
the  southern  slopes  of  Carmel,  with  their  rich  woods  and  park-like 
scenery. 

Paseing  still  northward,  from  Samaria  to  Galilee,  another  wide 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  17 

plain  of  great  fertility — that  of  Esdraelon — stretches  out  from 
the  northern  side  of  the  luxuriant  Carmel.  Jt  might,  under  a  good 
government,  yield  vast  crops,  but  the  inliabitauts  are  few  and  poor, 
and  tillage  is  imperfect.  The  country  now  rapidly  improves. 
Vegetation  is  much  more  luxuriant  among  the  hills  of  Galilee  than 
elsewhere  west  of  the  Jordan.  Fountains  are  abimdaut  and  copious, 
and  many  of  the  torrent  beds  are  never  dry.  The  hills  become  more 
and  more  richly  wooded  with  oaks  and  terebinths,  while  ravines 
occur  here  and  there  thicldy  clothed,  in  addition,  with  tlie  maple, 
arbuti»j,  sumach,  and  other  trees.  The  hills  of  Judea  are  barren ; 
those  of  Samaria  have  been  well  compared  to  the  hilly  districts  of  the 
south  of  Scotland;  but  those  of  Galilee  are  more  like  the  rich  hills 
of  SuiTey.  Yet  the  whole  region  is  thinly  peopled.  This  highland 
paradise  has  far  fewer  inhabitants  than  even  the  bleak  mountains  of 
Judea,  where  "  for  miles  and  miles,  there  is  often  no  appearance  of 
life,  except  the  occasional  goat-herd  on  the  hill-side,  or  the  gather- 
ing of  women  at  the  wells. " 

The  coast  of  the  Holy  Land,  as  has  been  said,  is  a  long  plain.  This, 
on  the  north,  is  a  mere  strip,  till  near  Acre,  but  it  spreads  out  from 
that  point  into  a  flat,  rich,  loamy  plain,  at  first  only  a  few  feet  above 
the  sea  level.  Corn-fields  and  pasture-lands  reach  several  miles  in- 
land. South  of  Carmel  it  expands  into  the  plain  of  Sharon,  now  left 
bare  and  parched  in  many  parts;  its  ancient  forests  long  ago  de- 
stroyed, except  in  stray  spots,  and  cultivation  little  known.  As  we  go 
south,  the  soil  is  lighter  and  drier,  and  the  vegetation  scantier,  till 
"we  reach  the  Shephelah,  or  "  low  country"  of  the  Bible,  the  ancient 
Philistia,  which  begins  in  rolling  downs,  and  passes  into  wide-spread- 
ing corn-fields  and  vast  expanses  of  loamy  soil  to  the  far  south. 

The  eastern  boundary  of  Palestine  is  the  deep  chasm  in  which  the 
Jordan  has  its  channel.  The  name  of  that  river  indicates  its  course: 
it  means  "  the  descender."  Rising  in  the  mountains  of  Lebanon,  it 
flows  south,  through  the  marshy  Lake  Merom  and  the  Lake  of 
Galilee,  to  the  Dead  Sea,  in  a  course  of  about  150  miles.  From  the 
Lake  of  Galilee,  its  channel  is  a  deep  cleft  in  the  mountain  range, 
from  north  to  south,  and  so  broken  is  its  current  that  it  is  one  con- 
tinued rapid.  Its  bed  is  so  crooked  that  it  has  hardly  half  a  nilo 
straight ;  so  deep,  moreover,  is  it,  below^  the  surface  of  the  adjacent 
country,  that  it  can  only  be  approached  by  descending  one  of  the 
steep  mountain  valleys,  and  it  is  invisible  till  near  its  entrance  into 
the  Dead  Sea,  at  a  level  of  1,317  feet  below  that  of  the  Mediterranean. 
There  is  no  town  on  its  banks,  and  it  has  in  all  ages  been  crossed  at 
the  same  fords;  no  use  can  be  made  of  it  for  irrigation,  and  no  vessel 
can  sail  the  sea  into  whicli  it  pours  its  waters.  It  is  like  no  otiicr 
river. 


CHAPTER  III. 

PALESTINE  AT  THE  TIME  OF  CHRIST, 

At  the  birth  of  Christ  the  striking  spectacle  presented  itself,  in 
a  degree  unknown  before  or  since,  of  the  world  united  under  one 
sceptre.  From  the  Euphrates  to  the  Atlantic;  from  the  mouths  of 
the  Rhine  to  the  slopes  of  the  Atlas,  the  Roman  Emperor  was  the  sole 
lord.  The  Mediterranean  was,  in  the  truest  sense,  a  Roman  lake. 
From  the  pillars  of  Hercules  to  the  mouths  of  the  Nile,  on  its  southern 
shores ;  from  the  farthest  coasts  of  Spain  to  Syria,  on  its  northern ; 
and  thence  rouad  to  the  Nile  again,  the  multitudes  of  men  now 
divided  into  separate  nations,  often  hostile,  always  distinct,  reposed 
in  peace  under  the  shadow  of  the  Roman  eagles.  There  might  be 
war  on  the  far  ear^teru  frontier,  beyond  the  Euphrates,  or  with  the 
rude  tribes  in  the  German  forests  on  the  north,  but  the  vast  Roman 
world  enjoyed  the  peace  and  security  of  a  great  organic  whole.  The 
merchant  or  the  traveller  might  alike  pass  freely  from  land  to  land; 
trading  vessels  might  bear  their  ventures  to  any  port,  for  all  lands 
and  ail  coasts  were  under  the  same  laws,  and  all  mankind,  for  the 
time,  were  citizens  of  a  common  State. 

At  the  liead  of  this  stupendous  empire  a  single  man,  Octavianus 
Cffisar — now  better  known  by  his  imposing  title,  Augustus — ruled  as 
absolute  lord.  All  nations  bowed  before  him,  all  kingdoms  served 
him.  It  is  impossible  for  us,  in  the  altered  condition  of  things, 
to  realize  adequately  the  majesty  of  such  a  position.  Rome,  itself, 
the  capital  of  this  unique  empire,  was  itself  unique  in  those  ages. 
Its  population,  with  its  suburbs,  has  been  variously  estimated;  some 
writers,  as  Lepsius,  supposing  it  to  have  been  eight  millions,  others, 
like  De  Quincey,  setting  it  down  as  not  les*than  four  millions  at 
the  very  least,  and  not  impossibly  half  as  many  more.  On  the  other 
hand,  Merivale  gives  it  as  only  half-a-million,  while  others  make  it 
two  millions  and  a  half.  Gibbon  estimates  it  at  twelve  hundred 
thousand,  and  is  supported  in  his  supposition  by  Dean  Milman, 
The  truth  lies  probably  between  the  extremes.  But  the  unique 
grandeur  of  Rome  was  independent  of  any  question  as  to  its  size  or 
population ;  the  fact  that  arrested  all  miiids  was  rather  that  a  mere 
city  should  be  the  ^-esistless  mistress  of  the  liabitable  world. 

Round  the  othce  and  person  of  the  Caesar,  who  only,  of  all  rulers, 
before  or  since,  was  in  the  widest  sense  a  vionarch  of  the  whole  race 
of  men, — that  is,  one  ruling  alone,  over  all  nations, — there  necessarily 
gathered  peculiar  and  incommunicable  attributes  of  grandeur.  Like 
the  far-stretching  higliways  which  rayed  out  from  the  golden  mile- 
etone  in  the  Roman  Forum  to  the  utmost  frontiers,  the  illimitable 
majesty  of  the  Emperor  extended  to  all  landa.     On  the  ahadowy, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHKIST.  19 

resistless,  uncertain,  but  ever-advancing  frontiers  of  a  dominion  which 
embraced  almost  the  whole  habitable  world,  as  then  known,  the  com- 
mands issued  from  the  imperial  city  were  as  resistless  as  in  Italy. 
There  were,  doubtless,  some  unknown  or  despised  empires  or  tribes 
outside  the  vast  circumference  of  the  Roman  sway,  but  they  were 
regarded,  at  the  best,  as  Britain  looks  on  the  wandering  hordes  or 
barbarous  and  powerless  empires  beyond  the  limits  of  her  Indian  pos- 
sessions. Gibbon  luis  set  the  grandeur  of  Rome  in  a  vivid  light,  by 
describing  the  position  of  a  subject  who  should  attempt  to  flee  from 
tlie  wrath  of  a  Caesar.  "The  empire  of  the  Romans,"  says  he,  "filled 
the  world,  and  when  that  empire  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  single  per- 
son, the  world  became  a  safe  and  dreary  prison  for  his  enemies.  The 
slave  of  imperial  despotism,  whether  he  was  condemned  to  drag  his 
gilded  chain  in  Rome  and  the  Senate,  or  to  wear  out  a  life  of  exile  on 
the  barren  rock  of  Seriphus,  or  on  the  frozen  banks  of  the  Danube, 
expected  his  fate  in  silent  despair.  To  resist  was  fatal,  and  it  was 
impossible  to  fly.  On  every  side  he  was  encompassed  with  a  vast 
extent  of  sea  and  land,  which  he  could  never  hope  to  traverse  without 
being  discovered,  seized,  and  restored  to  his  irritated  master.  Beyond 
the  frontiers,  his  anxious  view  could  discover  nothing,  except  the 
ocean,  inhospitable  deserts,  hostile  tribes  of  barbarians,  of  fierce 
manners  and  unknown  language,  or  dependent  kings,  who  would 
gladly  purchase  the  emperor's  protection  by  the  sacrifice  of  an  ob- 
noxious fugitive.  'Wherever  you  are,'  said  Cicero  to  the  exiled 
Marcellus,  '  remember  that  you  are  equally  within  the  power  of  the 
conqueror.'" 

At  the  birth  of  Christ  this  amazing  federation  of  the  world  into  one 
great  monarchy,  had  been  finally  achieved.  Augustus,  at  Rome,  was 
the  sole  power  to  which  aU  nations  looked.  His  throne,  like  the 
"exceeding  high  mountain"  of  the  Temptation,  showed  "all  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  and  their  glory, "  spread  out  around  it  far  be- 
neath, as  the  earth  lies  in  the  light  of  the  sun.  No  prince,  no  king, 
or  potentate  of  any  name  could  break  the  calm  which  such  a  universal 
dominion  secured — "a  calm,"  to  use  De  Quincey's  figui-e,  "which, 
through  centuries,  continued  to  lave,  ss  with  the  quiet  undulations  of 
summer  lakes,  the  sacred  footsteps  of  the  Cesarean  throne." 

It  was  in  such  a  unique  era  that  Jesus  Christ  was  born.  The 
whole  earth  lay  hushed  in  profound  peace.  All  lands  lay  freely  open 
to  the  message  of  mercy  and  love  which  He  came  to  announce. 

Nor  was  the  social  and  morar  condition  of  the  world  at  large,  at 
the  birth  of  Christ,  less  fitting  for  His  advent  than  the  political.  The 
prize  of  universal  power,  struggled  for  through  sixty  years  of  plots  and 
desolating  civil  wars,  had  been  won  at  last,  by  Augustus.  Sulla  and 
Marius,  Pompey  and  Ctesar,  had  led  their  legions  against  each  other, 
alike  in  Italy  and  the  Provinces,  and  had  drenched  the  earth  with 
blood.  Augustus  himself  had  reached  the  throne  only  after  thirteen 
years  of  war,  which  involved  regions  wide  apart.     The  world  wa* 


20'  ^  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

exhausted  by  the  prolonged  agony  of  such  a  strife;  it  sighed  fot 
repose,  and  perhaps  never  felt  a  more  universal  joy  than  when  tho 
closing  of  the  Temple  of  Janus  in  the  twenty -ninth  year  before  Chris  t 
announced  that  at  last  the  earth  was  at  peace. 

The  religions  of  antiquity  had  lost  their  vitality,  and  become  effete 
forms,  without  influence  on  the  heart.  Philosophy  Avas  the  consola- 
tion of  a  few — the  amusement  or  fasliion  of  others;  but  of  no  weight 
as  a  moral  force  among  men  at  large.  On  its  best  side,  that  of  Stoic- 
ism, it  had  much  that  was  loftj',  but  its  highest  teaching  was  resigna- 
tion to  fate,  and  it  offered  only  the  hurtful  consolation  of  pride  in 
virtue,  without  an  idea  of  humiliation  for  vice.  On  its  worst  side — 
that  of  Epicureanism — it  e.xalted  self-indulgence  as  the  highest  end. 
Faith  in  the  great  truths  of  natural  religion  w'as  well-nigh  extinct. 
Sixtj'-three  j^ears  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  Julius  Caesar,  at  that  time 
the  Chief  Pontiff  of  Rome,  and,  as  such,  the  highest  functionary  of 
the  state  religion,  and  the  official  authority  in  religious  questions, 
openly  proclaimed,  in  his  speech  in  the  Senate,  in  reference  to  Cati 
line  and  his  fellow-conspirators — that  there  was  no  such  thing  as  a 
future  life;  no  immortality  of  the  .soul.  He  opposed  the  execution  of 
the  accused  on  the  ground  that  their  crimes  deserved  the  severest 
punishments,  and  that,  therefore,  they  should  be  kept  alive  to  endure 
them,  since  death  was  in  reality  an  escape  from  suffering,  not  an 
evil.  "Death,"  said  he,  "is  a  rest  from  troubles  to  those  in  grief 
and  misery,  not  a  punishment ;  it  ends  all  the  evils  of  life ;  for  there 
is  neither  care  nor  joy  beyond  it." 

Nor  was  there  any  one  to  condemn  such  a  sentiment  even  from 
such  lips.  Cato,  the  ideal  Roman,  a  man  whose  aim  it  was  to  "fultil 
all  righteousness,"  in  the  sense  in  which  lie  understood  it,  passed  it 
over  with  a  few  words  of  light  banter;  and  Cicero,  who  was  also 
present,  did  not  care  to  give  either  assent  or  dissent,  but  left  the  ques- 
tion open,  as  one  which  might  be  decided  either  way,  at  pleasure. 

]\Iorality  was  entirely  divorced  from  religion,  as  may  be  readily 
judged  by  the  fact,  that  the  most  licentious  rites  had  their  temples, 
and  male  and  female  ministrants.  In  Juvenal's  words,  "the  Syrian 
Orontes  had  flowed  into  the  Tiber,"  and  it  brought  with  it  the  appal- 
ling immorality  of  the  East.  Doubtless,  here  and  there,  throughout 
the  empire,  the  light  of  holy  traditions  still  burned  on  the  altars  of 
many  a  household;  but  it  availed  nothing  against  the  thick  moral 
night  that  had  settled  over  the  earth  at  large.  The  advent  of  Christ 
was  the  breaking  of  the  ' '  day  spring  ^rom  on  high"  through  a  glooiu 
that  had  been  gathering  for  ages;  a  great  light  dawning  on  a  world 
which  lay  in  darkness,  and  in  the  shadow  of  death. 

To  understand  the  condition  of  things  in  the  Holy  Land  in  the  life 
time  of  Jesus,  it  is  necessary  to  notice  the  history  of  the  reign  that 
was  closing  at  His  birth,  for  religious  and  political  affairs  acted  and 
reacted  on  the  spirit  of  the  nation  as  only  two  phases  of  the  same 
tiUiug. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  2t 

The  reig;n  of  Alexander  Jannaeus,  of  the  Maccabsean  or  Asmonean 
line,  had  been  marked  by  the  bitterest  persecutions  of  the  Pharisaic 
party  whose  insolence  and  arrogant  claims  had  caused  the  king  to 
throw  himself  into  the  hands  of  their  Sadducean  rivals.  After  his 
death  these  disputes  continued  under  Queen  Alexandra,  whofavoured 
the  Pharisees,  but  the  disquiet  culminated,  after  her  death,  in  the  far 
worse  evil  of  a  civil  war  between  her  two  sons,  the  elder,  HyrcanuP, 
a  weak  indolent  man ;  the  vounger,  Aristobulus,  on  the  other  hand, 
bold  and  encri^etic.  Hvrcanus  had  been  made  high  priest,  and  Aris- 
tobulus had  been  kept  from  all  power  during  Alexandra's  life— the 
Pharisaic  party  themselves  holding  the  reins  of  government;  but  she 
was  hardly  dead  before  Aristobulus  forced  his  brother  to  resign  the 
throne,  to"whi(-h  he  had  succeeded,  and  left  him  only  the  high  priest- 
hood. '  Hyrcanus  would,  apparently,  have  quietly  acquiesced  m  this 
cluvuge,  but  the  evil  genius  of  Aristobulus  and  of  the  nation  was 
preseit  in  the  person  of  an  intluential  Edomite,  Antipater,  who  had 
sailed  the  confidence  of  Hyrcanus.  StiiTcd  up  by  this  crafty  in- 
trio-aer  the  elder  brother  re-claimed  the  throne— Arab  allies  were 
called  in— Jerusalem  was  besieged,  and  both  the  brothers  appealed  to 
the  Romhn  generals  in  Syria  for  a  decision  between  them.  As  the 
result,  Pompey,  then  commanding  in  the  East,  appeared  on  the  scene, 
in  the'yea-3ii  B.C. ;  sot  possession  of  the  country  by  craft;  stormed 
the  Teinpie,  which  held  out  for  Aristobulus,  and  inaugurated  a  new 
era  in  Paks^u.e.  The  Pharisees  had  hoped  that  both  of  the  brothers 
would  be  put  aside,  and  the  theocracy,  which  meant  their  own  rule, 
restored;  but  Pompey,  v.iiilo  withholding  the  name  of  king,  set  up 
Hyrcanus  as  lii'.rh  priest  and  ruler,  under  the  title  of  ethnarch.  All 
the  conquests  oi'  the  Maccabsans  v.-ere  taken  from  him:  the  country 
was  re-distributcd  in  arbitrary  political  divisions;  the  defences  of 
Jerusalem  throvrn  down,  and  the  nation  subjected  to  tribute  to  Rome. 
This  itself  would  have  been  enough  to  kindle  a  deep  hatred  to  their 
new  masters,  but  the  seeds  of  a  still  more  profound  enmity  Avere 
sown,  even  at  this  first  step  in  Roman  occupation,  by  Pompey  and  his 
staff  insisting  on  entering  the  Holy  of  Holies,  and  thus  committing 
what  seemed  to  the  Jew  the  direst  profanation  of  his  religion. 

Antipater  had  allied  himself  from  the  first  r.-ith  Rome,  as  the 
strongest,  and  was  now  the  object  of  furious  hatred.  The  nation  had 
supposed  that  Pompev  came  as  a  friend,  to  heal  tlicir  dissensions,  but 
found  that  he  remained  as  their  master.  Their  independence  was 
lost,  and  Antipater  had  been  the  cause  of  its  ruin.  It  is  perhaps  of 
him  that  the  author  of  the  Psalms  of  Solomon  speaks  when  he  says, 
"Why  sittest  thou,  the  unclean  one,  in  the  Sanhedrim,  and  thy  heart 
is  far  "from  the  Lord,  and  thou  stirrest  up  with  thy  sins  the  God  of 
Israel?"  Treachery,  hypocrisy,  adultery,  and  murder  arc  charged 
against  him.  and  he' is  compare'd  to  a  biting  serpent.  Yet  the  guilt 
of  the  people,  it  is  owned,  had  brought  these  calamities  on  them. 
Tlirough  this,  the  raiu  had  battered  the  holy  walls,  the  Holy  of  Hohoa 


23  THE  LIFE  OF  CHPJ5T. 

had  been  profaned,  the  noble>t  of  the  Sanhedrim  slain.  Jind  their  sonc 
and  daughters  carried  off  captive  to  the  West,  to  grace  Pompev's 
triumph.  At  the  thought  of  this  the  Psalmist  is  still  more  cast  do"vrn, 
and  humbles  himself  in  the  dust  before  the  retributive  hand  of  Je- 
hovah, 

But  there  "was  no  peace  for  Israel.  War  lingered  on  the  southern 
border^  and  incc.  57  Alexander,  the  son  of  Aristobulus,  once  more 
overthrew  the  government  of  Hyrcanus  and  Antipater,  but  the  Ro- 
mans forthwith  c-ame  in  force,  and  crushed  the  revolt  by  another  con- 
quest of  Jeru^lem.  In  this  c-ampmgn  a  cavalry  colonel,  Mark 
Antony,  so  especially  distinguished  himself,  that  "the  keen-sighted 
Antipater,  seeing  he  had  a  great  future,  formed  friendly  relations 
"With  him,  which  led  to  the  weightiest  results  in  later  years. 

Hyrcanu-sand  his  favourite  were  now  again  in  power,  but  they  had 
a  troubled  life.  The  people  rose  again  and  again,  only  to  be  as  con- 
stantly crushed.  In  b.c.  56  Aristobulus,  who  had  "escaped  from 
Rome,  began  the  war  once  more,  and  the  next  year,  his  son  Alexan- 
der made  another  vain  revolt.  In  b.c.  52,  when  the  Parthians  had 
revenged  themselves  by  the  destruction  of  the  legions  of  Crassus — 
who,  in  time  of  peace,  had  plundered  the  Temple  to  fill  his  own 
treasures — the  Jews  rose  still  once  more,  but  C'assius.  who  had 
escaped  with  the  wreck  of  the  army  of  Crassus  from  the  Parthian 
horsemen,  soon  crushed  the  insurrection,  and  Antipater  emerged  as, 
at  last,  the  unfettered  lord  of  the  country. 

The  civil  war  which  broke  out,  in  the  year  49,  between  Pompey 
and  Caesar,  for  a  time  promised  a  change.  *  Judea,  like  all  the  East, 
adhered  to  Pompey,  and  Csesar  therefore  set  the  imprisoned  Aristo- 
bulus free,  and  gave  him  two  legions  to  clear  Ms  native  country  of 
the  adherents  of  his  rivaL  Antipater  and  Hyrcanus  already  trembled 
at  the  thought  of  a  popular  revolt,  supf»orted  by  Rome,  when  news 
came  that  Aristobulus  had  .suddenly  died — no  doubt  of  poison — and 
that  his  son  Alexander  had  been  beheaded,  in  Antioch,  by  Pompey's 
orders.  Antipiater  had  thus  managed  to  get  his  enemies  out  of  the 
■way.  When  Pompej''s  cause  was  finally  crushed,  next  year,  at 
Pharsalia,  Hyrcantis  and  Antipater,  like  the  princes  round  them, 
were  in  a  false  position.  Six  weeks  later,  Pompey  lay  murdered  on 
the  Eg}-ptian  sands.  3Ieanwhile,  Caesar,  who  had  landed  in  Egj-j^t, 
at  the  head  of  hardly  4,000  men,  to  settle  the  disputes  for  the  throne 
of  that  country,  was  attacked  by  the  native  soldiery  and  the  restless 
population  of  Alexandria,  and  reduced  to  the  most  desperate  straits. 
At  this  moment  a  motley  army  of  Eastern  vassals  came  to  liis  relief, 
anxious  to  efface  at  the  earliest  opportunity  the  remembrance  of 
their  relations  to  Pompey.  It  included  hordes  of  Arabs  from 
Damascus,  and  bands  of  Itureans  from  l^yond  Jordan,  but  its 
strength  lay  in  3,000  chosen  troops  brought  by  Antipater.  The 
strange  ho.st  was  nominally  commanded  by  3lithri elates  of  Pergamos, 
a  bastard  of  the  great  Mithridates,  but  Antipater  was  the  re^  head 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


He  induced  the  Be'lonia  leaders  on  the  opposite  side  to  "withdraw, 

r-:""  ~---"ided  the  Egyptian  .'"~-  '"      :-piy  Csesar  with  proTi^ons. 

r  fichtingr.  the  Rois  ri-iaiphed.  and  Cse^ar.  now 

_  ,  ^  of  Cleoparr^  then    _       ^  _       rntr  year?  oi  are,  remamed 

cvnqueror.  AIexan<iria  "was  heavily  p',iiii<h«^i;  tie  Egyptiaa  Jews 
ft  c-eived  exteosive  privileges-  hiii  the  affairs  of  Pilesiine  trere  left  to 
be  settled  when  Casar  came  back  froiu  Ponrus,  in  Asia  Minor,  to 
vrhich  he  had  been  sumnioneJ  to  rei>:I  an  invasion  from  Armenia. 

On  his  ix-rom  to  Syria,  in  tlie  c-  :'  '       ^    ~  47.  Antipster 

hastened  lo  m^^;  iiim .  :is  did  ais  •  _  ArisfolHilas. 

But  the  wounis  cf  A-"  -  "  -   *■  -  -  n-'T^m  de- 

stmciion.  weighed  '-  -g^cniis, 

who.  fetiing  this,  il  1  -  -  R^roe 

refused.  la  other  resi."cv-is.  i-ie  Jc"ivs  Wci"e  trciiicvi  in  Llx  iriendlieat 
way.  Tbo«<?  of  Lesser  Asi*  were  c--"n!irme4  in  the  privileje  of 
ur  '--    ■     '         i:taace  of  their  Ten    '  _  Jenisairaa. 

Ti---"  -    -     5  were  put  index  I  .  emple  laws, 

ana  ;_t_.    -t:.  -,-nre  "-    -:  lt"  -'    •  "-■rids  £<»• 

public  service  on  the  -  :     za  tbe 

sixth  hour.     In  Pai^-  .pries*; 

the  five  divisions  of  me  land  itreviouMV  midj  were  put  aside,  and 


the  whole  united  vmder  Antipater,  as  prc<cim:i': 
lae  towns  of  Syria  and  PaenicLa  were  put  o:^ 
ing  as  those  of  the  Holy  Land  itstif.     Xo  nx 
J-^-'iea.  ncr  any  "     -   -    -.—■--:_-_-- —  - 
til?  Roman  di. 
avT-us.  as  hir    ■ 
mace  heiv 
•rgal  d^ci^; 

granted   to   iv.nify  o.gviiii.  i..  . 

r'?waid.  was  made  a  - .  ~en.  wjih 

-  rty.  The  Idum-.v.. 
i;ite,  as  the  prr-cur 
cionh  independent  o; 


a9 


-^  '-—  '--     '  _.r    ._iiad 

^ace.     Htt- 

;f 

'on.  wjih  rom  taxes  on  his 

have  begizafn»a. 
'^ater  Huide  bLa 

■  -.„_-.  .i  ■.  ..I  -.  ^  -iicesskms  he  took 
c-\T^  to  have  forthwith  coairmed  at  Rome,  and  graven  on  j^aies  of 
irass. 

These  diplomatic   snccesses.  however,  :    »  make   Antipater 

T'^ '"•uiHr.     He   ?.^TiT?>e^"?  Ss"*tt>^-  ^^f  th^  t^v.  -  ■■^f  H'^"t?^t~_'-^   to 


h^^  met  aim  oa  toe  screei.  that  he  w 
the  Maecabseans,  and  would  in  thi 
Yet  Hyrcanus  couid  not  shake  hiu 
energy  to  do  so,  for  he  needed  the  i 

I.  of  c— -. 


even   said  that  Ihe 

son.  years  before,  as 

.r>  to  Iv?  the  scourvre  of 

f    P^Tid. 


U  THE  LIFE  OFCimiST. 

againct  his  OTvn  familj^  His  danghtcr  Alexandra  had  lost,  on  "hig 
nccovmt.  both  hnsbanfl  and  I'athcr-in-law,  by  foul  or  legal  murder. 
His  nephew,  Antigonns,  lived  in  a  foreign  land  as  a  claimant  of  the 
throrc,  iiis  grand-children  ^Yere  the  orphans  of  Alexander,  who  liad 
fal'en  "Jinder  the  axe  of  the  headsman.  The  house  of  the  Idumean, 
the  alien  in  Israel,  Avas  nearer  to  him  than  his  own  flesh  and  blood. 

Antipater,  in  accordance  with  the  tradition  of  his  house,  had 
married  a  daughter  of  the  Bedouins — the  fair  Kj'pros — to  preserve 
the  connection  with  the  sheikhs  of  the  desert  by  which  his  father 
had  grown  rich.  She  bore  him  four  sons,  Phasael,  Herod,  Joseph, 
and  Pheroras,  and  a  daughter,  Salome.  Of  these,  Antipater,  as 
ruler  of  the  country,  named  Phasael  governor  of  Jerusalem,  and 
Herod — a  j'oung  man  of  twenty-five — he  sent  to  Galilee,  to  put  down 
the  bands  of  dcsparadoes,  Avho  thickly  infested  it,  half  robbers,  half 
religious  zealots,  fighting  against  the  hated  Romans.  Herod  was 
well  qualified  to  maintain  the  lionour  of  his  house.  He  Avas  a  fear- 
less rider,  and  no  one  thrcAv  the  spear  so  straight  to  the  mark,  ot 
«hot  his  arroAA^  so  constantly  into  the  centre.  Even  in  later  years, 
'when  strength  and  agility  begin  to  fail  in  most,  he  was  known  to 
have  killed  forty  Avild  beasts  in  one  day's  hunting.  Herod  took 
prisoner  Hezekiah,  the  dreaded  leader  of  the  "  robbers,"  and  his 
whole  band,  and  put  them  all  to  death.  But  his  success  only  en- 
raged the  patriots  of  Jerusalem.  In  Aiolation  of  the  right  put  ex- 
clusively into  the  liands  of  Hyrcanus,  as  high  priest,  by  Caesar,  he 
had  slain  free  Jews — and  these,  men  fighting  for  the  LaAv,  and 
against  the  heathen  intruders  into  the  heritage  of  Jehovah;  and  the 
Sanhedrim — the  high  coimcil — forced  their  nominal  leader,  whose, 
legal  prerogative  had  been  thus  invaded,  to  summon  the  offender 
hefore  them.  Herod  obeyed,  after  having  made  Galilee  safe,  but 
appeared  with  a  poAverful  escort;  and  at  the  same  time,  a  message 
was  sent  by  the  proconsul  of  Syria  not  to  injure  him.  He  Avould, 
however,  have  been  sentenced  to  death,  had  not  Hyrcanus  left  the 
chair,  and  counselled  his  young  friend  to  leave  Jerusalem.  Gnashing 
his  teeth,  Herod  rode  off  to  Damascus,  to  the  proconsul,  from  Avhoni 
he  shortly  after  bought  the  governoi-ship  of  Cffle-Syria  and  Samaria, 
for  Avhich,  as  a  Poman  citizen,  he  was  qualified,  retnining  soon 
after,  Avith  a  strong  fotee  to  Jerusalem,  to  avenge  the  insult  oft'ered 
him.  But,  at  the  entreaty  of  his  father,  Avhom  his  boldness  confirmed 
m  authority,  he  Avithdrew,  witiiout  violence. 

All  Palestine  Avas  now  in  the  hands  of  Herod's  house,  for  Antipater 
ruled  Judea,  and  Herod  himself  Avas  over  Samaria  and  Ccele-Syria. 
The  Roman  generals  Avere  uncertain  whom  to  follow.  Casar's  for- 
tunes seemed  Avaning  in  Africa.  Bassus,  one  of  Pompeys  party, 
seized  Tyre,  and  sought  to  seduce  the  soldiers  of  Sextus  Caesar,  the 
Syrian  proconsul.  Antipater  sent  a  mixed  force,  and  Herod  led  the 
cavalry  of  Samaria,  to  the  proconsul's  lielp.  Bassus  wa*.  beaten,  but 
Sextus  Caisar  himself  was  murdered  by  hij  OAvn  soldiers,  and  fai  t-rfo 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHFJST.  25 

years  Pliasael  and  Herod  had  to  maintain  a  difficult  war.  At  last,  la 
the  jear  44,  the  news  came,  when  all  were  expecting  Caesar  in  the  East, 
that  he  was  murdered.    The  schemes  of  Herod's  family  seemed  ruined. 

Things,  however,  soon  righted  themselves.  Antony  began  to  play 
a  leading  part  in  Rome,  and  had  all  the  edicts  of  Ca;sar  confirmed,  to 
prevent  hopeless  confusion.  Interest  led  Antipater  for  the  time  to  join 
Cassius,  Ca3sar's  murderer.  Herod  won  favour  as  the  first  to  pay  him 
the  war  tax  of  about  £150,000,  levied  on  Galilee.  Antipater  showed 
equal  zeal;  but  when  the  people  were  too  poor  to  pay  the  enormous 
sum  demanded,  Cassius  sold  their  sons  and  daughters  as' slaves,  to  make 
it  up.  Feeling  Herod's  usefulness,  the  republican  leader,  on  leaving 
Judea,  named  him  procurator  cf  Cccle-SjTia,  and  gave  him  also 
military  power  over  all  Judea,  promising  him  the  crown,  if  all  went 
well.  "The  Idumean  family  wore  still  on  the  top  cf  the  tide.  But 
Antipater's  course  was  run.  Ghortly  before  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles, 
in  the  year  43,  he  died  of  poison  given  him  in  his  wine.  The 
murderer  was  well  known — a  follower  cf  Hyrcauus,  ]\[alichus  by 
name — who  wished  to  excite  insurrection  in  the  Maccabfcan's  favour, 
against  the  Romans  and  their  Idumean  viceroy.  Herod  and  his 
brother,  with  well-acted  craft,  feigned  friendliness  with  Ixm,  till,  a 
year  later,  they  got  him  into  their  power,  and  murdered  him,  in  turn, 
with  the  help  of  Cassius.  HjTcanus  kissed  the  hands  of  his  new 
master,  and  cursed  the  murdered  man  as  the  cncmj'  of  his  country! 

The  year  43  closed  with  wild  troubles  all  over  the  land.  Malich's 
sou  on  the  south,  and  Antigouus  on  the  north,  invaded  the  land;  but 
Herod  overthrew  them  both.  The  week  ITyrcanus,  who  still  dreaded 
the  house  of  Aristobulus,  received  the  conqueror  in  Jerusalem,  with 
childish  gratitude.  Herod  availed  liimself  of  this  to  ask  !5Iariamne, 
daughter  of  Alexander,  whom  Pompcy  had  beheaded,  and  grand- 
daughter of  Hyrcanus  himself,  in  marriage.  lie  had  already  one 
wife,  Doris,  who  had  borne  liim  a  son,  Antipater;  but  she  was  now 
sent  away,  and  went  off  to  bring  up  her  son  in  deadly  hatred  cf  the 
Maceaba?an  family,  who  had  taken  her  young  husband  from  her. 

The  hopes  of  the  Jewish  patriots  revived  once  mote  after  the 
battle  of  Philippi,  in  the  autumn  of  the  year  43.  It  was  left  to 
Antony  to  pay  the  soldiers  after  the  battle  what  had  been  promised 
them:  and  to  raise  the  vast  sums  required,  by  war  taxes  and  the  sale 
of  titles,  he  moved  towards  Asia.  Here  a  deputation  of  Jevi-s  pro- 
testing against  Herod  and  Phasael's  govei-nraent  waited  on  him;  but 
Herod  had  always"  been  friendly  to  the  Romans,  and  was  better  pro- 
vided ^with  money  than  the  people.  Antony,  for  his  part,  hated  the 
Jews, 'and  liked  Herod,  as  the  son  of  an  old  comrade,  with  whom, 
eighteen  years  before,  he  had  fought  against  the  very  people  who 
now  accused  his  son  before  him.  Hyrcanus  himself  appeared  ia 
Ephesus  on  behalf  of  the  two  brothers,  and  they  themselves  played 
their  part  so  well  that  they  w^cre  not  only  confirmed  in  their  o\nx 
positions,  but-  received  substantial  favours  besides. 


23  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Antony  was  one  of  those  undisciplined  natures  which  revolutionary 
times  produce — a  man  of  powerful  but  neglected  parts,  who  had 
grown  up  in  the  shattered  and  utterly  immoral  Roman  world; 
unbridled  in  his  passions,  and,  amidst  all  the  energ}^  of  his  will,  with- 
out.moral  restraint.  When  in  Egypt,  as  colonel  of  horse,  he  had  for 
the  first  time  seen  Cleopatra,  then  fourteen  years  old,  but  already 
flirting  with  the  son  of  Pompey.  In  the  years  B.C.  46  to  44  she  was 
living  in  Caesar's  gardens  at  Rome  as  that  great  man's  mistress,  and 
there  Antony  had  been  amongst  t'.ie  most  zesllous  in  pajing  her 
honour.  After  Cresar's  death  he  had  done  her  service,  and  had  tried 
to  get  her  son  Cassariou  mat  on  the  list  of  Ccesar's  heirs.  But,  like 
Ilerod,  she  had  been  forced  to  go  to  war  against  Antony,  because  the 
camp  of  Cassius  was  nearer  than  that  of  his  opponent.  For  this  she 
was  summoned  before  him,  and  made  her  appearance  at  Tarsus,  in 
Cilicia,  in  the  summer  of  41.  She  was  now  twenty -eight,  but  still  in 
the  bloom  of  her  beaxity,  and  displayed  her  charms  so  effectively  that 
Antony  was  forthwith  her  slave.  His  worst  deeds  begin  from  the 
time  he  met  her.  To  please  her  he  caused  her  sister  to  be  dragged 
out  of  a  temple  in  ?,Iiletus  and  murdered,  and  he  put  to  death  all  she 
chose  to  denounce.  She  herself  hastened  to  Egypt,  whither  Antony 
panted  to  follow  her. 

In  i^ntioch,  in  Syria,  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  J'ear,  he  would 
have  put  to  death  a  Jewish  deputation  sent  to  protest  against  tire 
two  brothers,  had  not  Herod  prevented  liim.  The  two  were,  more- 
over, appointed  tetrarclis,  with  all  formality.  At  Tyre,  to  which  he 
had  advanced,  thousands  of  Jews  threw  themselves  in  his  way  with 
loud,  persistent,  fanatical  cries  that  he  should  depone  the  brothers. 
Angry  before,  he  Avas  now  furious,  and  set  his  troops  on  them  and 
hovrcd  them  doAvn,  killing  even  the  prisoners  taken.  He  then  moved 
on  to  spend  tliQ  Avintcr  with  Cleopatra. 

Throughout  Judca  and  even  in  Egypt  the  deepest  despondency 
reigned  among  the  Jews.  The  advent  of  the  Mes.siah  was  to  be  pre- 
ceded by  times  of  darkness  and  trouble,  and  so  gloomy  seemed  the 
state  of  things  then  prevailing  that  it  appeared  as  if  the  long-expected 
One  must  be  close  at  hand.  The  belief  or,  at  least,  hope,  found  ex- 
pression in  the  writings  of  the  day.  The  Jewish  Sibylline  Books, 
corxposed  in  Egj^pt  in  these  years,  predicted  that  "when  Rome  once 
rules  over  Egypt,  then  will  the  greatest  of  tlie  kingdoms,  that  of  the 
Immortal  King,  appear  among  men,  and  a  Holy  Lord  shall  come  who 
will  rule  all  the  countries  of  the  earth,  through  all  ages,  as  time  flows 
on." 

In  Palestine  there  was  great  excitemeat.  After  their  bloody  inau- 
guration into  their  office  by  Antony,  the  tv»-o  tetrarchs,  Phasael  and 
Herod,  could  count  on  few  faithful  subjects,  and  a  new  storm  soon 
rose  from  the  East  which  threatened  to  destroy  them.  Since  they 
had  sold  themselves  to  the  Romans,  the  exiled  Macca-boean  prince  had 
©onspired  more  eagerly  with  the  Parthians,  and  had  been  supported 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  27 

in  liis  appeal  ly  Roman  exiles  of  llio  pariy  of  Eru'.u.^  nnd  Cassius. 
The  Parthianii  hesitated  long,  bvit  at  last  the  rimio".r  came  that  they 
v.'ere  preparing  for  v/ar.  Jerusalem  trembled,  for  the  Euphrates  was 
undefended,  and  there  v:ere  stiil  garrisons  of  the  republicans,  whicli 
could  not  be  trusted,  all  through  Syria.  The  actiou  of  Antony  ia 
nuch  a  crisis  was  impatiently  awaited;  but  feasting  and  pleasures 
rcigncdiu  Alexandria.  The  queen  played  at  dice  with  the  Triuniv;;-; 
drank  and  hunted  Avith  him;  wandered  through  the  streets  by  night 
with  him,  playing  rough  tricks;  she,  dressed  cs  a  servant-woman,  he, 
as  a  servant-man.  S!ie  lot  him  escape  her  neither  by  night  nor  day. 
Ilcr  extravagance  was  unparalleled;  at  a  dinner  she  drank  crushed 
pearls,  tliat  the  cost  of  a  meal  might  come  to  a  million  sestertii,  as 
die  had  wagered  it  would.  There  was  no  end  of  her  light  follies,  to 
amuse  him ;  she  had  foreign  pickled  fish  hung  by  divers  on  his  hooka 
as  he  fished,  and  induced  the  senator  Plancus  to  dance  as  Glaucus, 
naked,  at  one  of  her  banquets,  painted  blue,  his  head  wreathed  with 
rca-weed,  and  waving  a  tail  behind  him,  as  he  went  gliding  on  all 
fours.  The  costliest  meals  were  at  all  times  ready  in  the  castle,  for 
the  cook  never  knew  when  they  v/ould  need  to  be  served  up. 

Snnk  in  this  sensual  indulgence,  Antony  left  it  to  the  proconsul 
of  Syria  to  defend  that  province,  till  forced,  in  the  spring  of  the  year 
<10,  to  go  to  Greece,  to  manage  a  war  which  his  wife  had  stirred  up, 
to  draw  him  away  from  Cleopatra.  Meanwhile,  Asia  Minor  was 
overrun  by  the  Parthions,  and  Phasael  and  Herod  saw  themselves  ex- 
posed to  an  early  inroad,  against  whicli  they  were  helpless. 

And  novv",  to  use  the  line  figure  of  Hausrath,  there  rose  again 
tcfore  Ilyrcanus,  as.  if  from  some  long-disused  churcliyard,  the  ghost 
of  that  dynastic  question  which  for  thirty  years  had  haunted  the 
palace,  and  could  not  be  laid.  Ilis  nephew  Antigonus  came  from 
Clialcis,  wh.cre  he  had  been  living  witli  a  relative,  and  obtained  help 
from  the  I'arthian  leader,  on  the  promise  of  giving  him  1,000  talents 
r.nd  500  wives,  if  he  were  restored  to  the  throne.  At  Carmel,  Anti- 
gonus was  greeted  with  shouts,  as  king,  and  he  hastened  on  to  Jeru- 
r-alem,  where  part  of  the  people  joined  him.  The  tetrarclis  succeeded 
in  driving  liiin  and  his  adherents  into  the  Temple,  antl  shutting  them 
up  in  it;  but  daily  fights  took  plnce  in  the  streets,  and,  as  Pentecost 
was  near,  and  crowds  of  armed  and  half-armed  pilgrims  arrived  in 
the  city,  the  brothers  were,  in  their  turn,  .sliut  up  in  their  palace,  from 
which,  however,  their  soldiers  made  constant  sallies,  butchering  the 
crowds  like  sheep.  At  last  the  cup-bearer  of  the  Parthian  prince 
came  to  the  gate  with  500  cavalrv.  askins,-  entrance  as  a  mediator  be- 
tween the  factions,  and  was  admitted  by  Phasael,  who  was  even  weak 
enough  to  let  himself  he  persuaded  to  "set  out  for  the  Parthian  head- 
quarters, taking  Ilyrcanus  Avith  him,  to  conclude  arrangements  for 
■jx^ace.  At  Ptolemais  they  found  them.selves  prisoners,  and  were  soon 
after  fettered  and  ])ut  in  confinement.  Herod,  meanwhile,  had  re- 
fused to  lislen  to  similar  treacherous  invitations,  and  having  mounted 


28  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

his  faraily  on  mules  by  night,  set  off  Avitli  tliem,  in  tlie  darkncc^, 
towards  tlie  strong  fortress  Masada,  on  the  Dead  Sea.  Avhcre  hi? 
brother  Joseph  had  command,  reaching  it  only  after  terrible  fighting 
in  the  passes  of  the  hills.  Leaving  his  women  behind  in  safety,  and 
taking  his  men  v.ith  him,  he  now  fled  towards  Edom;  but  as  he  had 
no  money,  the  sheikhs  of  Mount  Seir  refused  to  receive  him. 

In  the  meantime  the  Parthiaus  had  thrown  oft"  the  mask  in  Jerusa- 
lem, had  pluudcrcd  the  city,  and  were  sweeping  like  a  devom-irg  fro 
through  the  land,  proclaiming  Antigonus  everywhere  as  king.  In 
the  camp,  Ilyrcanus  was  the  lirst  to  do  homage  to  the  new  sovereign, 
but  Antigonus  flev^r  at  him,  and  Avith  his  own  teeth  bit  oil  his  ears,  to 
unfit  him  for  ever  for  the  high  priesthood,  and  then  sent  him  beyond 
the  Euphrates  as  a  prisoner.  PhasacI  escaped  further  insult  by  a 
voluntary  death.  Deprived  of  v/eapons,  he  beat  cut  his  brains  againct 
the'  walls  of  his  dungeon.  Antigonus  now  assumed  the  name  of 
Mattathias,  from  the  founder  of  the  ]^,Iaccab;rau  family, — and  tlio 
titles  of  high  priest  and  king.  Eut  hi:  position  was  ini^ecure,  for 
Masada  still  held  out,  and  was  defended  by  Joseph,  Herod's  brother, 
for  two  years,  till  Ilerod  relieved  it.  The  barbarities  cf  tlie  Farthians, 
moreover,  undermined  his  authority.  On  their  small  horses  of  tho 
steppes  they  scoured  tiie  country  in  troops,  mangling  the  men,  mal- 
treating the  women,  burning  down  vv'hole  towns,  and  torturing  even 
the  defenceless.  No  wonder  that,  though  a  Parthian  never  watered 
his  horse  in  the  Jordan  after  the  year  B.C.  C8,  the  mom.ory  of  thcso 
mounted  hordes  lingered  in  the  minds  cf  the  i:;cople,  so  that  even  St. 
John  iutroduecs  them  in  the  Apocalypse,  as  a  symbol  cf  the  plagues 
of  the  final  judgment,  which  were  to  destroy  a  third  part  of  men. 

Herod,  repelled  from  Idumea,  f.ed  to  Egypt,  Vvhich  Antony  had 
left  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  40.  Cleopatra,  however,  gave  him  a 
friendly  and  even  distinguished  welcome,  thinking  she  could  win  him 
over  to  her  service,  and  use  him  as  general  against  the  Parthians. 
But  Herod  had  higher  aims.  Braving  the  danger  of  autumn  storms, 
he  set  sail  for  Rome,  was  ship-wTccked  off  Rhodes,  built  a  new  trireme 
with  borroAved  money,  reached  Italy  soon  after,  and  on  getting  to 
Rome  found  there  both  Octavian  and  Antony.  Before  them  he  had 
his  cause  pleaded  So  skilfully  that  the  Senate  unanimously  appointed 
him  King  of  Judea,  and  he  was  formally  installed  in  the  temple  of 
Jupiter  Capitolinus,  with  the  usual  heatihen  sacrifices.  Seven  days 
later  he  was  on  his  way  back  to  Palestine,  and  the  cause  of  Antigonus 
was  doomed.  This  new  dignity,  however,  carried  in  its  bosom  the 
seeds  of  all  Herod's  future  misery.  Hyrcanus,  though  disqualified 
for  being  high  pi-iest,  could  yet  be  ethnarch,  and  his  grand-child 
Aristobulus,  brother  to  Mariamne,  Herod's  betrothed,  was  alive. 
Herod's  kingship  was  a  wrongful  usurpation  of  the  rights  of  both. 

Meanwhile,  the  position  of  Antigonus  was  getting  desperate.  The 
cruelties  of  the  Par+,hians,  the  failure  to  take  Ma,sada,  and  a  fresh  out- 
break on  a  great  scale,  in  Galilee  and  on  the  lake  of  Geunesareth,  ef 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  » 

zeal  against  tho  heathen  oppressors  of  the  laud,  had  turned  the  Rabbis 
and  the  Sanhedrim,  hitherto  his  supporters,  against  him;  Nor  were 
the  people  more  friendly.  As  he  left  the  Temple  on  the  Day  of 
Atonement,  accompanied  by  a  crowd,  to  conduct  him  to  his  palace, 
the  multitude  tiu'ned  away  to  follow  two  Rabbis  who  chanced  to  pass. 
Yet  Herod  was  still,  in  the  ej'es  of  the  nation,  only  "the  servant  of 
the  Asmoneans." 

Herod  began  the  war  against  Antigonus  with,  the  assurance  of 
Roman  hcl]),  but  Silo,  the  Roman  general,  let  himself  be  bribed  by 
Antigoiuis,  and  Herod  had  to  struggle  single-handed.  The  Romans 
oulj' plundered  Jericho,  and  quartered  themselves  idly  on  the  nation  at 
large.  Herod  had  to  tvun  against  the  zealots  of  Galilee,  since  he 
could  get  no  help  towards  more  serious  efforts;  and  he  soon  extirpated 
them.  The  Parthians,  however,  b}^  this  time  had  been  driven  out  of 
Asia  Elinor  and  Syria,  and  tiually  crushed,  in  a  great  battle  on  the 
Euphrates.  Two  new  legions  were  now  free  to  aid  Herod,  but  their 
general,  like  Silo,  cared  only  for  making  monej',  and,  like  him,  took 
a  bribe  from  Antigonus.  In  the  meantime,  Joseph,  Herod's  brother, 
feli  in  battle,  and  this  roused  Herod,  who  was  always  faithful  to  his 
family,  to  fury.  With  only  a  nondescript  army  he  burst  on  Galilee 
and  Judea,  and  drove  the  Maccaba'ans  before  him  like  chaff.  Except 
Jerusalem,  the  whole  laud  was.now  his,  and  he  .set  himself  to  the  task 
of  taking  the  capital.  For  two  years,  with  only  raw  recruits  who 
knew  nothing,  veterans  who  had  forgotten  everything,  Itureans  who 
took  his  pay  and  did  as  little  as  possible  for  it,  and  treacherous  allies, 
he  had  fought  against  a  fanatical  people,  who  turned  cverj'  hamlet 
and  cavern  into  a  fortre.s,s.  It  needed  a  genius  and  a  superhuman 
energy  like  his  to  triumph  in  such  a  war.  In  the  early  sprmg  of  37 
B.C.  he  proceeded  to  invast  Jerusalem,  but  thought  it  politic, "before 
the  siege  actually  began,  to  go  to  Samaria  and  marry  JMariamne,  the 
grand-daughter  of  Hyrcanus,  his  rival  and  enemy.  The  Samaritans, 
in  their  hatred  of  the  ilaccaba-an  dynasty,  had  been  Herod's  devoted 
supporters  in  the  war;  and  he  had  lionovired  their  loyaltj'  by  placing 
his  bride,  and  the  rest  of  his  family  in  their  keeping,  at  Samaria,  when 
it  tirst  broke  out.  He  was  no  sooner  married  than  the  Avork  of  blood 
once  more  began.  Jerusalem  was  besieged  by  his  army  of  Samari- 
tans, friendly  Jews,  wild  Idumeans,  and  mercenaries  from  Phenicia 
and  Lebanon,  and  fell  on  the  10th  of  June,  after  a  fierce  struggle,  j 
which  was  followed  by  wild  pillage  and  slaughter.  Antigonus'was  } 
taken  prisoner,  and  was  p\it  to  death  by  the  Roman  general,  at 
Herod's  entreaty,  after  he  had  suffered  the  outrage,  lutherto  uuknowu 
towards  a  prince,  of  being  scourged  like  a  slave.  Thus  another  As- 
monean  was  out  of  the  way.  The  family  had  reigned  126  years. 
Herod  was  now  really  king.  A  great  bribe' to  the  Roman  army  freed 
the  country  of  the  burden  of  the  Roman  support,  and  the  misery  of 
its  lawlessness.  A  bloody  proscription,  after  the  pattern  of  that  of 
the  Roman  triumvirate,  mowed  down  all  enemies  within  the  city,  tho 


30  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

gates  of  which  were  closed  till  the  executions  were  ended.  In  the 
midst  of  this,  Antony,  once  more  beside  Cleopatra,  in  Egpyt,  and 
needing  endless  wealth  for  their  mutual  prodigalities,  sent  a  demand 
to  all  the  kingdoms  he  controlled, — Judea  amongst  others, — for  a  vast 
sum  of  mohej^  Herod  had  only  an  empty  treasury;  a  country 
strewn  with  ruins  and  smoking  heaps;  and  moreover,  it  was  the  Sab- 
bath year,  in  which  the  laws  made  by  Ca>sar  prohibited  the  levying 
any  tax.  The  proscription  had  therefore  to  be  made  a  means  of  rais- 
ing funds,  as  had  been  done  by  Octavian  and  Antony,  at  Rome. 
Forty-five  of  his  richest  opponents  were  put  to  death,  and  their  prop- 
erty confiscated  so  ruthlessly,  that  even  their  cofBns  were  searched  at 
the  city  gates  for  jewels  or  money.  Many  were  glad  to  escape  death 
by  giving  up  all  they  had.  "The  oppression  and  tyranny  had  no 
limit,"  says  Joscphus.  Herod,  however,  was  none  the  richer,  for  he 
had  to  send  off  the  whole  crown  treasures  of  the  Asmoneans  to  Lao- 
dicea,  to  help  to  make  up  the  amount  demanded  from  him. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE   KEIGN   OP   HEROD. 

The  position  of  Herod  was  difficult  in  the  extreme.  He  had  every- 
thing to  reorganize.  Galilee  lay  exhausted  by  brigandage,  entire 
towns  were  unpeopled,  as  Lydda,  Thamna,  Gophna,  and  Emmaus, 
Avhose  inhabitants  had  been  sold  by  Cassius  as  slaves.  Jericho  had 
been  taken  and  plundered  once  and  again ;  five  towns  round  it  lay  in 
rubbish  and  ashes;  Maris.sa  had  been  burned  down  by  the  Parthians; 
and  in  the  midst  of  all,  the  bleeding  land  had  to  be  harried  afresh,  to 
.satisfy  Cleopatra  and  her  slave,  Antony.  But  the  genius  of  Herod 
erelong  built  up  a  strong  government  out  of  this  chaos,  surrounding 
himself  with  his  old  friends,  and  ruthlessly  crushing  his  enemies. 
Filling  posts,  where  needful  or  desirable,  with  foreigners  of  any  na- 
tion, he  3'et  strove  to  keep  on  a  good  footing  with  the  Rabbis^  and 
Pharisee  party  at  large,  but  gradually  took  from  their  Sanhedrim  and 
schools  the  legal  and  civil  powers  they  had  exercised,  leaving  them 
the  control  only  of  municipal  and  ecclesiastical  details.  A  high  priest 
was  appointed,  such  as  the  times  seemed  to  demand.  No  native  could 
be  trusted;  Hyrcanus,  who  still  survived  in  Babylon,  was  disqualified; 
Aristobulus,  the  king's  brother-in-law,  was  too  young,  and  Herod  was 
a  born  Idumcan.  A  Rabbi  from  Babylon  was  therefore  selected,  as 
likely  to  give  no  trouble,  but  the  rule  was  introduced,  as  an  extra  pre- 
caution, that  the  office  should,  henceforth,  be  held,  i)y  any  one,  only 
for  a  short  time.  Hyrcanus  was  wiled  from  the  East  that  Herod 
might  have  him  in  his  own  power,  and  prevsnt  his  being  played  off_ 
against  him  in  case  of  another  Parthian  war. 

But  Herod's  position  was  a  fatal  one.     Willing  to  treat  his  subjects 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  81 

■»fell,  Rome,  to  whom  he  owed  his  crown,  forced  Ir'm  to  oppress 
them.  He  wished  to  reion  as  a  Jew,  but  he  had  ma'ls  a  thank-oflfer- 
ing  in  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Capitolinns  for  tlie  Crovn.  He  linew 
tliat  he  could  be  popular  only  by  observing  the  La.v,  but  his  being 
king  at  all  was  illegal.-  He  tlattcred  the  Rabbis,  hv(  they  were  his 
deadliest  enemies.  Yet  all  this  was  little  to  the  troubles  which  his 
ambition  had  prepared  for  him  in  his  own  household.  Had  he  founded 
an  entirely  new  dynasty,  his  relations  would  have  been  on  his  side, 
and  he  could  have  relied  on  a  part}'.  But  he  had  been  vmwise  enough 
to  marry  into  the  family  he  had  overthrown,  in  the  hope  of  gaining  a 
colour  of  legitimacy  for  his  reign;  and  in  doing  so  he  had  at  onco 
failed  to  appease  the  inured,  and  had  brought  his  mortal  enemies 
round  him,  as  his  relations.  The  marriage  with  Maris  mne,  bj'  which 
he  hoped  to  strengthen  his  title,  carried  with  it  his  keer.est  indictment. 
In  Aristobulus,  his  brother-in-law,  he  saw  only  a  rival,  and  he  betook 
liimself  to  the  usual  remedy  of  tyrants — murder — to  make  himseli 
safe.  But  this  only  made  his  position  so  much  the  worse,  for  his 
best-loved  wife  knew  that  he  had  murdered  her  bvother,  ?nd  their 
very  children  had  more  right  to  the  throne  than  h  imself.  His  sus- 
picions were  thus  roused  at  his  every  step  in  his  own  palace,  and 
could  only  be  appeased  by  fresh  crimes.  He  raged  against  his  own 
fiesii  and  blood,  and  made  himself  wretched  as  a  man,  to  be  secure  as 
a  king. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  year  a  great  disaster  befell  the  Triumvir, 
Antony.  His  troops,  deserted  l\y  their  barbarous  allies,  had  to  retreat 
from  Media,  marchinu;  for  twenty-seven  days  through  a  wasted  coun- 
try, pursued  bj^  the  Parthian*,  and  often  in  want  of  food  or  water. 
Twenty  thousand  foot,  and  four  thousand  horse,  perished,  and  all  the 
army  train  was  lost,  before  he  reached  the  Araxes,  on  the  Caspian 
Sea,  and  eight  thousand  more  died  before  he  got  to  Sidon  on  the  sea- 
coast.  Here  he  waited  for  Cleopatra,  who  was  alarmed  at  hearing 
that  his  wife  Octavia  was  coming  to  meet  him,  and,  pretending  that 
she  would  die  if  he  deseiled  her,  so  itumanncd  liim  that  he  left  his 
army  to  his  officers  and  went  oif  wiih  her  to  Egypt.  He  was  now 
entirely  in  her  hands,  and  the  neighbouring  powers  soon  felt  ihe 
results. 

Alexandra,  the  mother  of  ^lariamne  and  Aristobulus,  was  sorely 
aggrieved  that  her  son  should  not  liave  been  made  high  priest,  as  was 
his  right,  and  plotted  with  a  ci'af ty  ofiicer  of  Antony's  suite,  then  at 
Jerusalem,  to  get  Antony  to  help  her  in  the  matter.  He  asked  and 
got  the  portraits  of  both  brother  and  sister  to  send  to  his  master,  but 
it  was  with  the  design  of  getting  Antony  enamoiu'cd  of  Mariamne  and 
of  thus  I'aising  a  rival  to  Cleopatra,  and  his  scheme  succeeded.  An- 
tony fell  in  love  with  the  Jewish  queen,  and  was  only  kept  from 
jscting  on  his  passion  by  his  fear-  of  the  jealousy  of  his  Egyptian  mis- 
tress. He  coniined  himself  for  the  time  to  asking  Herod  to  send  tli« 
bov  to  him. 


SS  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Herod  was  alarmc'cl,  and  indueod  Antonj^  to  withdraw  liis  request, 
■which  he  said  woaitl  lead  to  a  revolt  if  ,c:ranted;  but  seeing  how  things 
stood,  he  deposed  the  high  priest  and  appointed  Aristobulus,  then 
seventeen,  in  his  place.  Unfortunately  for  the  lad,  ths  Jews  hailed 
his  elevation  with  delight.  The  result  was  that  Herod,  soon  after,  got 
him  held  under  the  water  in  a  bath,  at  Jericho,  till  he  was  drowned, 
and  pretended  it  was  an  accident. 

Alexandra  and  Mariamne,  knowing  the  truth,  thirsted  for  revenge, 
and  plotted  with  Cleopatra  to  obtain  it.  She  on  her  part  was  anxious 
to  get  hold  of  Judea,  and  only  used  the  plotters  for  this  end.  Herod 
was  summoned  before  Antony,  but  he  ordered,  before  he  left,  that, 
should  he  not  return,  Alexandra  should  be  Qjit  to  death  as  a  punish- 
ment, and  IMariamne,  also,  killed,  to  prevent  her  falling  into  the 
hands  of  Antony.  Unfortunately  for  all,  this  was  told  them  in  his 
absence,  and  Mariamne,  roused  to  frenzy,  greeted  him,  on  his  coming 
back,  with  an  outbiu'st  of  the  long  pent-up  hatred  she  felt  at  his 
crimes.  Alexandra  was  forthwith  thrown  into  chains;  his  sister 
Salome's  husband,  who  had  betrayed  the  secret,  was  put  to  death; 
Mariamne,  whom  he  passionately  loved,  was  spared  a  little  longer. 

Other  troubles,  from  outside,  now,  for  a  time,  thrust  the  domestic 
miseries  into  the  background.  Herod  had  discovered  Cleopatra's 
designs,  which  were  to  get  all  the  country,  from  Egypt  to  Syria,  for 
herself.  Antony  was  to  be  persuaded  on  one  pretext  or  other,  to  de- 
throne the  different  rulers.  She  did  actually  get  him  to  put  Lysanias, 
the  ruler  of  the  Lebanon  district,  to  death,  on  pretence  of  his  being 
in  league  with  the  Farthians,  and  got  his  principality,  which  she 
presently  farmed  out.  Herod  was  now  between  her  possessions,  on 
both  north  and  south,  and  feared  lest  her  influence  with  Antony 
might  be  his  ruin. 

She  next  begged  and  got  part  of  the  Nabatsean  kingdom :  then  the 
whole  sea-coast  of  Palestine  from  the  river  Eleutherus  to  Egj'pt — 
Tyre  and  Sidon  excepted — and,  finally,  Herod  had  to  give  up  to  her 
the  Oasis  of  Jericho  with  its  balsam  plantations — the  richest  part  of 
his  kingdom.  The  summons  to  Laodicea  and  the  taking  away  of 
Jericho  seemed  to  show  that  Herod's  influence  with  Antony  was 
shaken,  and  opposition  conseciuently  raised  itself  once  more.  Plots 
were  again  rife  on  every  side,  at  home  and  abroad.  Cleopatra  was 
his  constant  terror,  for  at  any  moment  she  might  spring  some  new 
mine  under  his  feet.  Even  the  Maccabanms  were  once  more  raising 
their  heads.  The  Rabbis,  whose  schools  had  flourished  immensely 
since  their  exclusion  from  politics,  began  to  interfere  with  them  again. 
Hillel  and  Schammai  were,  respectively,  the  heads  of  the  more  liberal 
and  the  harsher  parties.  But  Herod  was  too  much  occupied  by  great 
affairs  to  trouble  himself  about  them. 

Things  were  rapidly  coming  to  a  crisis  in  the  Roman  Empire.  The 
object  of  the  Egyptian  queen  in  lavishing  her  blandishments  on  An- 
toey  became  more  and  more  apparent.     She  had  entangled  him  in 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  3J> 

Ker  snares  onlj'  to  serve  herself,  and  the  great  Samson  laid  his  head 
imsuspiciously  on  her  Delilah  lap.  She  dreamed  of  bringing  tht 
Avhole  Eastern  empire  of  Rome,  througli  him.  under  Egyptian  rule, 
and  of  becoming  the  empress  of  lialf  the  ^vorld ;  and  it  seemed  as  if 
he  were  willing  it  should  be  so.  He  gave  mortal  offence  at  Rome  by 
celebrating  his  triumphs,  not  there,  but  at  Alexandria.  He  gave 
Cleopatra  the  title  'A  the  "queen  of  kings."  Their  two  sons,  Ptol- 
emy and  Alexander,  were  to  be  "kings  of  kings."  He  gave  Syria, 
Phenicia,  and  Cilicia  to  the  former,  and  Armenia  and  Media,  with 
Parthia,  as  soon  as  it  .should  be  overcome,  to  the  latter;  while  to  their 
daughter,  the  young  Cleopatra,  he  handed  over  Cyrcnaika.  Cleopa- 
tra herself  was  made  Queen  of  Egj'pt,  Cyprus,  Liliya,  and  Cocle-Syria, 
her  son  Ca-sarion  sharing  them  with  her.  After  the  example  of  the 
Pharaohs  and  Ptolemies,  both  he  and  she  assumed  divine  honours — 
Cleopatra  as  Isis.  Antony  as  Osiri.s — and  their  statues  were  set  up  in 
sacred  places.  Public  feeling  at  Rome  was  outraged  and  alarmed. 
The  popular  poets  sent  verses  afloat  in  which  Antony  sought  to  make 
the  Jupiter  of  Rome  give  way  to  the  barking,  dog-headed  Anubis. 
threatened  the  galleys  of  Rome  with  being  outsailed  by  the  boats  of 
the  Nile,  and  would  fain  frighten  the  trumpets  of  Rome  with  the 
clattering  sistrum.  Ca?sar  laid  the  facts  before  the  Senate,  and  An- 
tony, in  return,  made  charges  against  Caei^ar.  War — long  inevitable 
— at  last  broke  out,  and  was  decided  in  the  sea-fight  at  Actium.  Cleo- 
patra had  persuaded  her  dupe  to  tight  on  the  water  rather  than  on 
land,  that  she  might  flee  to  Egypt  at  the  lirsf,  signs  of  defeat,  and  she 
did  this  in  the  midst  of  the  battle,  when  victory  was  j'et  entirely 
doubtful.  Ever  his  ruin,  she  thus  completed  lier  fatal  triumph,  for 
the  weak  man,  as  if  he  could  not  live  without  her,  forthwith  de-serted 
his  forces,  though  his  ships  were  still  lighting  stoutly,  and  he  had 
100,000  foot,  and  12,000  horse,  on  the  "sea-shore,  who  had  never 
fought  at  all.  It  was  noticed  that  on  the  day  of  Actium  a  terrible 
earthquake  took  place  in  Palestine,  killing  10,000  persons  and  endless 
cattle.  Herod,  seeing  Antony  fallen,  forthAvitli  made  peace  witli 
C^fEsar.  Fresh  plots  of  Alexandra  had  been  discovered,  in  which 
Hyrcanus,  now  eighty  years  old,  was  to  be  played  off  against  him ; 
but  they  only  led  to  the  revolting  sight  of  the  last  of  the  IMaccabaeans, 
in  extreme  old  age,  being  beheaded  by  his  son-in-law.  Herod's  hands 
were  getting  redder  and  redder  with  the  blood  of  his  kindred.  With 
Ccesar  he  managed  things  well,  entertaining  him  royally  on  his  way 
through  Palestine  to  Egj^pt,  and  providing  supplies  for  his  army  on 
their  march,  with  equal  wisdom  and  munificence.  Meanwhile  An- 
tony and  Cleopatra  spent  their  last  days  in  feasting  and  revelry, 
varied  with  ghastly  trials,  before  them,  of  every  known  poison,  by 
turns,  on  different  prisoners,  to  see  whfch  caused  the  easiest  death. 
In  the  autumn  of  30  b.c.  Antony  stabbed  himself  mortally,  and  Cleo- 
patra soon  after  ended  her  life  by  poison,  leaving  Herod  to  breathe 
freely  for  the  first  time  in  long  years.    Octavian  took  Lini  into  favour, 


S4  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

for  he  needed  such  a  man  as  a  protection  on  the  ea?;tern  borders,  to 
defend  them  against  tlio  Parthians.  Jericho  was  given  bacl?,  Samaria 
was  incorporated  with  his  kingdom,  with  various  coast  towns,  and 
some  territory  beyond  the  Jordan.  Cleopatra's  bod}'  giiaid  ojf  400 
Gauls  was  presented  to  him  by  Octavian.  But  if  he  iiad  honour  and 
rewards,  it  was  at  the  cost  of  an  expenditure,  to  do  honour  and 
homage  to  his  imperial  master,  that  seemed  to  have  overstrained  his 

'  resources. 

Once  more  safe  from  dangers  that  might  well  have  overwhelmed 
him,  Herod  found,  on  his  return  from  attendance  on  Octavian,  such 
troubles  at  home  as  darkened  his  wliole  future  life.  The  quarrels  of 
his  seraglio  had  come  to  a  head.  Alexandra  and  her  daughter  Mari- 
amne  were  now  the  only  two  left  of  the  old  loyal  race,  anil  were  so 
much  the  moie  hated  by  the  kindred  of  Herod.  Mariamne — tall  and 
noble  in  person — liad  the  pride  of  a  daughter  of  kings,  and  let  Salome, 
Herod's  ;jister,  feel  -it.  In  Herod's  absence  she  discovered  tliat,  for  the 
Gccoad  time,  he  had  left  orders  to  kill  her  and  her  mother  if  he  did 
not  return;  and  she  showed  what  she  thought  of  this  when  he  did 
come  back,  by  receiving  him  ^^•itll  undisguised  aversion.    Her  enemies 

.  took  advantage  of  this  to  fan  Herod's  anger  by  every  scandal  they 
could  invent  against  her,  till,  in  the  end,  he  believed  she  had  been 
■unfaithful,  and  the  fair  C]ueen,  deserted  and  betrayed  by  all,  was 
handed  over  to  the  headsman.  Herod's  remorse,  when  she  had  thus 
actually  perished,  was  awful.  He  lost  his  reason  for  a  time,  would 
call  for  her,  lament  over  her,  kept  his  servants  calling  her  as  if  she 
were  still  alive,  gave  up  all  business,  and  lied  to  Samaria,  where  he  had 
married  her,  to  seek  relief  from  his  thoughts  in  hunting.  At  last  he  fell 
into  violent  illness,  and  lay  seemingly  hopeless.  Alexandra,  furious 
at  her  daughter's  murder,  thought  this  the  right  moment  to  attempt 
to  set  Mariamne's  two  sons  on  the  throne,  which  Vvas  theirs  bj'  right, 
more  than  their  father's.  A  plague  had  broken  out,  and  this  the 
Kabbis  construed  into  divine  vengeance  for  the  queen's  death.  The 
news  roused  the  tyrant,  ill  as  he  was.  Alexandra  was  instantly  put 
to  death,  and  many  others  shared  her  fate;  but  already  a  new  sus- 
picion had  risen  to  torment  the  wretched  man.  Alexandia's  procla- 
mation of  liis  sons  as  the  lightful  heirs  had  made  them,  also,  his 
fancied  enemies.  Among  the  jjcople  the  memory  of  Mariamne  was 
sacred,  and  their  hopes  were  set  on  her  sons. 
■  Octavian  was  now  sole  ruler  of  the  Roman  world,  under  the  high 
name  of  Augustus,  and  an  era  of  restoration  and  retinement  took  the 
place  of  destruction  and  tumult.  With  the  widespread  peace,  trade 
revived,  and  prosperity  returned  to  Judea  among  other  countries. 
The  patronage  of  literature  and  art,  the  construction  of  public  works, 
and  the  rebuilding  and  beautifying  of  Rome  and  the  cities  and  towns 
of  the  provinces,  were  now  the  fashion,  set  by  Augustus,  and  .slavishly 
followed  by  vassal  kings.  In  imitation  of  him,  Herod  patronized 
men  whose  Vi'ritings  could  shod  a  lustre  cu  his  court — notably  the  tw© 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  85 

brothars,  BTicolaus  and  Ptolemy,  of  Damascus,  both,  able  and  faith- 
ful public  servants.  Nicolaus  was  a  voluminous  and  skilful  author  as 
well.  Other  Greeks  and  half-Greeks  were  put  in  ofiices  of  tni.*;t  or 
honour,  as  members  of  the  government,  or  ambassadors,  or  as.  tutors 
and  travelling  companions  to  his  sons.  Most  of  them  served  Herod 
honourably  to  the  last,  but  there  were  not  wanting  some  of  the 
Greek  sycophants  who  at  that  time  infested  all  courts,  and  one  of  the 
worst  of  these,  Eurykles  the  Lacedamonian,  who  amassed  wealth  by 
espionage  and  false  witnesses,  was  destined  to  be  the  bad  genius  of 
Herod's  later  years.  The  biting  wit  of  the  Rabbis  spoke  of  the 
whole  heathen  government  of  the  court  as  "the  proselytes  of  tlie 
king's  table." 

A  shrewd  and  able  man  like  Herod,  whose  leading  thought  was  to 
flatter  and  serve  Augustus;  so  as  to  secure  his  permanent  favour,  was 
of  great  use  in  a  disturbed  border  country,  to  one  who,  like  Augustus, 
was  as  much  disinclined  as  unqualified  for  war.  When,  therefore, 
Herod  determined  in  the  year  b.c.  23  to  send  Mariamne's  two  sons  to 
Rome,  CfEsar  received  them  with  every  honour,  and  gave  the  lads 
every  facility  for  gi-owing  up  in  the  midst  of  high  Roman  Hfe.  But 
they  little  knew  in  how  dark  a  gloom  all  this  early  splendour  would 
set  I  By  a  curious  coincidence  it  was  their  tutor's  son,  with  whom 
the,v  rose  to  manliood,  whom  Virgil  had  flattered  as  an  infant  by  ap- 
plying to  him,  in  the  fourth  Eclogue,  the  ]\Iessianic  hope  of  the  Jews 
Of  this  "Messiah"  of  Virgil  they  were  now  the  youthful  friends. 
Herod  himself  took  his  sons  to  Rome,  and  was  honoured  by  a  gift 
from  Augustus  of  the  district  of  Lebanon,  and  of  the  lawless  terri- 
tories of  Iturea  and  Trachonitis,  with  the  fertile  plains  of  the  Hauran. 
The  former  swarmed  with  robbers,  like  Galilee  in  Herod's  youth, 
and  the  two  latter  were  ttlled  with  wild  clans  of  l)orderers,  who  were 
the  terror  of  the  land  at  large.  But  on  his  return,  Herod  soon 
reduced  them  so  thoroughly  that  they  were  peaceful  even  under  hi.s 
successors.  A  year  after,  Herod  could  personally  repoit  his  success 
to  Caesar's  minister  Agrippa,  at  Mitylene,  to  w-hich  he  went  to  meet 
him.  Two  j'ears  later  Herod  received  from  Augustus,  in  person,  at 
Antioch,  the  districts  of  L'latha  and  Panias,  to  round  off  his  kingdom 
suitalily.  He  now  reigned  over  a  larger  kingdom  than  any  preceding 
Jewish  monarch..  The  glory  of  David  seemed  to  be  out.sh'one.  From 
Lebanon  to  the  far  South,  and  from  the  edge  of  the  Desert  to  the 
sea-coast,  was  Jewish  territory.  Nor  was  the  political  glor}'  granted 
to  Herod  less  than  the  material.  He  was  made  the  representative  of 
Agrippa  in  the  East,  and  it  Avas  refpiired  that  his  counsel  should  be 
taken,  before  anything  of  moment  was  done  by  consuls  or  governors. 
Amidst  these  flatteries  from  Augustus  it  was  necessary  to  do  some, 
thing  to  conciliate  the  Jews.  Hence,  in  the  year  24  HtTod  had  mar 
ried  a  Jewish  maiden — Mariamne,  daughter  of  Boethos,  a  priest  of 
Alexandi'ian  origin,  who  was  raised  to  the  high  priesthood,  to  dignify 
tke  alliance  with  "the  fairest  woman  in  the  vrjrld," — Jesus,  the  soil 


86  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  Phabi,  the  high  priest  at  the  time,  being  set  aside  in  his  favour, 
Bo^thos  was  a  great  accession  to  the  small  body  of  the  Sadducean 
dignitaries,  but,  in  politics,  was,  of  course,  a  Herodian. 

So  much  intercourse  with  heathenism,  however,  and  the  splendid 
flatteries  by  which  Herod  sought  to  retain  and  increase  the  power  of 
his  master,  were  not  without  their  effects  on  Judaism.  Even  in  the 
days  of  the  Syrian  kings,  Palestine  had  been  encircled  by  Greek  towns 
and  cities,  and  the  inmiigration  of  heathen  settlers  had,  in  Herod's 
day,  made  the  towns  of  tlie  Philistine  coast  and  of  the  Decapolis  much 
more  Greek  than  Jewish.  The  only  bounds  to  Herod's  introduction 
of  foreign  novelties  were  his  dread  of  national  opposition.  Greek  had 
become  the  court  dialect  of  the  Empire,  as  French  was  that  of  Europe 
in  the  days  of  Louis  XIV. ,  and  still  remains  to  a  gTcat  extent ;  and 
hence  it  was^iniversally  favoured  and  spoken  by  the  upper  classes  in 
Herod's  dominions.  Samaria  received  a  Greek  name,  had  Greek 
coins,  and  Greek  idolatry.  The  first  act  of  Herod,  after  Augustus 
had  aggrandised  him  so  greatly,  was  to  build  a  temple  of  white  mar- 
ble to  his  patron,  at  Panias,  the  future  Csesarea  Philippi,  lying  finely 
on  one  of  the  southern  spurs  of  Lebanon.  Before  long,  venturing  to 
bring  heathenism  nearer  the  centre  of  the  land,  he  built  another  tem- 
ple to  Caesar  in  Samaria,  and  surrounded  it  by  a  consecrated  approach, 
a. furlong  and  a  half  in  circumference.  A  grand  palace  was  also 
begun  in  Jerusalem  itself,  in  the  heathen  style,  with  wide  ix)rticoes, 
rows  of  pillars,  and  baths,  its  one  wing  receiving  the  name  of  Ceesar, 
the  other  that  of  Agrippa.  Herodium,  which  he  built  on  the  hill,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  deep  gorge  leading  to  the  Dead  Sea,  where  he  had 
so  bravely  defended  himsef f  against  the  Parthians,  was  planned  as  a 
Roman  castle,  rising  over  an  Italian  town,  with  public  buildings  and 
statelj'  acjueducts.  His  grandest  undertaking,  after  the  Temple,  was 
the  creation  of  Ctesarea,  on  the  coast.  The  name  was  another  flat- 
tery of  the  Emperor;  that  of  one  of  the  great  signal  towers  on  the 
smaller  harbour  was  DrvLsion,  after  Caesar's  son.  The  great  pier  was 
adorned  with  splendid  pillars.  Broad  quays,  magnificent  bazaar's, 
spacious  basilicae,  for  the  courts  of  law  and  other  public  uses,  and  huge 
sailors'-homes,  invited  a  great  commerce;  and  on  an  eminence  above 
rose  a  temple,  with  a  colossal  statue,  visible  far  out  at  sea,  of  Augus- 
tus, as  Jupiter  Olympus,  and  another  of  Rome  tleified  as  Juno. 
Theatres  and  amphitheatres  were  not  wanting.  A  grand  palace,  de- 
signed for  Herod  himself,  became  later  the  Praetorium  of  the  Roman 
procurators.  Temples  to  Jupiter,  Neptune,  Apollo,  Hercules,  Bac- 
chus, Minerva,  Victory,  and  Astarte.  soon  adorned  the  town,  and 
showed  the  many-coloured  heathenism  of  its  population.  It  was, 
moreover,  provided  with  a  system  of  magnificent  underground  sewers* 
in  the  Roman  manner.  Ciiesarea  was  in  every  respect  a  foreign  city. 
Its  population.was  more  heathenish  than  Jewish,  and  their  mutnai 
hatred  often  led'to  fierce  riots. 

In  Jerusalem  itself  a  theatre  and  amphitheatre  were  erected.    Count' 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  _  8? 

Jees  foreign  proselytes  and  numerous  heathens  had  settled  in  the  city. 
The  coins  bore  Greek  inscriptions.  Among  the  troops  of  Herod 
were  Tliracian,  German,  and  Gallic  regiments.  So  thoroughly,  in- 
deed, had  foreign  elements  gained  a  footing,  even  in  the  fanatical 
capital,  in  spite  of  the  Rabbis,  that,  while  the  people  at  large  retained 
their  native  dialect,  many  Greek  words  had  been  permanently  incor- 
porated with  it.  The  very  Temple  displayed  proofs  of  the  irrepres- 
sible intluences  of  the  great  world  outside  Judea.  Its  outer  court  was 
thronged  by  heathens,  and  countless  gifts  presented  b}^  heathen 
princes  and  nobles  adorned  the  walls  of  the  court  of  the  priests.  The 
Ptolemies  had  enriched  it  by  numerous  costly  gifts.  Sosius,  when 
he  took  Jerusalem,  in  concert  with  Herod,  vowed  a  golden  crown. 
xVmong  the  Temple  vessels  were  wine  jars  which  had  been  presented 
by  Augustus  and  his  Empress.  It  was,  indeed,  a  common  thing  for 
Romans  to  make  gifts  of  this  kind.  They  very  often,  also,  presented 
offerings.  When  Pompey  had  taken  Jerusalem,  his  first  care  was  to 
provide  the  usual  sacrifices.  AgTippa,  the  friend  and  patron  of 
Herod,  offered  a  hecatomb  on  his  visit  to  Jerusiilem  fifteen  years 
before  Christ,  and  Augustus  provided  that  sacrifices  should  be  offered 
daily  at  his  expense  to  tne  INIo.st  High  God ;  and  .such  an  exampla 
must  have  had  countless  followers.  All  the  liatred  between  Jews  and 
heathen  was  not  strong  enough  to  prevent  the  Temple  becoming,  like 
all  the  famous  sanctuaries  of  the  age,  a  gathering  point  for  the  world 
at  large. 

There  was,  clearly,  much  to  keep  a  fanatical  people  in  a  constant 
Jsnsion,  and  to  make  theifl  more  fanatical  still.  Heathen  temples, 
Avith  their  attendant  priests,  pompous  ritual,  and  imposing  sacrificea, 
abounded  in  the  land.  Gaza,  in  the  .south,  was  virtually  a  Greek 
city,  and  worshipped  a  local  Jupiter  as  the  town  god,  "  who  sent  rain 
and  fruitfulness  On  the  earth,"  and  a.ssociated  with  him,  in  its  idol- 
atry, another  Jupiter — the  Victory  Bringer — Apollo,  the  Sun,  and 
Hercules,  and  the  goddesses  Fortune,  lo,  Diana,  Juno,  and  Venus. 
Ascalon  worshipped  Jupiter,  Neptune,  Apollo,  the  Sun,  3Iiuerva, 
iMercury,  Castor  and  Pollux,  and  the  SjTian  JVIoon  goddess  Astarto, 
as  the  heavenly  Venus — the  vrarlike,  spear-bearing.  Queen  of  Heaven. 
On  the  rocks  at  Joppa,  the  marks  of  the  chains  were  shown  which 
had  been  forged  for  Andromeda.  A  lam-el-crowned  Jupiter  was 
worshipped  at  Dora,  north  of  Ctesarea.  At  Ptolemais  the  favourite 
divinity  was  the  goddess  Fortune,  but  with  her,  Jupiter,  Apollo, 
Diana,  Venus,  Pluto  and  Persephone,  and  Perseus,  with  the  Egyp- 
tian Serapis,  and  the  Phrygian  Cybele,  had  their  respective  wor- 
shippers. 

In  Tyre,  the  old  worship  of  Baal  and  Astarte — the  Sun  and  3Ioon — 
retained  their  pre-eminence,  with  a  Greek  colouring  of  the  idolatry. 
In  Damascus  Greek  heathenism  was  in  the  ascendant.  Jupiter,  Her- 
cules, and  Bacchus,  Diana,  Minerva,  Fortune,  and  Victory  had  their 
temples,  and  wcro  stamped  on  the  local  coins.    la  the  future  provincs 


S5  ^  TIIE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  Philip  heathenism  was  predominant.  lu  Panias  or  Cse.sarea  Phil- 
ippi,  as  we  liave  seen,  Herod  built  a  temple  for  the  worship  of  Augus- 
tus, but  the  leading  divinity  w;"ts  the  god  Pan,  as  the  old  name  of  the 
town — Panias — indicates:  Japiter,  however,  and  Astarte,  with  a  horn 
of  plenty,  Apollo,  and  Diana,  had  also  their  votaries,  and  no  doubt 
their  temples.  Heathenism  flourished  in  Batana^a,^  Trachonitis,  and 
Auranitis.  Helios,,  the  Sun,  was  the  great  object  of  worship,  and  so 
deep-rooted  was;  this  idolatry  that  the  early  C'hristian  missionaries- 
knew  no  other  way  of  overthrowing  it  than  b}^  changing  it  into  th& 
name  of  the  prophet  Elias,  and  turning  the  temples  into  churches- 
/dedicated  to  him.  Round  this  central  divinity,,  however,  the  worship 
of  Bacchus,  Saturn,  Herculei*-  Mmerva,  Fortune,  Venus,  Victory,. 
Peace,  and  other  divinities  flourished  m.oi'e  or  less.  The  cities  of  the 
Decapolis  were  very  heathen. 

Thus,  all  round  the  central  district  of  Palestine,  and  to  some  ex- 
tent even  within  its  limits,  heathenism  had  already  in  Herod's  day, 
and,  consequently,  in  Christ's-,  its  temples,  altars,  idols,  and  priests. 
Jehovah  was  no  longer  the  sole  God.  With  a  few  exceptions  of  Syrian 
or  Egyptian  divinities,  Greek  names  and  rites  marked  the  source  of 
the  corruption,  though  we  have  given  the  Roman  names  as  better 
-knoAvn.  Of  all  this  aggressive  heathenism  Herod,  so  far  as  he  dared,, 
was  the  ostentatious  patron.  If  he  could  hardly  venture  on  much 
within  the  narrow-  limits  of  Judea,  cenotaphs,  mausolea,  and  other 
monuments  ofliensive  to  a  Jew,  were  seen  along  all  the  leading  roads, 
and  so  many  places  were  called  by  new  Latin  names,  in  honour  of 
the  imperial  family,  that  a  traveller  migflt  think  he  was  in  Italy. 
Nor  was  Herod  ever  without  money  to  bestow  on  neighbouring 
heathen  cities,  as  a  mark  of  friendliness,  in  building  gymnasia,  piazzas, 
theatres,  and  aqueducts,  or  in  the  shape  of  prizes  to  be  striven  for  in 
the  circus.  It  ceemcd  as  if  the  throne  of  David  existed  only  to 
spread  heathenism.  It  was  clear  to  the  Jevvs  that  Herod's  heathen 
subjects  were  nearest  his  heart,  since,  amidst  all  Ins  lavish  munificence 
to  them,  he  had  done  nothijag  to  beautify  a  single  Jewish  town  except 
Jerusalem,  to  which  his  additions  were,  themselves,  heathen.  The 
most  appalling  reports  respecting  hiiTi  cpread  from  mouth  to  mouth. 
He  had  preserved  the  body  of  Mariamne  for  csvcn  years  in  honey  for 
the  most  hideous  ends;  he  had  strangled  all  the  great  liabbis,  except 
Baba-ben-Boutra,  and  him  he  had  blinded.  The  most  intense  hatred 
of  him  prevailed. 

It  vvas  with  the  cxtremest  mistrust,  ihercforc,  that  the  Rabbis 
heai'd  in  the  year  e.c.  20  that  Herod  intended  replacing  the  humble 
temple  of  the  Exile  by  one  unspeakably  more  splendid.  It  is  said 
that  Baba-ben-Boutra  had  seen  a  crack  in  llie  old  structure,  and  coun- 
selled Herod  to  build  another  in  its  place,  as  an  expiation  for  the 
murder  of  Mariamne  and  the  Rabbis,  and  to  conciliate  the  people  for 
his  favour  to  heathenism.  The  prophecies  were  played  off  by  him, 
to  "srin  popular  sanction  to  his  undertaking,  for  Haggai  had  foretold 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  89 

that  a  new  temple  of  surpassing  glorj--  would  one  day  be  built.  But 
so  great  was  the  distrust,  that  all  the  materials  of  the  new  templ« 
needed  to  be  brought  together  before  a  stone  of  the  old  one  could  be 
touched.  At  last,  on  the  regnal  day  of  Herod,  in  the  year  c.c.  14,  the 
unfinished  structure  was  consecrated,  and  the  lowing  of  300  oxen  r.t 
the  Great  Altar  announced  to  Jeru.'^ilem  that  the  first  sacrilice  iu  it 
was  offered.  But  scarcely  was  the  consecration  over  than  national 
gratitude  was  turned  into  indignation  by  his  setting  up  a  great  golden 
eagle — the  emblem  of  heathen  Kome — over  the  gi-eat  gate,  in  expec- 
tation of  a  visit  from  distinguished  strangers  from  the  imperial  city. 
The  nation  was  not  duped  as  the  king  had  expected.  In  spite  of  his 
having  begun  a  temple  so  magnificent  that  even  a  Jewish  saying  owns 
that  he  Avho  had  not  seen  it  liad  seen  nothing  worth  looking  at,  an 
abyss  yawned  between  him  and  them.  He  had  burned  the  registers 
of  Jerusalem  to  destroy  the  pedigi-ees  of  which  the  people  boasted;  he 
had  tried  to  make  it  be  believed  that  he  was  the  descendant  of  a  foreign 
Jewish  family,  but  no  one  regarded  him  as  anything  but  the  slave  of 
their  kings.  All  felt  that  his  conduct  was  as  little  Jewi.sh  as  his  birth; 
and  that  he  was  rather  a  Roman  proconsul  than  the  King  of  Israel. 
Even  the  worst  of  the  Maccabsean  house  were  bound  to  tbe  national 
faith  by  the  functions  of  the  pontificate,  but  though  Herod  might  be 
made  King  of  Judea  by  the  favour  of  Rome,  no  earthly  power  could 
make  him  a  descendant  of  Aai'on,  without  being  which  he  could  not 
be  high  priest. 

In  vain  Herod  tried  to  make  himself  beloved.  He  had  done  mijch 
to  deserve  gratitude  in  these  later  j'ears,  and  yet  the  nation  wrote  his 
virtues  in  water,  and  his  faults  iu  brass.  A  dreadful  famine,  followed 
by  pestilence,  had  spread  misery  and  death  in  the  tlurteenth  of  his 
reign.  No  rain  had  fallen  at  the  required  times,  and  the  crops  utterly 
failed,  so  that  there  was  no  food  for  either  man  or  beast.  ]Mer>  said  it 
was  a  judgment  of  God  for  the  defilement  of  His  land  by  their  king's 
crimes  and  heathen  innovation*,  for  Mariamne's  blood,  now  four 
years  shed,  still  seemed  to  cry  for  vengeance,  and  since  her  murder  a 
theatre  and  c'rcus  had  profaned  Jerusalem,  and  heathen  games,  iu 
which  men  fought  with  men,  to  the  death,  had  been  .set  on  foot  witl^ 
great  pomp.  Samaria,  the  hated  rival  of  .Tenisalem,  was  even  then, 
moreover,  being  rebuilt,  with  a  heathen  temple  in  it,  in  which  a  man 
— Augustus — was  to  be  worshipped.  Herod  felt  the  peril  of  his  posi- 
tion, and  acted  from  policy,  as  others  might  ha^'e  done  from  the 
wisest  and  most  energetic  philanthropy.  Selling  the  very  plate  in  his 
palace,  and  emptying  his  treasury,  he  sent  funds  to  Egypt  and  bought 
corn,  which  he  brought  home  and  distributed,  !»s  a  gift,  among  all  the 
people,  for  their  money  had  been  spent  for  the  merest  necessaries 
before -this  relief  came.  He  even  provided  clothing  for  the  nation  in 
the  winter,  where  it  was  wanted,  for  sheep  and  goats  alike  had  been 
killed  for  food,  and  he  supplied  seed  corn  for  next  spring,  and  thus 
the  evil  time  was  tided  over.     For  a  while  it  seemed  as  if  the  people 


40  THE  LIFE  OE  CHRIST. 

wouid  really  become  loyal.  But  his  beot  nets  of  one  moment  wars 
rpoiled  the  next.  The  bazaars  and  schools  muttered  treason  contm- 
ually.  One  3'ear  Ilcrcd  remitted  a  third  of  the  taxes,  but  tong-uca 
went  against  him  none  tlie  less,  and  presently  he  seemed  to  justify 
their  bitterness  Ijy  decreeing  that  all  thieves  should  be  sold  as  slaves 
to  other  countries,  where,  as  tlie  people  said,  they  would  lo.sc  the 
blessing  of  Abraham,  could  not  keep  the  Lavv^,  and  would  be  lost  for 
ever.  Meanwhile  Agiippa  visited  Jerusalem  again,  and  bore  himself 
so  wisely  that  thousands  escorted  him  to  the  sea-coast  when  he  left, 
strewing  his  path  with  flowers.  Next  year  Herod  returned  the  visit 
at  Sinope,  lavishing  bounty  on  heathen  and  Jewish  communities  alike, 
on  his  journey  out  and  back.  The  Jcvv-a  of  each  city  of  Asia  Minor 
seized  the  opportunity  of  his  passing,  to  comj^lain,  through  him,  to 
Agrippa,  that  the  privileges  gi-anted  them  by  Cac'sar  were  not  observed. 
The  Gi-ecks,  on  the  other  hand,  reviled  them  as  bloodsuckers  and 
cancers  of  the  community,  who  refused  to  honour  the  gods,  and  hence 
had  no  right  to  such  favour,  but  Herod  prevailed  with  Agrippa  on 
behalf  of  the  Jews.  For  once,  Jerusalem  received  its  king  heartily 
when  he  returned;  he,  on  his  side,  acknowledging  the  feeling  by  a 
remittance  of  a  quarter  of  the  taxes  of  the  year. 

The  dismal  shadow  that  had  rested  over  the  palace  in  past  times 
had  been  in  part  forgotten  while  the  tvro  sons  of  the  murdered  Mari- 
amne  were  in  Ivome.  In  the  year  B.C.  17,  however,  the  old  troubles 
had  begun  again,— to  darken  at  last  into  the  blackest  misery.  Herod 
had  recalled  his  sons  from  Rome.  Alexander,  the  elder,  was  eighteen; 
Aristobulus,  the  ^"ounger,  about  seventeen.  They  had  grown  tall, 
taking  after  their  mother  and  her  race.  In  Italj'  and  Judca  alike, 
their  birth  and  iwsition,  amidst  so  many  snares,  won  them  universal 
sympathy.  Roman  education  had  given  them  an  open,  straightfor- 
Avard  way,  however,  that  was  ill-fitted  to  hold  its  own  with  their 
crafty  fawning  Idiimean  connections,  in  Jerusalem.  Their  morals 
had,  moreover,  suifered  by  their  residence  in  Rome,  so  that  Alexan- 
der, at  least,  appears  to  have  exposed  himself  to  charges  against 
which  Jewish  ecclesiastical  law  denounced  death.  In  any  case  they 
were  heirs  to  the  hatred  that  had  been  l)orne  towards  their  mother. 
Her  fate  doubtless  alTected  their  bearing  towards  tlieir  father,  and  it 
was  said  that  they  wLshed  to  get  the  process  against  Mariamne  reversed, 
and  her  acciisers  punished.  Their  ruin  was  doubtless  detennined 
from  the  first;  and  their  unsuspicious  frankness,  which  showed  their 
aversion  to  the  other  members  of  the  family,  gave  materials  for  slan- 
der, and  aided  in  their  destruction.  Herod  sought  to  reconcile  the 
strife  l)y  the  course  usual  at  the  time,  and  married  Aristolndus  to  his 
.sister  Salome's  daughter  Berenice,  wlio  was,  unfortunately,  still,  en- 
tirely under  the  hostile  influence  of  her  mother,  though  she  afterwards 
grew  to  be  a  worthy  woman.  Alexander,  as  became  the  heir  to  the 
throne,  was  married  to  a  king's  daught^^r,  Glaphyra,  of  the  family  of 
Arehelaus,  king  of  Capi^adocia — a  daughter  of  a  prostitute  of  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  41 

temple  of  Ycnus  in  Corinth,  whom  Archelaus  hr.d  married.  The 
bride  might  be  fair,  but  she  was  not  prudent,  and  lillcd  the  palace  in 
Jerusalem  with  stories  of  her  contempt  lor  licrod's  family  as  com- 
pared with  her  own.  Whatever  Aristobulus  said  to  his  wife  was 
carried  to  Salome,  and  spies  were  set  on  the  two  youn^  men,  to  report 
what  they  coujd.  The  quarrels  of  the  women  grew  licrccr  daily,  and 
involved  the  two  brothers  fatally.  Nothing  else  Avas  spoken  cf'in  the 
city  but  the  strife  in  the  palace.  Another  clement  of  mischief  was 
soon  added.  Herod's  joungest  brother,  Pheroras,  joined  the  party  of 
Salome.  He  had  maEried  a  slave  girl,  who  was  vo  devoted  to  the 
Pharisees  that  she  got  her  husband  to  pay  for  them  the  pcnal'aes 
Herod  had  imposed,  for  their  having  refused  to  take  the  oath  of 
allegiance.  Pheroras,  who  was  a  true  Edomite  in  his  fickle  faithless- 
ness, was  a  born  conspirator.  He  had  plotted  already  against  Ilcrod, 
and  resolved,  in  revenge  for  Glaphyra's  loose  tonguS  about  his  low 
marriage,  to  join  Salome,  and  hunt  the  two  youths  to  death. 

On  Herod's  return  from  his  visit  to  Agi'ippa  in  xVsia  Tilinor,  in  the 
Ti-iuter  of  b.c.  14,  he  found  the  palace  in  a  ferment,  and  heard  for  the 
first  time  that  the  youths  intended  to  apply  to  Augustus  to  have  the 
process  against  ilariamne  reversed.  In  hi3  rage,  he  resolved  to  recall 
Antipater,  liis  eldest  son,  who,  with  his  mother,  had  been  banished 
from  the  court  on  account  of  ]Mariamnc,  and  v/ho  vras  th'as  a  deadly 
enemy  of  her  sons.  This  step  was  the  rain  of  Herod's  peace.  Anti- 
pater instantly  joined  Salome's  party;  v.'atclied  every  ctcp  and  caught 
every  word  of  the  unsuspecting  youths:  never  himself  accused  them 
to  his  father,  but  played  the  ]^art  cf  lago  consummately,  in  exciting 
the  .suspicions  to  which  Herod's  ijuilty  conscience  was  only  too  prone. 
The  presence  of  an  elder  brother  not  having  suHiccd  to  himible  the 
two,  Antipater's  mother,  Doris,  was  also  recalled  to  court;  that  they 
might  see  how  their  hopes  of  the  throne  were  vanishing.  Their 
enemies,  moreover,  did  their  best  to  stir  them  up  against  each  other, 
to  work  more  harm  to  both. 

Antipater,  erelong,  got  himself  named  as  heir,  and  was  sent,  ag 
■such,  to  Rome,  in  the  year  c.c.  13,  but  even  from  Italy  he  managed 
to  deepen  his  father's  suspicions  so  nmch,  that  Herod  himself  went  to 
Rome,  taking  the  two  young  men  Avith  him,  to  have  them  tried  before 
CiPsar  for  intended  jiarricide.  They  defended  themselves  so  well, 
however,  that  an  outward  reconciliation  followed,  and  Herod  re- 
turned to  Jerusalem  with  them,  as  joint  heir3,  with  Antipater,  of  hU 
dominions. 

But  the  quiet  was  soon  disturbed.  The  mutual  hatred  of  the 
women,  and  the  plots  of  Pheroras  and  Antipater,  though  for  a  time 
fruitless,  made  progress  in  the  end.  The  slaves  of  the  youths  were 
tortured,  at  their  .suggestion,  and  accused  Alexander  of  conspiracy; 
and  he,  weary  of  life,  and  furious  at  the  toil  laid  for  him,  was  foolish 
enough  to  say  that  he  was  guilty,  but  only  in  common  with  all  Herod's 
relations,  except  Antipater.     Ihe  unfortunate  young  man  made  an 


43  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

exception  in  his  case  as  a  special  and  trusted  friend !  The  -whole  of 
Herod's  connections  were  now  unanimous  for  his  ideath,  but  it  was 
not  to  happen  yet.  His  father-in-law  found  means  to  appease  Herod 
once  more,  which  was  the  easier,  as  Herod  had  discovered  the  deceit 
of  Pheroras,  and  had  found  his  sister  Salome  carrying  on  intrigues 
v.'hich  he  did  not  approve. 

He  was  indeed  to  be  pitied.  The  familj^  quarrels  embittered  his 
existence,  and  his  suspicions  had  been  so  excited  that  he  trusted  no- 
body. Every  one  was  suspected,  and  could  only  defend  himself  by 
raising  suspicions  against  others.  A  Greek  at  court  determined  to 
profit  by  the  position  of  affairs  and  bring  it  to  a  final  crisis.  Trusting 
to  get  money  from  ^ntipater,  Herod,  and  Archelaus,  alike,  if  he 
ended  the  matter,  he  laid  his  plans  to  bring  about  the  death  of  the 
young  men.  Forging  documents  and  inventing  acts,  he  made  Herod 
believe  that  his  sOns  were  really  plottmg  his  death.  The  tyrant  forth- 
Avith  had  them  thrown  into  chains,  and  their  slaves  put  to  torture, 
stoning  those  who  confessed  any  guilt.  Nothing  kept  him  from  put- 
ting the  princes  to  death  but  fear  of  offending  Augustus,  for  even 
Salome  tormented  him  day  and  night  to  kill  them,  though  one  was 
her  son-in-law.  At  la.st  Herod  sent  to  Rome  for  permission  from 
Augustus  to  put  them  to  death.  The  request  cost  him  the  crown  of 
Arabia,  Augustus  declaring  that  the  man  who  could  not  keep  his 
house  in  order  was  unfit  to  be  trusted  with  additional  kingdoms.. 
Yet  he  gave  him  permission  to  do  as  he  thought  fit  with  his  sons.  A. 
court,  one-half  of  Romans,  one-half  of  Jews,  was  now  held  at  Bery- 
tus,  and  Herod  appeared  as  prosecutor.  In  vain  the  Roman  proconsul 
brought  his  three  sons  with  him  to  excite  the  grey-headed  despot's 
fatherly  feelings.  He  acted  like  a  madman:  detailed  his  injuries 
■with  the  utmost  passion,  and  supplied  the  Avant  of  proof  by  bursts  of 
fury.  The  sentence  was  given  as  lie  desired,  and  he  had  the  satis- 
faction of  having  pursued  his  own  rons  to  the  death.  In  the;  year 
B.C.  7,  the  princes  Avcre  strangled  at  Samaria,  where  Herod  had  mar- 
ried their  mother. 

If  the  hoary  murderer  hoped  for  peace  I  y  this  new  crime  be  was 
deceiA'cd.  Antipater  lived  with  his  two  brothers,  Archelaus  and 
Philip,  at  Rome,  and,  there,  f.rst  excited  them  against  his  father, 
and  then  betrayed  them  to  him.  Phcrcras,  Herod's  brother,  he 
.^ought  to  make  his  tool  in  killing  Herod.  He  Avas  afraid  that  if 
he  did  not  destroy  his  father  soon  his  OAvn  infinite  villany  in  the 
1  a.st  AYould  be  discovered.  Pheroras  Avas,  in  fact,  in  a  false  position. 
His  Avife  and  her  relations  Avere  strongly  on  the  side  of  the  Pharisees, 
Avlio  wished  above  e-A'erything  to  destroy  Herod,  and  put  Pheroras,  as 
their  friend,  on  the  throne.  Prophecies  Avere  circulated  by  them,  that 
it  Avas  the  Avill  of  God  that  Herod  and  his  .sons  should  lose  the  king- 
dom, and  that  Pheroras  and  his  Avife  should  inherit  it.  Their  tool, 
Herod's  eunuch,  Bagoas,  Avas  to  have  a  son  who  would  be  the 
3Iessiah.     Many  Avere  won  over  in  the  i:)alace.  but  the  plot  was  dis- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  4S 

covered,  and  many  Rabbis  and  others  i")iit  to  death.  ITerod  demand  ^d 
that  Pherora.s  should  divorce  liis  wii'e,  but  he  preferred  to  leave  the 
court  and  go  to  Perea  with  her,  rather  than  forsake  her.  Here  he 
soon  after  suddenly  died,  report  said,  by  poison.  Herod,  however, 
had  his  l)ody  brought  to  Jerusalem,  and  appointed  a  great  national 
mourning  on  his  account. 

Inquiry'  respecting  his  death  at  last  brought  to  light  the  whole 
secret  history  of  years.  lie  had  died  Ir,'  taking  poison,  sent  by  Anti- 
pater  to  kill  Herod.  The  plot  was  found  to  have  wide  ramification.s 
where  least  suspected.  Even  the  second  Mariamne  was  proved  to 
have  been  privy  to  it,  and  her  .son  Herod,  was  on  this  account,  blotted 
out  of  his  father's  will.  Thus,  as  Josephus  says,  did  the  ghosts  of 
Alexander  and  Aristobulus  go  round  all  the  palace,  and  bring  ihe 
most  deeply  hidden  secrets  to  light,  summoning  to  the  judgment  seat 
tho.se  who  seemed  freest  from  suspicion. 

Antipater  was  now  unmasked,  and  Herod  saw  the  kind  of  man  for 
whom  he  had  sacriliced  his  wife  and  his  sons.  With  pretended 
friendliness  he  sent  for  him  from  Rome,  nor  did  anj^  one  warn  him 
of  his  danger,  though  proceedings  had  gone  on  many  months  against 
his  mother,  ending  in  her  divorce.  Perhaps,  says  Josephus,  the 
spirits  of  his  murdered  brothers  had  closed  the  mouths  of  those  who 
might  have  put  him  on  his  guard.  His  first  hint  of  danger  was 
given  by  no  one  being  at  Cicsarea  to  receive  him,  Avhcn  he  landed,  but 
he  could  not  now  go  back,  and  determined  to  put  a  bold  face  on  it. 
As  he  rode  up  to  Jerusalem,  however,  he  saw"  that  his  escort  was 
taken  from  him,  and  he  now  felt  that  lie  was  ruined.  Herod  received 
him  as  he  deserved,  and  handed  him  over  for  trial  to  the  S3-rian  pro- 
consul. All  hastened  to  give  witness  against  one  so  universally 
hated.  It  was  proved  that  he  had  sought  to  poison  his  father.  A 
criminal  who  was  forced  to  drink  what  Antipater  had  sent  for 
Herod  presently  fell  dead.     Antipater  Avas  led  away  in  chains. 

The  strong  nature  of  Herod  at  last  gave  way  under  such  revela- 
tions, which  he  forthwith  communicated  to  his  master  at  Rome.  A 
deadly  illness  seized  him,  and  Avord  ran  through  Jerusalem  that  he 
could  not  recoA-er.  The  Rabbis  could  no  longer  repress  their  hatred 
of  him,  and  of  the  Romans.  Their  teachings  through  long  years 
Avere  about  to  bear  fruit.  Tavo  AA-ere  especially  popular.  Judas,  the 
son  of  Sariphai,  and  I^Iatthias,  the  ."^on  of  Jlargolouth,  round  Avhom  a 
Avhole  army  of  young  men  gathered  daily,  drinking  in  from  them 
the  spirit  of  revc)luti()n.  All  that  had  hapiieued  Avas  traced  to  the 
anger  of  Jehovah  at  Herod's  desecration  of  tlie  Temple  and  city,  and 
violations  of  the  L.iAV  during  his  Avhole  reign.  To  Avin  back  the 
divine  favour  to  the  nation,  the  heathen  profanations  erected  by 
Herod  in  the  Temple  must  be  pulled  doAvn,  especially  the  golden 
eagle  over  the  great  gate.  Living  or  dying,  they  Avould  have  etema' 
rewards  for  this  fidelity  to  the  laAvs  of  "their  fathers.  Such  counsels 
from  venerated  teachers  A\'ere  like  fife  to  the  inflammable  passions  of 


44  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

youth.  In  the  niddle  of  the  day  a  vast  crowd  of  students  of  the 
Law  rushed  to  the  Temple;  let  themselves  down  with  ropes  from 
the  top  of  the  great  gate,  tore  down  the  hated  symbol  of  Rome  and 
of  idolatry,  and  hacked  it  to  pieces  in  the  streets.  Mobs  rose  in  other 
parts  of  tiie  city,  also,  to  throw  down  other  objects  of  popular  hatred, 
but  the  ti  oops  Avere  turned  out,  and  the  unarmed  rioters  w-ere  scat- 
tered, leaving  forty  young  Pharisees  in  the  hands  of  the  military. 
Drought  before  Herod  and  asked  who  had  counselled  them  to  act  as 
Ihey  had  done,  they  answered,  touchingly,  that  they  did  it  in  obe- 
dience to  the  Law.  In  vain  he  tried  to  alarm  theni  by  saying  they 
must  die :  they  only  replied  that  their  eternal  reward  would  be  so 
much  the  greater.  The  two  Rabbis  and  the  young  men  were  sent  to 
Jericho  for  trial  before  Herod,  and  the  Rabbis-  and  the  ringleaders 
were  burned  alive,  the  others  being  beheaded.  On  the  night  after 
they  suffered  there  Avas  an  eclipse  cf  the  moon,  which  fixes  the  date 
as  the  11th  of  March,  cc.  4. 

Death  was  now  busy  v/ith  Ilerod  himself.  His  life  had  been  a 
splendid  failure.  He  had  a  wide  kingdom,  but  his  life  had  been  a 
long  struggle  with  public  enemies  cr  with  domestic  troubles,  and  in 
his  old  age  he  foimd  that  all  this  misery,  which  had  made  him  the 
murderer  of  his  wife,  her  mother,  and  his  two  sons,  not  to  speak  of 
other  relations  and  connections,  had  been  plannedfor  selfish  ends  by 
those  whom  he  had  trusted.  The  curse  had  come  back  on  him  to  the 
fall,  for  his  eldest  son  had  sought  to  murder  him.  His  government 
liad  been  no  less  signal  a  failui-e,  for  revolt  had  burst  into  flames  at 
the  mere  report  of  his  death.  Tlie  strong  man  was  bowed  to  the  dust 
r.t  last.  A  loathsome  disease  prostrated  Iiim,  and  he  suffered  such 
rgonies  that  men  said  it  was  a  punishment  for  his  countless  iniqui- 
ties. Carried  across  the  Dead  Sea  to  the  sulphur  baths  of  Callirhoe, 
he  fainted  and  almost  died  under  the  treatment.  All  round  him  Avere 
alarmed  lest  he  should  do  so  before  ordering  the  execution  of  Anti- 
pater,  but  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  prisoner  to  bribe  his  gaoler 
was  fatal  to  him.  Augustus  had  granted  permission  for  his  execu- 
tion, Avith  the  caustic  irony,  that  it  Avas  better  to  be  Herod's  sow  than 
his  son.  Five  days  after  Antipater  had  fallen  Herod  himself  ex- 
pired. He  Avas  in  his  seventy-llrst  or  seventy-second  year  when  he 
died. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  JEWISH  WORLD  AT  THE   TIME   OE   CHRIST, 

"When  the  conquest  of  Babylon  by  Darius  and  Cyras  had  t^ans^ 
ferred  the  fate  of  the  Jews,  then  in  captivity  in  that  empire,  to  tha 
victorious  Persian,  their  long  exile  had  had  its  natural  effect  in  re- 
kindling their  zeal  for  the  religion  of  their  fathers,  and  of  intensify- 
ing their  desire  to  return  to  their  own  land.  Before  Cyrus  finally 
advanced  to  the  conquest  of  the  great  city,  more  than  twenty  years 
had  been  spent,  for  the  most  part,  in  distant  military  operations.  But 
long  before  he  drew  near  Bab3ion,  the  Jewish  loaders,  stimulated  by 
the  assurances  of  the  prophets  then  living,  or  of  earlier  date,  felt 
sure  of  his  victory,  and  of  the  speedy  deliverance  of  their  nation 
from  their  hated  oppressors.  The  glorious  promises  of  the  later 
chapters  of  Isaiah,  and  the  exultation  of  many  of  the  Psalms  of  tlie 
period,  are  doubtless  only  illustrations  of  the  intense  spiritual  excite- 
ment that  prevailed  in  the  Jewish  communitj^  throughout  the  lauds 
of  their  exile,  during  the  years  immediately  preceding  the  fall  of 
Babylon.  All  that  was  noblest  in  them  had  been  roused  to  an  en- 
thusiasm which  might,  perhaps,  become  perverted,  but  was,  hence- 
forth, never  to  die.  The  spirit  of  intense  nationality,  fed  by  zeal  for 
their  religion  as  the  true  faith, — confided  to  them  exclusively  as  the 
favourites  of  Heaven, — had  been  gradually  kindled,  and  yearned, 
with  an  irrepressible  earnestness,  for  a  return  to  their  own  country, 
that  tliey  might  be  free  to  fulfil  its  requirements.  ]Men  of  the  purest 
and  warmest  zeal  for  the  honour  and  the  historic  rights  of  their  race 
had  never  been  wanting  during  the  captivity,  as  the  natural  leaders 
of  their  brethren,  and  now  took  advantage  of  the  character  and  cir- 
cumstances of  Cj'rus  to  obtain  from  him  a  favourable  decree  for  the 
restoration  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  free  return  to  it  of  their  people.  lu 
the  year  536  before  Christ,  such  as  were  most  zealous  for  their  relig- 
ion, and  most  devoted  to  their  country  and  race,  were  thus  enabled 
once  more  to  settle  in  the  land  of  their  fathers,  under  the  protection 
of  tlie  Persian  empire,  of  which  they  continued  subjects  for  two 
hundred  years,  till  Alexander  the  Great,  in  B.C.  833,  overthrew  the 
Persian  power. 

The  new  community,  which  was  to  found  the  Jewish  nation  for  a 
second  time,  was  by  no  means  numerous,  for  we  still  know  with  cer- 
tainty that  the  whole  number  of  these  Pilgrim  Fathers,  who  gathered 
together  amidst  the  ruins  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  other  cities  which 
were  open  to  them,  did  not  aniount  to  more  than  42,360  men,  witli 
7,337  secvants  of  both  sexes.  The  dangers  and  dilKculties  before  those 
who  might  return  had  winnowed  the  wheat  from  the  chalf :  the  faint- 
hearted and  indifferent  had  lingered  belxind,  and  only  th^  zealots  and 


43  THE  LIFE  ®F  CHRIST. 

puritans  of  the  captivity  had  followed  Zeruhbabel,  the  leader  of  th« 
new  Exodus. 

Tiie  rock  on  which  Jewish  nationality,  had  foundered  in  fonner 
times  had  heen  too  frank  an  intercourse  with  other  nations;  too  great 
a  readiness  to  adopt  tiieir  customs,  and  even  their  heathenism ;  too 
slight  a  regard  to  tlie  distinctively  Jewish  code  of  social  and  political 
law;  and,  witli  these,  too  wide  a  corruption  of  morals.  The  very 
existence  of  the  nation  had  been  imperilled,  and,  now,  the  one  fixed 
thought,  of  leader  and  people  alike,  was  to  make  it  sure  for  the  fu- 
ture. 

Their  manners,  and  their  whole  system  of  civil  and  religious  laws, 
offered  a  ready  and  effectual  means  to  aid  them  in  this  supreme  ob- 
ject. It  was  only  necessary  to  secure  an  intensely  conservative 
spirit  which  should  exclude  all  change,  and  Israel  would  henceforth 
Lave  an  abiding  vitality  as  a  separate  people.  Nor  was  this  difficult, 
for  tlie  ancient  framework  of  their  social  polity  largely  provided  for 
it.  The  spirit  of  Judaism,  as  embodied  in  its  sacred  law,  directly 
commanded,  or  indirectly  implied,  all  that  was  needed.  Intercourse 
with  other  nations,  as  far  as  possible,  must  be  prevented ;  the  intro- 
duction of  foreign  cultiu'e  shut  out;  the  youth  of  the  nation  trained 
on  a  fixed  model;  and,  finally,  no  gap  must  be  left  by  which  new 
opinions  might  possibly  rise  from  within  the  people  themselves.  For 
this  last  end  some  studies  must  be  entirely  prohibited,  and  others  re- 
warded with  supreme  honour  and  advantage.  Finally,  some  caste  or 
class  n>ust  make  it  their  special  care  to  see  that  this  great  aim  of 
national  isolation  be  steadily  carried  out — a  caste  which  should  itself 
be  secure  of  abiding  unchangeableness,  by  clinging  fanatically  to  all 
that  was  old  and  traditional,  and  shrinking  from  any  contact  with 
whatever  was  foreign  or  new. 

The  Mosaic  laws  had  already  inclined  the  Jew  to  a  dislike  to 
friendly  intercourse  with  otlier  nations,  and  this  feeling  grew  to  a 
fixed  contempt  and  aversion  towards  the  rest  of  mankind,  after  the 
return,  as  Judaism  deepened  into  a  haughty  bitterness  of  soul, 
under  the  influence  of  national  sufferings,  and  weakened  spiritual 
life.  Tacitus  describes  the  Jews  of  his  day  as  true  to  each  other 
and  ready  with  help,  but  filled  Avith  bitter  hatred  towards  all  other 
men;  eating  and  marrying  only  among  themselves;  a  people  marked 
by  sensual  passions,  but  indulging  tliem  only  withiu  their  own  race. 
.  .  .'  The  first  instruction  to  proselytes,  says  he,  is  to  despise  the 
gods,  to  abjure  their  country,  and  to  cast  off  parents,  children,  or 
brothers.  Juvenal  paints  them  as  refusing  to  point  out  the  way  to 
axiy  but  a  Jew,  or  lo  lead  any  one,  not  circumcised,  to  a  fountain  he 

iBOUght. 

A  nation  which  thus  hated  all  other  men  would  be  little  disposed 
to  Bit  at  the  feet  of  any  people  as  scholars.  Prejudice,  strengthened 
by  express  laws,  shut  out  all  foreign  culture.  A  curse  was  denounced 
against  any  Jew  who  kept  pigs,  or  taught  his  child  Greek.     No  ou« 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  47 

could  hope  for  eternal  life  who  read  the  books  of  other  nations.  Jo- 
sephus,  with  true  Jewish  pride,  and  smooth  hypocris}%  tells  us  that 
his  race  looked  down  on  those  who  had  learned  the  language  of  for- 
ei"-ii  nations,  such  an  accomplishment  being  common  not  only  to 
free-born  me'n^  but  to  any  slave  who  fancied  it.  He  oniy  is  reckoned 
wise,  he  adds,  among  the  Jews,  who  is  skilled  in  the  Lav/,  and  able 
to  explain  the  sacred  writings.  In  the  days  of  our  Lord,  when  ad- 
vancement could  be  obtained  only  by  a  knowledge  of  Greek  and  of 
Grecian  culture,  pride  and  scruples  .often  gave  way  before  mterest 
Still  the  nation,  as  a  whole,  held  ignorance  of  everythmg  not  Jev/ish 
a  sacred  part  of  their  religion. 

It  was  as  little  permitted  that  the  hated  Gentde  should  learn  the 
Hebrew  language  or  read  the  Law.  St.  Jerome  expatiates  on  the 
trouble  and  cost^he  had  at  Jerusalem  and  Bethlehem  to  get  a  Jew  to 
help  him  in  his  Hebrew  studies.  His  teacher  "feared  the  Jews  like 
a  second  Nieodemus."  '•  He  who  teaches  infidels  the  Law  "  said  the 
Rabbis,  "  trausii-resses  the  express  words  of  the  command;  for  God 
made  Jacob"  ahe  Jews,  not  the  heathen)  "  to  know  the  Law." 

Bui  thouo-h  thus  jealous  of  others,  the  greatest  care  was  taken  by 
the  Jew  to  teach  his  own  people  the  sacred  books.  Josephus  boasts 
that  "if  any  one  asked  one  of  his  nation  a  question  respecting  their 
Law  he  could  answer  it  more  readily  than  give  his  own  name ;  for 
he  learns  every  part  of  it  from  the  first  dawn  of  intelligence,  till  it  is 
graven  into  his  verv  soul."  That  every  Jewish  child  should  be 
taught  co  read,  was  held  a  religious  duty;  and  every  boy  was  required 
to  learn  the  Law.  There  was  no  Jew  who  did  not  know  thoroughly 
*the  duties  and  rites  of  his  religion,  and  the  great  deeds  of  his  fathers, 
the  misfortune  was,  that  theyVere  kept  utterly  ignorant  of  a-'/  other 
history  than  their  own. 

The  exact  knowledge  of  the  contents  of  the  Books  of  the  Law  was, 
thus  within  the  reach  of  all ;  but  much  more  was  needed  than  the 
mere  learning  bv  heart  the  five  Books  of  Moses,  to  gain  the  repute  of 
a  finished  legal  knowledge.  The  almost  endless  comments  of  the 
Rabbis  must  be  ma.stered,''by  vears  of  slavish  labour,  before  one  was 
recognized  as  a  really  educated  man.  Hence  the  nation  was  divided 
into  two  great  classes  of  learned  and  unlearned,  between  whom  there 
'lav  a  wide  gulf.  Puffed  up  with  boundless  pride  at  their  attain- 
ments, the  former  frankly  denounced  their  h;ss  s(;holarly  countrymen 
as  "  cursed  countrymen"  or  boors. 

The  first  trace  of  a  distinct  caste  of  professional  legalists,  if  I  may 
call  them  so,  is  found  in  the  days  of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah,  some  eighty 
vears  after  the  return  from  Babylon.  Jewish  tradition  speaks  of 
these  early  Rabbis  as  the  "  men  of  the  Great  Synagogue,"  and  acids 
that  they  trod  in  the  footsteps  of  the  prophets— that  is,  that^they 
were  their  virtual  successors.  From  the  first  they  had  great  influ- 
ence in  the  State.  Ta  secure  a  far  more  strict  oljservance  of  the  Law 
than  had  been  known  before,  they  graduivlly  formed  what  they  called 


48  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  '       - 

a  hedge  round  it — that  is,  they  added  endless  refinements  and  subtle- 
ties to  every  command,  that  by  the  obsei'vauce  of  such  external  rites 
find  precepts,  the  command  itself  should  be  the  less  In  danger  of 
being  broken.  To  this  "  hcdg-e"  Judaism  owes  the  rigid  fidelity  of 
its  people  ever  since-  for  rites  and  forms  at  all  times  find  a  much 
stricter  obedience  from  the  masses  than  the  commands  of  a  spiritual 
religion. 

In  spite  of  all  precautions,  however,  the  new  State  had  already  the 
seeds  of  religious  division  in  its  midst,  in  a  number  of  doctrines, 
hitherto  more  cr  less  unknovv'D,  which  had  been  brought  back  in  the 
return  from  the  captivity.  These  were  adopted  by  the  orthodox 
party,  who  were  the  great  m.ajority,  but  rejected  Ijy  a  few,  in  whom 
may  be  traced  the  geim  of  the  sect  afterwards  known  as  the  Saddu- 
cees.  The  orthodox  leaders,  on  the  other  hand,  were  the  beginning 
of  the  party  aftervv^ards  known  as  the  Pharisees.  It  was  they  who 
put  the  "hedge"  round  the  I^aw;  the  Sadducees  insisted  on  standing 
by  the  simple  letter  of  the  laws  of  Moses  alone.  The  one  were  the 
High-Churchmen  of  their  nation,  the  others  the  Rationalists,  with  a 
cold  creed  which  denied  the  existence  of  angels,  tlie  resurrection  of 
the  dead,  and  a  future  state,  and  rejected  Rabbinical  tradition.  The 
mass  of  the  nation  followed  the  Pharisees:  the  Sadducees  "were 
always  a  very  small  party. 

The  Pharisees,  as  the  leaders  of  the  great  bulk  of  the  people,  soon 
merged  more  strictly  religious  aims  in  the  political  one  of  moulding 
the  State  into  a  spurious  independent  theocracy,  tmder  the  rule  of 
their  party.  The  Law,  as  expounded  by  them,  with  their  thousand 
additions,  was  to  rule  supreme,  in  civil  as  weh  as  religious  life;  in 
the  affairs  of  the  nation,  as  well  as  those  of  the  individual. 

The  stormy  times  of  the  later  ^[accabaan  kings  gave  the  Pharisees 
an  opportunity  of  playing  a  great  part  in  the  nation.  The  priests  had 
pre\iousl}^  given  the  new  State  a  head  in  the  person  of  the  high 
priest,  Simon,  brother  of  Judas  Maccabteus.  But  his  grandsons 
quarrelled,  and  the  future  liistory  of  the  house  became  little  more 
than  a  record  of  cruelties,  disputes  for  the  throne,  civil  wars,  and 
persecutions.  The  orthodox  party,  led  by  the  Pharisees,  stoutly 
resisted  the  growing  corruption,  which  ended  by  the  Romans  assum- 
ing supreme  autiiority  in  Judea,  witli  Herod  as  the  vassal  king. 
Asked  to  be  arbiters,  tiicy  endeil  as  conquerors.  The  supremacy  of 
the  Pharisees,  who  had  done  nuich  to  assist  the  popular  cause,  was 
now  secure.  They  had  organized  themselves  as  a  great  power  in  the 
State,  and  maintained  this  position  till  the  fall  of  the  nation.  Under 
Herod  and  the  Romans,  they  were  the  soul  of  the  great  national 
party,  which  only  sullenly  submitted  to  Herod  and  his  family,  or  to 
the  IJpman  power,  as,  alike,  foreign  oppressors,  whom  they  could  nov 
shake  off,  foes  accursed  of  God,  as  usurpers  of  His  heritage.  To 
them  may  be  traced  the  restless  turbulence  of  the  nation,  which 
neither  terror  nor  flattery  could  appease — a  turbulence  which  made 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  4f 

J  \dea,  to  Herod  and  the  Roman  emperors,  what  Ireland  at  one  time 
wiv^  to  Enghind,  and  Pt)huid  to  Russia— the  seat  of  clironie  revolt, 
which  knew  no  considerations  of  odds  against  success,  and  seemed 
to  lake  counsel  of  despair. 

At  the  time  of  our  Lord  the  Pharisees  were  at  the  height  of  their 
power.  Josephus  tells  us  that  the3'  numbered  above  6,000  men  in 
Judea,  in  the  days  of  Herod  the  Great ;  that  the  women,  as  especially 
given  to  religious  enthusiasm,  were  on  their  side^  and  that  they  even 
Lad  power  enough,  at  limes,  to  defy  the  king.  He  describes  them  by 
name  as  a  party limong  the  Jews  who  prided  themselves  greatly  on 
their  knowledge  of  the  Law,  and  made  men  believe  they  were  holier 
than  their  neighbours,  and  especially  in  favour  with  God,  and  relates 
how  they  plotted  \vith  some  of  the  ladies  of  Herod's  family  to  put 
Herod  to  death.  They  thwarted  and  opposed  the  king,  he  says,  on 
every  hand,  refusing  to  own  his  authority  or  that  of  Rome,  or  to 
swear  allegiance  either  to  him  or  the  Emperor,  when  all  the  nation 
was  called  on  to  do  so,  and,  with  the  exception  of  them,  con,sented._ 
They  even  claimed  the  gift  of  prophecy,  through  the  inspiration  of 
God,  asserting  thaf  He  had  decreed  that  Herod  should  die,  and  that 
the  kingdom  would  pass  to  tho.se  who  had  shown  them  favour.  The 
Sadducees  had  shrunk  to  a  party  few  in  number,  though  high  in 
position,  and  had  become  so  unpopular  that  when  appointed  to  any 
oflace,  they  accepted  it  sorely  against  their  will,  and  were  forced  to 
carry  out  the  views  of  their  rivals — the  Pharisees — for  fear  of  the 
popular  fury. 

The  political  schemes  of  this  great  party  were  not  confined  to 
Judea.  Its  members  were  numerous  in  every  part  of  the  Roman 
empire,  and  were  all  closely  bound  to  each  other.  Without  a  formal 
organization  or  a  recognized  head,  they  were  yet,  in  effect,  a  disci- 
plined army,  by  implicit  and  universal  assent  to  the  same  opinions. 
The  same  spirit  and  aim  inspired  all  alike:  teacher  and  follower, 
over  the  world,  were  but  mutual  echoes.  They  were,  in  effect,  the 
democratic  party  of  their  nation,  the  true  representatives  of  the 
people,  with  the'lVIaccabaian  creed  that  "God  has  given  to  all  alike 
the  kingdom,  priesthood,  and  holiness."  They  cou.sidered  them- 
selves tiie  guardians  of  tiie  Law  and  of  the  ancestral  customs,  and 
trusted  implicitly  that  He  who  selected  their  nation  to  be  Hir; 
p2culiar  people  woidd  protect,  them  and  their  country  from  all 
dangers,  believing  that,  as  long  as  they  were  faithful  to  God,  no 
earthly  power  would  in  the  end  be  permitted  to  rule  over  them. 
They  repudiated  the  time-serving  policy  of  the  Herodian  Sadaucees, 
who  maintained  that  a  man's  destiny  was  in  his  OAvn  hands,  and  that 
human  policy  ought  to  dictate  political  action.  Their  noblo;  motto 
was  that  "everything  depends  upon  God  but  a  man's  piety."  The 
misfortune  was  that,  to  a  large  extent,  they  divorced  religion  from 
morality,  laying  stress  on  Jhe  exact  performance  of  outward  rites, 
rather  than  on  the  duties  of  the  heart  and  life,  so  that  it  was  possible. 


50  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

as  has  been  said-  of  the  Indian  Brahmins,  for  the  worpt  men  among 
them  to  be,  in  their  sense,  the  most  religious. 

The  one  thought  of  this  great  party,  in  every  land,  was  nothing 
less  than  the  founding  of  a  grand  hierarchy,  perhaps  under  the 
Messiah,  in  which  the  Jews  should  reign  over  the  whole  world,  and 
Jerusalem  become  the  metropolis  of  the  earth.  They  did  not  contine 
themselves  to  the  spread  of  superstition  and  fanaticism  amongst  their 
own  race,  but  sought  proselytes  in  every  country,  especially  among 
the  rich  and  among  women.  Even  in  Rome,  sunk  as  it  was,  like  all 
the  Gentile  world  of  that  age,  in  the  dreariness  of  worn-out  religions, 
they  made  many  female  converts  among  the  great,  even  in  the 
palace  of  the  Ca;sars.  Their  Idndness  to  their  poor,  their  loving 
family  life,  their  pure  morals,  compared  to  the  abominations  of  the 
times,  their  view  of  death  as  a  sleep,  their  hope  of  resting  witli  the 
just,  and  rising  with  them  to  immortal  happiness,  had  great  charms 
in  such  an  age.  The  Great  Synagogue  of  Ezra's  day,  according  to 
their  traditions,  had  left  them  a  solemn  charge — "to  make  many 
scholars;"  and  they  compassed  sea  and  land,  in  furtherance  of  this 
command,  to  make  one  proselyte,  though  their  worthless  dependence, 
in  too  many  cases,  on  mere  outward  religiousness,  often  made  him, 
when  won,  "twofold  more  the  child  of  hell  than  themselves."  The 
vast  numbers  thus  gained  to  Judaism  are  sliown  ift  the  multitudes 
from  all  countries  present  at  the  Passover  immediately  after  our 
Lord's  death,  and  from  many  passages  in  heathen  writers. 

Tlie  Pharisees,  or,  as  I  may  call  them,  the  Rabbis,  had  thrown  the 
hereditary  priestly  body  of  tlie  nation  quite  into  the  shade  in  the 
days  of  Christ.  A  priest  gained  his  position  by  birth;  a  Rabbi 
owed  his  to  himself.  Tlie  Temple  service,  and  the  vast  sums  of 
money  received  from  Jews  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  as  a  yearly  tax 
in  support  of  their  religion,  gave  the  priests  great  intiuence,  and 
opened,  to  the  higher  grades,  the  control  of  the  highest  ecclesiastical 
oUices  in  the  nation,  which  still  survived.  But  the  influence  of  the 
Pharisees  was  so  overwhelming  that  even  tlie  highest  priests  were 
glad  to  respect  their  opinions,  to  secure  public  favour.  "  A  priest," 
says  the  T\Iisehna,  "has  precedence  of  a  Levite,  a  Levite  of  other 
Israelites,  a  coranion  Lsraelile  of  a  bastard,  a  bastard  of  one  of  the 
l^lethiuini,  a  Nethin  of  a  foreign  proselyte,  a  foreign  proselyte  of  a 
freed  slave.  This  is  the  law  when  these  persons  are  equal  in  other 
respects;  but  if  a  bastard  be  a  Rabbi  (a  scholar  of  tlie  wise),  and 
the  higli  priest  not  a  Rabbi  (and,  therefore,  one  of  "the  ignorant 
country  people"  who  are  ' '  cursed"  for  not  knowing  the  Pharisaic 
traditions,  and  requirements),  such  a  bastard  takes  a  higlier  place 
than  such  a  high  priest.  The  multitudinous  rites  and  ceremonies  of 
the  Mosaic  Law,  with  the  vast  additions  of  the  Pharisaic  "hedge," 
and  the  corrupting  influence  of  power  and  general  flatterj',  had  the 
worst  effects  on  the  Pharisees  as  a  body.  Tliey  gave  themselves  up 
largely  to  fornialism,  outward   reiigiousnes.s,  seif-complaceucy,  im- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  51 

measurable  spiritual  pride, -lave  of  praise,  superstition,  and  deceit, 
till  at  last,  after  the  destruction  of  the  Temple,  they  themselves  laid 
the  name  of  Pharisee  aside,  from  its  havinsr  become  the  symbol  of 
raimrled  fanaticism  and  hypocrisy.  How  thoroug-hly  does  this  vindi- 
cate the  lan2:ua.2:e  often  used  respecting  them  in  the  Gospels! 

Yet  it  must  not  be  thoui^ht  that  there  were  no  good  men  in  their 
number.  Though  the  Talmud  names  si.x  classes  of  them,  which  it 
denounces,  it  has  a  seventh — the  Pharisee  from  Love,  who  obeys 
God  because  he  loves  Him  with  all  his  heart.  But  the  six  classes, 
doubtless,  marked  the  characteristics  of  too  large  a  proportion. 
Among  the  many  figures  whom  our  Lord  passed  in  the  streets  of 
Jerusalem,  and  elsewhere.  He  must  often  have  met  those  to  whom 
the  by-name  was  given  of  Shechemite  Pharisees — who  kept  the  Law 
only  for  interest,  as  Shecheni  submitted  to  circumcision  simply  to 
obtain  Dinah;  or  the  Tumbling  Pharisee  who,  to  appear  humble  be- 
fore men,  always  hung  down  his  head,  and  shuffled  with  his  feet  on 
the  ground,  so  that  he  constantly  stumbled;  or  the  Bleeding  Phari-see 
who,  to  keep  himself  from  seeing  a  woman,  walked  with  his  eyes 
shut,  and,  so,  often  bled  his  head  against  posts;  or  the  Mortar 
Pharisee,  with  a  cap  like  a  mortar  over  his  eyes,  to  .shut  out  all  that 
might  shock  his  ])ure  nature;  or  the  What-move-can-Ido  Pharisee, 
who  claimed  to  have  kept  the.  whole  Law,  and  wished  to  know  some- 
thing new,  that  he  might  do  it  also ;  or  the  Pharisee  from  Fear,  who 
kept  the  Law  only  for  fear  of  the,  judgmert  to  come.  But  He 
would  idso  see  Pharisees  such  as  Hillel,  the  greatest  of  the  Rabbis, 
the  second  Ezra,  who  was,  perhaps,  still  alive  when  Christ  was  born 
— who  taught  his  school  of  a  thousand  pupils  such  precepts  as  "  to 
be  gentle,  and  show  all  meekness  to  all  men,"  '"  when  reviled  not  to 
revile  again."  "Love  peace  and  pursue  it,  lie  kindly  affectionate  to 
all  men,  and  thus  commend  the  law  of  God,"  or  "  What-soever  thou 
wouldst  not  that  a  man  should  do  to  thee,  do  not  thou  to  him," — ^or 
like  just  Simeon,  who  was  a  Pliarisee,  or  Zacharias,  the  father  of  the 
Baptist,  or  Gamaliel,  the  teacher  of  Paul,  or  like  Paul  himself,  for 
all  these  were  Pharisees,  and  must  have  been  types  of  many  more. 

The  Phari.sees  had,  however,  as  a  whole,  outlived  their  true  useful- 
ness in  the  days  of  Christ,  and  had  become  largely  a  hollow  pretence 
and  hypocrisy,  as  the  monks  and  friars  of  Luther's  day,  or  earlier, 
had  outlived  the  earnest  sincerity  and  real  worth  of  the  days  of  their 
founders.  They  had  done  good  service  in  former  times,  in  keeping 
alive  the  faith  of  their  nation  in  the  Messiah,  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven, 
the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  the  judgment  to  come,  but  they  were 
now  fast  sinking  into  the  deep  corruption  which,  in  a  generation 
aJujr  Christ's  death,  made  them  drop  the  very  name  of  their  party. 


CHAPTER  \I. 

THE   RAUBI3    AT  THE  THiE    OP   CHRIST,  AKD   THEITl   IDEAS   HESPECT- 

ING  THE   MESSIAH. 

If  the  most  important  figures  in  the  society  cf  Christ's  day  were 
the  Pharisees,  it  was  because  they  rrere  tliC  Pcabljis  cr  teachers  of 
the  Law.  As  such  they  received  superstitious  honour,  Vv-hich  was, 
indeed,  the  great  motive,  with  many,  to  court  the  title,  or  join  the 
party. 

The  Rabliis  were  classed  with  T>roseF,  the  patriarchs,  and  the 
prophets,  t-nd  claimed  equal  reverence.  Jacob  and  Joseph  were  both 
said  to  have  been  Rabbis.  The  Targum  of  Jonathan  substitutes 
Rabbis,  or  Scribes,  for  the  word  "prophets,"  where  it  occurs. 
Josephus  speaks  of  the  ]  rophets  of  Saul's  day  as  Rabbis.  In  the 
Jerusalem  Targiim  all  the  jjatriarchs  are  learned  Rabbis:  Isaac  learned 
in  the  school  of  Seth;  Jacob  attended  tlie  school  of  Eber;  and,  hence, 
no  wonder  that  Rabbis  are  a  delight  to  God  like  the  incense  burned 
before  Him!  They  were  to  be  dearer  to  Israel  than  father  or  mother, 
because  parents  avail  only  in  this  woild,  but  the  Rabbi  for  ever.  They 
were  set  above  kings,  for  is  it  not  written,  "Through  n:e  kings 
reign?"  Their  entrance  into  a  house  brought  a  blessing;  to  live  or 
to  eat  with  them  was  the  highest  good  fortune.  To  dine  Avith  a 
Rabbi  was  as  if  to  enjoy  the  s^jlcndour  of  heavenly  m:\iesty,  for 
it  Is  written,  "  Then  came  Aaron  and  rJl  the  elders  in  Israel,  to  eat 
bread  with  Moses'  father-in-law^  before  God." 

To  learn  a  single  verse,  or  even  a  single  letter,  from  a  Rabl'.i  could 
be  repaid  only  by  the  profoundest  lespect,  for  did  not  tradition  say 
that  David  learned  only  two  words  from  Ahithophel,  and  yet,  simply 
for  this,  David  made  him  his  teacher,  coimsellor,  and  friend,  as  it  is 
written,  "  Thou  art  a  man  mine  equal,  my  guide,  and  mine  acquaint- 
ance?" The  table  of  the  Rabbi  was  nobler  than  that  of  kings;  and 
bis  crown  more  glorious  than  theirs. 

The  Rabbis  went  even  faither  than  this  in  exalting  their  order. 
The  Mischna  declares  that  it  is  a  greater  crime  to  speak  anything 
to  their  discredit  than  to  speak  against  the  words  of  the  Law.  The 
words  of  the  Rabbis  are  to  be  held  as  worth  more  than  the  words  of 
the  prophets;  for  the  prophet  is  like  a  king's  legate  who  is  to  be 
owned  on  showing  his  master's  signet,  but  the  Rabbis  need  no  such 
witness,  since  it  is  written  of  them,  "  Thou  shalt  do  according  to  the 
sentence  wliich  they  shall  shew  thee;"  whereas  it  is  said  of  the 
prophets,  "  If  he  giveth  thee  a  sign  or  a  wonder."  Miracles  are  related 
wliich  happened  to  continn  the  sask'ings  of  Rabbis.  One  cried  out, 
when  his  opinion  was  disputed,  "May  this  tree  prOve  tlmt  I  am 
right!"  and  forthVith  tlie  tree  was  torn  tip  by  the  roots,  and  hurled  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  JTI 

hundred  ells  off.  But  his  opponents  declared  that  a  tree  could  prov« 
nothing.  "  3Iay  this  .stream,  then,  witness  lor  me!"  cried  Eliezer. 
and  at  once  it  flowed  the  opposite  way.  Still,  his  opponents  urged 
that  water  could  prove  nothing.  "  Now,"  said  Eliezer,  "  if  truth  be 
on  my  side,  may  the  walls  of  the  school  confirm  it  I"  He  had  scarcelj' 
spoken  when  the  walls  began  to  bow  inwards.  The  Kabbi  Joshua 
threatened  them:  "  What  is  it  to  \'ou  if  the  sons  of  the  Avise  dis- 
pute? you  .shall  not  fall;"  and,  to  honour  Rabbi  Joshua,  the  walls  did 
not  fall  wholly  together;  but  neither  did  the}'  go  back  to  their  places, 
that  the  honour  of  Rabbi  Eliezer  might  not  suffer,  but  remain  slant- 
ing to  this  day.  At  last  Eliezer  called  for  the  decision  of  heaven : 
"  If  I  am  right,  let  heaven  Avitness."  Then  came  a  voice  from 
heaven,  and  said,  "  Why  dispute  ye  with  Rabbi  Eliezer?  he  is  always 
right!" 

Inordinate  pride,  one  might  think,  could  hardly  go  farther  than 
this,  but  the  bigoted  vanity  of  the  Rabbis  Christ  had  daily  to  meet 
was  capable  even  of  blasphemy  in  its  claims.  The  Talmud  tells  us 
that  there  are  schools  of  the  heavenly  Rabbis  above,  as  well  as  those 
of  the  earthly  Rabbis  here,  and  relates  that  there  once  rose  in  tlie 
great  Rabbis"  school  of  heaven  a  di-spute  respecting  the  law  of  the 
leper.  The  Almighty,  who  is  the  Chief  Rabbi  of  the  skies,  pro- 
nounced a  certain  case,  detailed  in  the  text,  as  clean.  But  all  the 
angels  thought  differently — for  the  angels  are  the  scholars  in  this 
great  academy.  Then  said  they,  "  Who  shall  decide  in  this  matter 
between  us?"  It  was  agreed  on  both  sides — God  and  the  angels — to 
summon  Ramban,  the  son  of  Nachman,  since  he  was  wont  to  say  of 
himself,  "  No  one  is  equal  to  me  in  questions  respecting  leprosy," 
Thereupon  the  Angel  of  Death  was  sent  to  him,  and  caused  him  to 
die,  and  brought  his  soul  up  to  heaven,  where  Ramban,  when  brought 
before  the  heavenly  academy,  confirmed  the  opinion  of  God.  which 
gave  God  no  little  delight.  Then  heavenly  voices,  which  sounded 
down  even  to  the  earth,  exalted  the  name  of  Ramban  greatly,  and 
miracles  were  wrought  at  his  grave. 

Such  a  story  illustrates  better  than  any  words  the  audacious 
claims  and  blasphemous  spiritual  pride  with  which  our  Lord  had  to 
contend,  and  which  He  often  rebukes  in  the  Pharisees  of  His  day. 
Even  the  Talmud  itself,  in  other  parts,  is  forced  to  reprove  it.  The 
only  palliation  of  it  lies  in  the  fact  that  the  Law  itself  was  written 
in  a  language  which  the  people  had  long  ceased  to  speak,  so  that 
it  was  left  to  the  Rabbis  to  explain  and  apply  it.  The  heads  and 
leaders  of  the  nation,  they  kept  it  in  their  leading-strings.  It  had 
come  into  their  hands  thus,  and  they  were  determined  to  keep  it  in. 
the  same  state.  Heresy,  which  would  be  fatal  to  the  blind  una- 
nimity which  was  their  political  strength,  could  onjy  be  excluded 
by  rigidly  denouncing  the  least  departure  from  their  precepts; 
Ihe  Law  and  the' Prophets  must,  therefore,  be  understood  only  in 
the  sense  of  their  traditions.     The  reading  of  the   Scriptures  was 


94  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

hence  discouraged,  lest  it  should  win  their  hearts,  and  tliey  should 
cease  to  reverence  the  words  of  the  Rabbis.  One  liour  was  to  be 
spent  on  the  Scriptures  in  the  schools;  two  on  the  traditions.  The 
study  of  the  Talmud  alone  won  honour  from  God  as  from  man. 
That  vast  mass  of  traditions,  wliich  now  fills  ten  folio  volumes, 
was,  in  reality,  the  Bil)le  of  the  Rabbis  and  of  their  scholars. 

Yet,  in  form,  the  Law  received  bomidless  honour.  Every  saying 
of  the  Rabbis  had  to  be  based  on  some  words  of  it,  which  were, 
however,  explained  in  their  own  way.  The  spirit  of  the  times, 
the  wild  fanaticism  of  the  people,  and  their  own  bias,  tended, 
alike,  to  make  them  set  value  only  on  ceremonies  and  wortliless 
externalisms,  to  the  utter  neglect  of  the  spirit  of  the  sacred  writings. 
Still,  it  was  owned  that  the  Law  needed  no  confirmation,  while 
the  words  of  the  Rabbis  did. 

So  far  as  the  Roman  authority  under  which  they  lived  left 
them  free,  the  Jews  willingly  put  all  power  in  the  hands  of  the 
P.abbis.  They  or  their  nominees  filled  eveiy  office,  from  the 
highest  in  the  priesthood  to  the  lowest  in  the  community.  Thej 
were  the  casuists,  the  teachers,  the  priests,  the  judges,  the  magis- 
trates, and  the  physicians  of  the  nation.  But  their  authority  went 
still  further,  for,  by  the  Rabbinical  laws,  nearly  everj-thing  in  daily 
life  needed  their  counsel  and  aid.  No  one  could  be  born,  circum- 
cised, brought  up,  educated,  betrothed,  married,  or  buried — no  one 
could  celebrate  the  Sabbath  or  other  feasts,  or  begin  a  business,  or 
make  a  contract,  or  kill  a  beast  for  food,  or  even  bake  bread,  without 
the  advice  or  presence  of  a  Rabbi.  The  words  of  Christ  respecting 
binding  and  loosing,  were  a  Rabbinical  proverb:  they  bound  and 
they  loosed  as  they  thought  fit.  What  they  loosed  was  permitted 
—what  they  bound  Vv'as  forbidden.  They  were  the  brain,  the  eyes, 
the  cars,  the  nerves,  the  muscles  of  the  people,  who  were  mere 
children  apart  from  them. 

This  amazing  pov/cr,  which  has  lasted  for  two  thousand  j^ears, 
owed  its  vitality  to  the  fact  that  no  Rabbi  could  take  money  for 
any  ofiicial  duty.  They  might  enslave  the  minds  of  the  people, 
but  they  never  abused  their  despotism  to  make  gain  of  them.  Tha 
great  Rabbi  Ilillcl  eays,  "He  who  makes  gain  of  the  Avords  of 
the  Law,  his  life  Avill  be  taken  from  the  Avorld."  No  teacher, 
preacher,  judge,  or  otJier  Rabbinical  official,  could  receive  money 
Jcr  his  services.  In  practice  this  grand  law  was  somewhat  modi- 
fied, but  not  to  any  great  extent.  A  Rabbi  might  receive  a 
moderate  sum  for  his  duties,  not  as  payment,  but  only  to  mak'j 
good  iLe  Joss  of  time  which  he  might  "have  used  for  his  profit. 
Even  now  it  is  a  Jewish  proverb  that  a  fat  Rabbi  is  little  worth, . 
and  such  a  feeling  must  have  checked  those  who,  if  they  could, 
would  have  turned  their  position  to  pecuniary  advantage. 

How,  then,  did  the  Rabbis  live?  A  child  destined  for  this  dig- 
nity began  Ids  training  at  five  years   of  a^e,  and  gradually  shrank, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  65 

in  most  cases,  into  a  mere  pedant,  with  no  desire  in  life  beyond 
the  few  wants  needed  to  enable  him  to  continue  his  endless  study. 
It  was,  moreover,  required  that  every  Rabbi  should  learn  a  trade 
by  which  to  support  himself.  "He  who  does  not  teach  his  son  a 
trade,"  says  Rabbi  Jehuda,  "is  mucn  the  same  as  if  he  taught  him 
to  be  a  thief." 

In  accordance  with  this  rule,  the  greatest  Rabbis  maintained 
themselves  by  trades.  The  most  famous  of  them  all,  Rabbi  Hillol, 
senior,  supported  himself  by  the  !al)our  of  his  hands.  One  Rabbi 
was  a  needle-maker,  another  a  smith,  another  a  shoemaker,  and 
another,  like  St.  Paul,  who  also  was  a  Rabbi,  was  a  tent-cover 
weaver.  Rabbis  who  taught  in  schools  received  small  presents 
from  the  children. 

But  there  were  ways  by  which  even  Rabbis  could  get  wealth. 
To  marry  the  daughter  of  one  was  to  advance  one's-self  in  heaven ; 
to  get  a  Rabbi  for  son-in-law,  and  provide  for  him,  was  to  secure  a 
blessing.  They  could  thus  marry  into  the  richest  families,  and  they 
often  did  it  They  could,  besides,  become  partners  in  prosperous 
commercial  houses. 

The  office  of  a  Rabbi  was  open  to  all,  and  this  of  itself  secured  the 
favour  of  the  nation  to  the  order,  just  as  the  same  democratic  feeling 
etrengtheued  the  Romish  Chvu"ch  in  the  niiddle  ages.  The  humblest 
Jewish  boy  could  be  a  master  of  the  Law,  as  the  btirablest  Christian, 
in  after-times,  could  in  the  same  way  be  a  monk  or  priest ;  and  tlie 
learned  son  of  a  labourer  might,  in  both  cases,  look  down  with  a  kind 
of  contempt  on  the  proudest  noble. 

Such,  then,  were  the  Rabbis  in  the  days  of  our  Lord.  They  were 
Pharisees  as  to  their  party,  and  Rabbis  in  their  relations  to  the  Law. 
That  one  who  came,  not  indeed  to  destroy  the  Law  and  the 
Prophets,  but  to  free  them  from  the  perversions  of  Rabbinical 
theology,  should  have  been  met  by  the  bitterest  hatred  and  a 
cruel  death,  was  only  an  illustration  of  the  sad  truth,  to  whic-h 
every  age  has  borne  witness,  that  ecclesiastical  bodies  who  have  the 
power  to  persecute,  identify  even  the  abtises  of  their  system  Avith 
the  defence  of  religion,-and  are  capable  of  any  crime  in  their  blind 
intolerance. 

The  central  and  dominant  characteristic  of  the  teaching  of  the 
Rabbis  was  the  certain  advent  of  a  great  national  Deliverer — the 
Messiah,  or  Anointed  of  God,  or  in  the  Greek  translation  of  the  title, 
the  Christ.  In  no  other  nation  than  the  Jews,  has  such  a  conception 
ever  taken  such  root,  or  shown  such  vitality.  From  the  times  of 
their  great  national  troubles,  under  their  later  kings,  the  words  of 
Moses,  David,  and  the  prophets  had,  alike,  been  cited  as  divine 
promises  of  a  mighty  Prince,  who  should  ' '  restore  the  kingdom  to 
Israel. "  The  Captivity  only  deepened  the  faith  in  His  duly  appear- 
ing, by  increasing  the  need  of  it  Their  fathers  had  clamoured,  in 
far-distant  times  of  distraction  and  trouble,  for  a  King,  who  should 

I.  of  C— 3. 


66  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

be  their  Messiah,  the  viceroy  of  God,  anointed  by  prophets.  They 
bad  had  kings,  but  had  found  only  a  partial  good  from  them.  As 
ages  passed,  the  fascination  of  the  grand  Messianic  hope  grew  ever 
more  hallowed,  and  became  the  deepest  passion  in  the  hearts  of  all, 
burnmg  and  glowing  henceforth,  unquenchably,  more  and  more,  and 
irrevocably  determining  the  whole  futiu-e  of  the  nation. 

For  a  time,  Cyrus  appeared  to  realize  the  promised  Deliverer,  or  at 
least  to  be  the  chosen  instrument  to  prepare  the  way  for  Him.  Ze- 
rubbabel,  in  his  turn,  became  the  centre  of  Messianic  hopes.  Simon 
Maccabseus  was  made  high-priest-king  only  "until  a  faithful  prophet 
— the  Messiah — should  arise."  As  the  glory  of  their  brief  independ- 
ence passed  away,  and  the  Roman  succeeded  the  hated  Syrian  as 
ruler  and  oppressor,  the  hope  in  the  Star  which  was  to  come  out  of 
Jacob  grew  brighter,  the  darker  the  night.  Deep  gloom  filled  every 
heart,  but  it  was  pierced  by  the  beam  of  this  heavenly  confidence. 
Having  no  present,  Israel  threw  itself  on  the  future.  Literature, 
education,  politics,  began  and  ended  with  the  great  thought  of  the 
Messiah.  When  would  He  come?  What  manner  of  kingdom  would 
He  raise?  The  national  mind  had  become  so  inflammable,  long  be- 
fore Christ's  day,  l)y  constant  brooding  on  this  one  theme,  that  any 
bold  spirit,  rising  in  revolt  against  the  Roman  power,  could  find  an 
army  of  fierce  disciples  who  trusted  that  it  should  be  he  who  M'ould 
redeem  Israel. 

"That  the  testimony  of  Jesus  was  the  spirit  of  prophecy,"  was 
only  the  Christian  utterance  of  a  universal  Jewish  belief  respecting 
the  Christ.  "All  the  prophets,"  says  R.  Chaja,  "have  prophesied 
only  of  the  blessedness  of  the  days  of  the  Messiah."  But  it  was  to 
Daniel  especially,  with  his  seeming  exactness  of  dates,  that  the  chief 
regard  was  paid.  It  was  generally  believed  that  "the  times"  of  that 
prophet  pointed  to  the  twentieth  year  of  Herod  the  Great,  and,  when 
that  was  past,  not  to  mention  other  dates,  the  year  67  of  our  reckon- 
ing was  thought  the  period,  and  then  the  year  135;  the  war  Avhich 
ended  in  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem  rising  from  the  one  calculation, 
and  the  tremendovis  insurrection  under  Hadrian  from  the  other. 

With  a  few,  the  conception  of  the  Messiah's  kingdom  was  pure  and 
loftj^  The  hearts  of  such  as  Zacharias,  Elizabeth,  Mary,  Anna, 
Simeon,  and  John  the  Baptist,  realized,  more  or  less,  the  need  of  a 
redemption  of  the  nation  from  its  spiritual  corruption,  as  the  first  ne- 
cessity. This  grander  conception  had  been  slowly  forming  in  the 
minds  of  the  more  religious.  Before  the  days  of  the  Maccabees,  the 
conception  of  the  Messiah  had  been  that  of  a  "  Son  of  David,"  who 
Kiiould  restore  the  splendour  of  the  Jewish  throne ;  and  this,  indeed, 
continued  always  the  general  belief.  But  neither  in  the  Book  of 
Daniel  nor  in  the  later  religious  writings  of  the  Jews  before  Christ 
Is  the  Messiah  thus  named,  nor  is  there  any  stress  laid  on  His  origin 
or  birthplace.  Daniel,  and  all  who  wrote  after  him,  paint  the  Ex- 
pected One  as  a  heavenly  being.     He  was  the  Messenger,  the  Elect 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  87 

of  God,  appointed  from  eternity,  to  appear  iu  due  time,  and  redeem 
His  people.  The  world  was  committed  to  Him  as  its  Judge:  all 
heathen  kings  and  lords  were  destined  to  sink  in  the  dust  before  Him, 
and  the  idols  to  perish  utterly,  that  the  holy  people,  the  enosen  of 
God,  under  Him,  might  reign  for  ever.  He  was  the  Son  of  Man,  but, 
though  thus  man,  had  been  hidden  from  eternity,  in  the  all-glorious 
splendour  of  heaven,  and,  indeed,  was  no  other  than  the  Son  of 
'God,  sitting  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  of  His  Father.  He  was 
the  Archetypal  Man — the  ideal  of  i)ure  and  heavenly  Manhood,  in 
contrast  to  the  fallen  Adam.  Two  centuries  before  our  era.  He  was 
spoken  of  as  "the  Word  of  God,''  or  as  "  the  Word,"  and  as  "  Wis- 
dom," and  as,  in  this  way,  the  Incarnation  of  the  Godhead. 

Such  were,  in  effect,  the  conceptions  gi-adually  matured  of  the 
Messiah — the  Immortal  and  Eternal  King,  clothed  with  divine  power, 
and  yet  a  man — whicli  had  been  draAvn  from  the  earliest,  as  well  as 
the  latest,  sacred  or  religious  A\Titings  of  the  nation.  But  very  few 
realized  that  a  heavenly  King  must  imply  a  holy  liingdoin;  that  His 
true  reign  must  be  iu  the  purified  .souls  of  men.  Few  realized  that 
the  true  preparation  for  His  coming  was  not  vainglorious  pride,  but 
humiliation  for  sin. 

The  prevailing  idea  of  the  Uabbis  and  the.  people  alike,  in  C^hrist's 
day,  was,  that  the  Messiah  would  be  simply  a  great  prince,  who 
should  found  a  kingdom  of  matcliless  splendour.  Nor  was  the  idea 
of  His  heavenly  origin  at  all  universal:  almost  all  fancied  He  would 
be  only  a  human  hero,  who  should  lead  them  to  victory. 

It  was  agreed  among  the  Rabbis  that  His  birthplace  must  be  Beth 
lehem,  and  that  He  must  rise  from  the  tribe  of  Judah.  It  was  be- 
lieved that  He  would  not  know  that  He  was  the  Messiah  till  Elias 
came,  accompanied  by  other  prophets,  and  anointed  Him.  Till 
then  He  would  be  hidden  from  the  people,  living  unknown  among 
them.  The  better  Rabbis  taught  that  the  sins  of  the  nation  had  kept 
Him  from  appearing,  and  that  "if  the  Jews  repented  for  one  day, 
He  would  come."  He  was  tirst  to  appear  in  Galilee;  for,  as  the  tea 
tribes  had  tirst  suffered,  they  should  lirst  be  visited.  He  v.-as  to  free 
Israel  by  force  of  arms,  aiid  subdue  tiie  world  under  it.  "How 
beautiful,"  says  the  Jerusalem  Targum,  "is  the  King  Messiah,  who 
springs  from  the  house  of  Judah!  He  girds  His  loins,  and  descends, 
and  orders  the  battle  against  His  enemies,  and  slays  their  kings  and 
their  chief  captains;  there  is  uo  one  so  mighty  as  to  stand  before 
Him.  He  makes  the  mountains  red  with  the  Wood  of  His  slaughtered 
foes;  His  robes,  dyed  in  their  blood,  are  like  the  skins  of  the  purple 
grapes."  "The  beasts  of  the  ticld  will  feed  for  twelve  months  on  the 
flesh  of  the  slain,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  will  feed  on  them  for  seveu 
years."  "The  Lord,"  .says  the  Targum,  "will  revenge  us  on  the 
bands  of  Gog.  At  that  hour  will  the  power  of  the  nations  be 
broken;  theywill.be  like  a  .ship  whose  tackling  is  torn  away,  and 
■whose  ma.st  is  sprung,  so  that  the  sail  can  uo  longer  be  set  on  it. 


58  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Tlien  will  Israel  divide  the  treasures  of  the  nations  among  them — a 
preat  store  of  Itooty  and  riches,  so  that,  if  there  be  the  lame  and 
hlind  among  them,  even  they  will  have  their  share."  The  heathen 
will  then  turn  to  the  Lord,  and  walk  in  His  liglit. 

The  universal  kingdom  thus  founded  wa.s  to  be  an  earthly  paradise 
for  the  Jew.  In  that  day,  say  the  Rabbis,  there  will  he  a  handful  of 
corn  on  the  top  of  the  mountains,  and  the  stalks  will  be  like  palm- 
trees  or  pillars.  Nor  will  it  l>e  any  trouble  to  reap  it,  for  God  will 
send  a  wind  from  His  chambers,  which  Avill  blow  down  the  white 
Hour  from  the  ears.  Ona  com  of  wheat  will  be  as  large  as  the  two 
kidneys  of  the  hugest  ox.  All  tlic  trees  will  bear  continually.  A 
single  grape  will  load  a  waggon  or  a  ship,  and  when  it  is  brought  to 
the  house  they  will  draw  wine  from  it  as  from  a  cask. 

A  great  king  must  have  a  great  capital,  and  hence  Jerusalem,  the 
capital  of  the  Messiali's  kingdom,  will  be  very  glorious.  In  the  days 
to  come,  say  the  Rabbis,  God  will  bring  together  Sinai,  Tabor,  and 
Carmel,  and  set  Jerusalem  upon  them.  It  will  be  so  great  that  it  will 
cover  as  much  gromtd  as  a  liorse  can  run  over  from  the  early  morn- 
ing till  its  shadow  is  below  it  at  noon.  It  will  reach  to  the  gates  of 
Damascus.  Some  of  them  even  tell  us  that  its  houses  will  be  built 
three  miles  in  height.  Its  gates  will  be  of  precious  stones  and  pearls, 
thirty  ells  long  and  as  bfoad,  hollowed  out.  The  country  round  will 
be  full  of  pearls  and  precious  stones,  so  that  Jews  from  all  parts  may 
come  and  take  of  them  as  they  like. 

In  this  splendid  city  the  Messiah  is  to  reign  over  a  people  who 
shall  all  be  prophets^  A  fruitful  stream  will  break  forth  from  the 
Temple  aud  water  the  land,  its  banks  shaded  by  trees  ladea  with  the 
richest  fruits.  No  sickness  or  defc<;t  will  be  known.  There  will  be 
no  such  thing  as  a  lame  man,  or  any  blind  or  leprous;  the  dumb  will 
speak  and  the  deaf  hear.  It  will  be  a  triumphal  millemiium  of  na- 
tional pride,  glory,  and  enjoyment. 

It  was  to  a  people  dnmk  with  the  vision  of  such  outward  felicity 
and  political  greatness,  under  a  world-conquering  Messiah,  that 
Jesus  Christ  came,  with  His  utterly  opposite  doctrines  of  the  aim  and 
nature  of  the  Messiah  and  His  kmgdom.  Only  here  and  there  waa 
there  a  soul  with  any  higher  or  purer  thoughts  thaix  such  gross,  ma- 
tcrJAl^  and  aarrow  dxeam^ 


CHAPTER  yil. 

BrRTH  OF  JOHN   THE   BAPTIST. 

TiTE  t!mc  riad  at  last  come,  when  "the  mvsten^  "whicA  it.td  l.<^o 
hid  from  ngos  /lud  from  generations" — the  high  purpose  oi  God  ia 
the  two  thousand  years'  history  of  Israel — was  to  be  revcded.  The 
true  relations  of  'man  to  his  Maker  and  Heavenly  King  had  been, 
throughout,  the  grand  truth  to  be  taught  to  mankirid,  m  all  future 
ages,  from  the  education  and  example  of  the  Jewish  race,  and  thi3 
truth  was  now  to  be  revealed  directly  by  God  Himself,  all  lower 
agencies  and  means  having  proved  madequate. 

The  people  of  Israel  had  been  set  apart  by  God,  while  j^et  only 
a  famil3%  as  specially  His  own.  Brought  at  last,  after  centuries, 
through  the  discipline  of  the  housfhold,  the  bondage  of  Egypt,  and 
the  life  of  the  wilderness,  to  a  settled  home,  as  a  nation,  in  Canaan, 
they  were  still  more  distinctly  proclaimed  by  Him  as  "His  people," 
the  "  portion  of  Jehovah" — the  "  lot  of  His  inheritance."  The  Lord 
their  God  was  their  only  King,  and  they  were  declared  to  be  a  "people 
holy  to  Him,"  cnosen  as  peculiarly  His,  "above  all  other  nations." 
In  them,  as  a  nation.  If  they  faithfully  observed  the  "covenant" 
which  they  had  made  with  Him.  was  to  be  exhibited  the  spectacle  of 
a  visible  kingdom  of  God  amongst  men — its  obligations  on  the  side 
of  man,  its  high  ]irivileges  on  that  of  Heaven. 

As  centuries  passed,"  however,  it  was  clear  that  Isr.ael  failed  to 
realize  the  ideal  of  a  "  peojile  of  Jehovah,"  with  Him  as  its  direct  and 
supreme  Ruler.  The  anarchy  of  the  days  of  the  Judges— a  period 
not  unlike  our  own  early  history — .showed  too  clearly  that  the  nation, 
as  such,  was  far  from  iliustrating  the  true  relations  of  man  to  God. 

The  Kingdom  of  God  on  earth,  in  the  simplest  form  of  His  direct 
rule,  with  no  human  intervention,  havinc:  iiroved  too  lofty  and  spirit- 
ual a  conception,  the  second  step  in  its  development  was  'introduced, 
by  the  appointment  of  a  supreme  magistrate  as  His  representative 
and  viceroy.  He  remaining  the  actual  Sovereign.  The  king  of  Isniel 
stood,  tiuis.  before  the  people,  simjily  as  the  deputy  of  its  invisible 
King,  and  was  as  much  His  servant,  bouud  in  all  things  to  carry  out 
oul}'  His  will,  as  any  of  his  subjects.  Yet  his  oflice,  as  the  viceger- 
ent of  God,  had  an  awful  dignity.  He  was  "  the  Lord's  Anointed" 
— His  Messiah — <?onsecrated  to  the  dignity  by  the  holy  oil,  which  had, 
till  then,  been  used  only  for  priests. 

I?ut  the  ideal  sought  was  as  far  from  being  attained  as  ever.  The 
history  of  Israel  was  very  soon  only  that  of  other  kingdoms  round  it. 
Instead  of  being  holy  to  Jehovah,  "it  turned  from  Hiiii  to  serve  other 
gods,  and  grew  corrupt  iu  morals  as  well  as  creed.  The  order  of 
prophets  strove  to  restore  the  sinking  State,  and  recall  the  nation  to 


60  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

its  faith;  and  good  kings  from  time  to  time  listened  to  them,  and 
Bought  to  carry  out  their  counsels.  But  the  people  themselves  were 
degenerate,  and  many  of  the  kings  found  it  easy  to  lead  them  into 
still  greater  sin  and  apostasy.  The  prophets — at  once  the  mouth- 
pieces of  God  and  the  tribunes  of  the  people — nobly  resisted,  but 
only  to  become  martyrs  to  their  tidelity.  The  inevitable  result  came, 
in  the  end,  in  the  ruin  of  the  State,  and  the  exile  in  Assyria  and 
Babylon. 

The  third  step  was  no  less  a  failure.  On  the  retrn-n  from  cap- 
tivity, a  zeal  for  Jehovah  as  the  only  King  of  Israel  became  the  deej) 
and  abiding  passion  of  all  Jews.  Henceforward,  it  was  determined 
that  what  we  might  call  the  "  Church"  should  act  as  His  vicegerent. 
By  turns,  priests,  priest-kings,  and  ether  ecclesiastical  or  religious 
leaders,  led  the  nation ;  but  only  as  temporary  substitutes  for  a  great 
expected  King — the  Messiah,  before  whose  glory  even  that  of  David 
or  Solomon,  their  most  famous  nionarchs,  would  be  as  nothing.  But 
ihey  were  as  insensible  as  ever  t«  the  higlicst  characteristics  of  a  true 
Ruler  of  the  "people  of  God,"  ruler  or  subject,  alike,  looking  only 
to  outward  power  and  splendour,  and  political  ambition,  and  forget- 
ful of  the  grand  fact  that  the  kingdom  of  God  must,  first,  of  neces- 
sity, be  the  reign  of  holiness  and  truth,  in  both.  Religion  became  a 
thing  of  outward  observances,  with  which  the  heart  and  life  had  no 
necessary  connection.  The  Messianic  hopes  of  the  centuries  im- 
mediately before  Christ  degenerated  into  a  .standing  conspiracj'  of 
the  nation  against  their  actual  rulers,  and  a  vain  confidence  that  God 
would  raise  up  some  deliverer,  who  would  "restore  the  kingdom  to 
Israel"  in  a  merely  political  sense. 

Thus  the  true  conception  of  the  kingdom  of  God  had  been  weU- 
nigh  lost.  A  few  of  the  Rabbis,  indeed,  with  a  finer  spiritual  sense, 
taught  that  the  condition  of  the  coming  of  the  Messiah  must  be 
sincere  repentance  for  their  sins,  on  tlie  part  of  the  nation,  and  a  re- 
turn to  a  purer  state.  But  such  counsels  had  little  weight  with  tha 
community.  Blindly  self-righteous,  and  yet  wedded  to  evil,  every- 
thing tended  to  a  speedy  extinction  of  Judaism  by  its  inveterate  cor- 
ruption. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  first  direct  steps  ^\'ere  taken  by  God 
towards  the  advent  of  the  true  Messiah,  who  should  Anally  erect, 
once  for  all.  His,  the  true,  divine,  kingd(jm,  on  earth,  all  the  dreams 
of  which  had  hitherto  been  such  disastrous  failures.  He  would  thu^ 
save  Judaism  from  itself,  by  penictuating  that  which  was  permanent 
in  it  under  His  holy  and  spiritual  reign.  Discarding  all  that  Ava^ 
merely  temporary  and  accidental,  ai;^!  bringing  into  lasting  promi-. 
nence  whatever  of  everlasting  truth  the  older  dispensation  contained. 
He  would  found  the  only  true  kingdom  of  God  possible  on  earth ;  one 
in  which  the  perfect  holiness  of  the  Anointed  Head  should  stimulate 
a  like  holiness  in  all,  and,  indeed,  demand  it.  The  Messianic  hope 
was  to   be  realized  in  a  grander  and  loftier  sense  than  man  had 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  61 

dreamed,  but  the  very  grandeur  and  loftiness  of  the  realization  would 
attest  its  diviue  authority  and  source. 

The  priest-s  among  the  Jews  had  been  divided,  since  the  time  of 
David,  that  is,  for  about  a  thousand  years,  into  twenty-four  courses, 
known  also  as  "houses"  and  "families."  Of  the  original  courses, 
however,  oul)'^  four,  each  numbering  about  a  thousand  members,  had 
returned  from  Babylon,  after  the  captivity;  but  out  of  these  the  old 
twenty-four  courses  wore  reconstituted,  with  the  same  names  as  be- 
fore, that  the  original  organization  might  be  perpetuated  as  far  as 
po.ssible.  The  priesthood  of  the  second  Temple,  however,  never 
took  the  same  rank  as  that  of  the  first.  The  diminished  glory  of  the 
sanctuary  in  which  it  ministered,  compared  with  that  of  Solomon, 
alone,  made  this  inevitable,  for  the  second  Temple  had  no  longer  the 
sacred  ark,  with  its  mercy  seat  and  the  overshadowing  cherubim, 
nor  the  holy  tire,  kindled  at  first  from  heaven,  nor  the  mysterious 
Shechiua,  or  Glorj-  of  God,  in  the  Pioly  of  Holies,  nor  the  tables  of 
stone  written  by  the  finger  of  God,  nor  the  ancient  Book  of  the  Law, 
handed  down  from  the  great  lawgiver,  IVIoses.  The  spirit  of  proph- 
ecy was  no  longer  granted;  the  Urim  and  Thummim  no  longer  shone 
out  mysterious  oracles  from  the  breast  of  the  high  priest,  and  the 
holy  anointing  oil,  that  had  been  handed  down,  as  the  Habbis  taught, 
from  the  days  of  Aaron,  had  been  lost.  There  could  thus  be  no 
consecration  of  the  high  priest,  or  his  humbler  brethren,  by  that 
symbol  which  above  all  others  had  been  most  sacred — the  priestly 
anointing.  The  priests  were  now  set  apart  to  their  office  only  by 
solemnly  clothing  them  with  their  official  robes,  though  the  subordi- 
nate acts  of  sacrifice  and  offering  were  no  doubt  continued.  The 
rise  of  the  Synagogue,  and  the  supreme  importance  attached  to  the 
study  of  the  Law,  tended  also  to  throw  the  office  of  the  priest  into 
the  background.  In  the  centuries  after  the  Return,  the  Rabbi  be- 
came the  foremost  figure  iu  Jewish  history.  Yet  the  priest  was  a 
necessary  appendage  to  the  Temple,  'and  even  the  traditions  of  the 
past  lent  his  office  dignity. 

The  services  at  the  Temple  in  Jerusalem,  where  alone  sacrifices 
could  be  offered,  were  entrusted  to  the  care  of  each  course  in  rota- 
lion,  for  a  week  of  si.\  days  and  two  Sabbaths,  and,  hence,  the  mem- 
bers of  each,  whose  ministrations  might  be  required,  had  to  go  up  to 
Jerusalem  twice  a-ycai\ 

As  the  ofiice  was  hereditary,  the  number  of  the  priesthood  had  be-  ■ 
come  very  great  iu  tlie  days  of  our  Lord,  so  that,  according  to  the 
Talmud,  in  addition  to  those  who  lived  in  the  country,  and  came  up 
to  take  their  turn  in  the  Temple  services,  there  were  no  fewer  than 
24,000  .settled  in  Jerusalem,  and  half  that  number  in  Jericho.  This, 
however,  is  no  doubt  an  exaggeration.  Josephus  is  more  likely  cor- 
rect in  estimating  the  whole  number  at  somewhat  over  20,000.  But 
even  this  was  an  enormous  proportion  of  clergy  to  the  population  of 
a  country  like  Judea,  as  the  name  was  then  applied, — a  district  of 


62  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

about  100  miles  in  length,  and  sixty  in  breadth,  or  as  nearly  as  possi- 
ble of  the  same  number  of  square  miles  as  Yorkshire.  Tliey  must 
have  been  a  more  familiar  siglit  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  and  of 
the  towns  and  villages,  than  the  seemingly  countless  ecclesiastics  in 
the  towns  and  cities  of  Spain  or  Italy  at  this  time. 

The  social  position,  as  well  as  official  standing,  of  such  a  large 
order  necessarily  varied  greatly.  First  in  consideration,  after  the 
high  priest,  came  his  acting  deputy,  or  assistant — the  iSaf/fni — and 
those  who  had  filled  that  office,  and  the  heads  or  presidents  of  the 
twenty-four  courses — collectively,  the  "high  priests,"  or  "chief 
priests,"  of  Josephus  and  the  New  Testament;  and  next,  the  large 
body  of  officiating  priests,  the  counterpart  of  our  worliing  clergy. 
But  there  were,  besides,  large  numbers,  like  the  lower  priests  of  Rus- 
sia or  Italy,  uneducated,  who  were  the  object  of  contempt,  from  their 
ignorance  of  the  Law,  in  the  Rabbinical  sense.  The  countless  sacri- 
fices and  offerings,  with  the  multiplied  forms  to  be  observed  in  con- 
nection with  them,  which  were  settled  by  the  strictest  rules,  required 
a  knowledge  at  once  minute  and  extensive,  wliich  could  only  be  at- 
tained by  assiduous  and  long-continued  labour.  Hence,  it  is  no 
wonder  that  there  were  many  priests  who  knew  little  beyond  the 
rites  in  which  they  had  to  take  part.  The  priesthood  was  thus  di- 
vided into  "  tlie  learned" — or  those  who  knew  and  observed  the 
countless  laws  of  ceremonial  cleanness,  and  the  endless  ritual  en- 
forced— and  "common  priests."  There  were  others,  doubtless  in 
large  numbers,  wliom  some  physical  defect,  or  other  cause,  disquali- 
fied from  public  ministrations,  though  they  retained  a  right  to  their 
share  of  the  offerings. 

The  great  mass  of  the  order  must  have  been  poor  in  the  days  of 
Christ,  which  were  certainly  in  no  way  higher  in  tone  than  those  of 
3Ialachi,  when  blind,  and  torn,  and  lame,  and  sick,  beasts  were 
offered  for  sacrifice,  so  that  the  priest  as  well  as  the  altar  suffei'ed; 
and  "the  whole  nation"  withheld  their  tithes  and  ott'eiings.  The 
higher  ranks  of  the  priesthood — rich  and  liaughty — contributed  to 
the  degradation  of  their  poorer  bretliren,  whom  they  despised,  op- 
pressed, and  plundered.  Nor  was  the  general  character  of  the  priest- 
hood unaffected  by  the  corruption  of  the  times,  as  a  class,  they  were 
blind  guides  of  the  blind.  Not  a  few,  however,  in  so  numerous  a 
body,  must  have  retained  more  or  less  religious  sensibility,  for  we 
find  that  many  even  of  the  members  of  the  Jerusalem  Council  were 
60  alive  to  the  corruption  of  the  hierarchy  at  large,  that  they  be- 
lieved on  Christ,  its  great  antagonist,  and  a  large  number  of  priests, 
shortly  after  His  crucifixion,  openly  joined  His  disciples.  But  the 
evil  was  deep-rooted,  and  widely  spread,  and  the  corruption  and 
demoralization  of  the  order,  especially  in  its  higlier  ranks,  grew 
more  and  more  complete.  The  high  society  of  Jerusalem  was  mainly 
comprised  in  a  circle  of  governing  priestly  families,  and  their  exam- 
ple tainted  the  whole  priesthood. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  68 

The  pride,  the  Tiolence,  irreligion,  and  luxury  of  this  ecclesiastical 
aristocracy  already,  at  the  beginning  of  our  era,  pointed  to  the  ex- 
cesses they  erelong  reached.  After  the  banishment  of  Archelaus,  in 
the  early  childhood  of  our  Lord,  the  government  became  an  aristoc- 
racy— the  high  priests  virtually  ruling  the  nation — under  the  Ro- 
mans. Under  Herod  and  his  son,  they  had  been  mere  puppets,  ele- 
vated to  their  dignity,  for  their  proved  subserviency  to  their  royal 
masters.  Under  Agrippa  II.,  ladies  bought  the  high  priesthood  for 
their  husbands  for  so  much  money.  Martha,  daughter  of  Boethus, 
one  of  these  simoniacs,  when  she  went  to  .see  her  husband,  spread 
carpets  from  her  door  to  tlie  gate  of  the  Temple.  The  high  priests 
themselves  were  a.shamed  of  their  most  sacred  fimctions.  The  hav- 
ing to  preside  over  the  sacrifices  was  thought  bj'  some  so  repulsive 
and  degrading,  that  they  wore  silk  gloves  when  officiating,  to  keep 
their  hands  from  touching  the  victims.  Given  to  gluttony — the  spe- 
cial vice  of  their  Roman  masters — they  also,  like  them,  abandoned 
themselves  to  luxury,  and  oppressed  the  poor,  to  obtain  the  means 
for  indulgence.  Thoroughly  heathen  in  feeling,  they  courted  the 
favour  of  the  Romans,  who  repaid  them  by  rich  places  for  their  sons, 
and  they  openly  robbed  and  oppressed  the  poor  priests  supported  by 
the  people,  going  the  length  of  violence  in  doing  so.  Josephus  tells  us 
that  they  even  sent  their  servants  to  the  threshing-floors,  and  took 
away  by  force  the  tithes  that  belonged  to  the  priests,  beating  those 
who  resisted,  and  that  thus  not  a  few  poorer  priests  died  from 
want. 

Yet  the  office  of  the  priest,  in  itself,  was  the  highest  in  Jewish 
society,  and  the  whole  order  formed  a  national  aristocracy,  however 
poor  and  degraded  many  of  its  members  might  be.  Every  priest  was 
the  lineal  descendant  of  a  priestly  ancestry  running  back  to  Aaron, 
and  as  the  wives  of  the  order  were  generally  chosen  from  within  its 
families,  this  lofty  pedigree  in  many  cases  marked  both  parents. 

The  law  fixed  no  certain  age  at  which  the  young  priest  should 
enter  on  his  office,  though  the  Rabbis  maintain  that  he  needed  to  be 
at  least  twenty,  since  David  had  appointed  that  age  for  the  Levites. 
As  in  corrupt  ages  of  the  Church,  however,  this  wholesome  rule  was 
not  always  observed,  for  Josephus  tells  us  that  Herod  made  Aristo- 
bulus  high  priest  when  he  was  seventeen,  and  we  read  of  common 
priests  whose  beards  were  only  beginning  to  grow. 

The  special  consecration  of  the  young  priest  began  while  he  was 
yet  only  a  lad.  As  soon  as  the  down  appeared  on  his  cheek  he  had 
to  appear  before  the  council  of  the  Temple,  that  his  genealogy  might 
be  inspected.  If  it  proved  faulty,  he  left  the  Temple  clad  in  black, 
and  had  to  seek  another  calling:  if  it  satisfied  the  council,  a  further 
ordeal  awaited  him  There  were  140  bodily  defects,  any  one  of  which 
would  incapacitate  him  from  sacred  duties,  and  he  was  now  carefully' 
in.spected  to  discover  if  he  were  free  from  them.  If  he  had  no  blem- 
ish of  any  kind,  the  white  tunic  of  a  priest  was  given  him,  and  h« 


U  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

began  his  official  life  in  its  humbler  duties,  as  a  training  for  higher 
responsibilities  in  after  years. 

Ordination,  or  rather  the  formal  consecration,  followed,  when  the 
priest  attained  the  legal  age.  For  this,  much  more  was  necessary,  in 
theory,  than  freedom  from  bodily  blemish.  The  candidate  must  be 
of  blameless  character,  though,  in  such  an  age,  this,  no  doubt,  was 
little  considered. 

The  ceremony,  as  originally  prescribed,  was  imposing.  The  neo- 
phj'te  was  first  washed  before  the  sanctuary,  as  a  typical  cleansing, 
and  then  clothed  in  his  robe.  His  head  was  next  anointed  with  hoty 
oil,  and  then  liis  priestly  turban  was  put  on  him.  A  young  ox  was 
now  slain  as  a  sin-offering,  the  priest  putting  his  hands  upon  Its  head; 
then  a  ram  followed,  as  a  whole  burnt  offering,  and  after  that,  a  second 
ram  as  an  offering  of  consecration,  and  this  was  the  crowning  feature 
in  the  rite.  Some  of  the  warm  blood  of  the  victim  was  put  on  the 
right  ear,  the  right  thumb,  and  the  right  great  toe  of  the  candidate, 
to  show  his  complete  consecration  to  the  service  of  Jehovah.  He  was 
then  sprinkled  with  the  blood  flowing  from  the  altar,  and  with  the 
holy  oil,  as  if  to  convey  to  him  their  purifying  virtues,  and  transform 
him  into  another  man.  This  sprinkling  was  the  sign  of  completed 
consecration ;  he  was  now  a  priest.  The  pieces  of  the  ram  for  the 
altar,  with  the  meat-offering  that  accompanied  them,  were  put  into 
his  hands,  to  show  that  he  could,  henceforth,  himself  prepare  what  was 
needed  for  the  altar  services.  Having  laid  them  on  the  altar,  other 
ceremonies  followed.  The  pieces  of  the  sacrifice  usually  given  to  the 
priest  were  consumed  as  a  special  sin-offering,  and  with  their  burn 
ing  on  the  altar  tlie  installation  into  office  ende^l.  The  first  day,  how- 
ever, did  not  close  the  ceremonies.  The  same  sacrifices  offered  on  this 
day  were  reejuired  to  be  repeated  on  each  of  the  seven  days  following, 
that  the  solemnity  of  the  act  might  be  felt  by  all.  It  had  been  thus 
in  the  early  and  glorious  days  of-  the  priesthood,  but  how  many  of 
these  ceremonies  were  observed  under  the  second  Temple  is  not  known. 

The  official  dress  of  a  priest,  like  that  of  the  priests  of  ancient 
Egypt,  was  of  white  linen.  On  his  head  he  wore  a  kind  of  turban  in 
his  ministrations,  reverence  demanding  that  he  should  not  enter  the 
presence  of  Jehovah  uncovered,  and  for  the  same  reason  his  feet  were 
left  bare,  the  ground  on  which  he  stood,  in  the  near  vision  of  the 
Almighty,  being  holy.  The  full  official  dress  was  worn  only  in  the 
Temple,  and  was  kept  there  by  a  special  guardian,  when  the  minis- 
trations ended  for  the  time.  *In  private  "life  a  simpler  dress  was 
worn,  but  whether  in  his  service  at  the  Temple  or  at  his  house,  he 
was  still  a  priest,  even  to  the  eye.  The  richly  ornamented  dress  of  the 
high  priest — the  "golden  vestment"  as  it  was  called  by  the  Rabbis — 
was,  of  course,  much  more  costly  than  that  of  his  brethren,  and  passed 
down  from  one  high  priest  to  another.  It  marks  the  character  of  tho 
times  that,  under  the  Romans,  it  was  kept  in  their  hands,  and  only 
given  out  to  the  high  priest,  for  use,  when  needed. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST..  05 

The  duties  of  tlic  priests  were  manj-  and  various.  It  was  their 
aAvful  and  peculiar  honour  to  ' '  come  near  the  Lord. "  None  but  they 
coukl  minister  before  Him,  in  the  H0I3'  Ph\ce  where  He  manifested 
His  presence:  none  otliers  could  "come  nigh  the  vessels  of  the 
sanctuary  or  the  altar."  It  was  death  for  anyone  not  a  priest  to 
usurp  these  sacred  jirerogatives.  They  offered  the  morning  and  even- 
ing inccn.sc;  trimmed  the  lamps  of  the  golden  candlestick,  and  filled 
thoni  with  oil;  set  out  the  shewhread  weekly:  kept  up  the  fire  on  the 
great  altar  in  front  of  the  Temple;  removedthe  ashes  of  the  sacrifices; 
took  part  in  the  slaying  and  cutting  up  of  victims,  and  especially  in 
the  sprinkling  of  their  blood;  and  laid  the  olferings  of  all  kinds  on 
the  altcT.  They  also  announced  the  new  moons,  which  were  sacred 
days,  lik°  the  Sabbat.is,  by  the  blowing  of  trumpets.  But  this  was  a 
small  part  of  theii-  duties.  They  had  to  examine  all  cases  of  cere- 
monial uncleanness,  especially  lepro.'^y.  clearing  those  who  were  pure, 
and  i>ronounciug  otliers  unclean;  to  estimate,  for  commutation,  the 
value  of  the  countless  ofl'erings  vowed  to  the  Temple,  and  to  watch 
the  interior  of  the  Temple  by  night.  They  were  required,  moreover, 
to  instruct  the  peo))le  in  the  niceties  of  the  Law,  and  to  give  decisions 
on  many  points  reserved,  among  us,  to  magistrates.  The  priests,  in 
fact,  were,  within  certain  limits,  the  judges  and  magistrates  of  the 
laud,  though  the  Sanhedrim,  which  was  the  supreme"  court  in  later 
Jewish  history,  was  composed  of  chief  priests,  laymen,  and  scribes,  or 
liabbis,  in  apparently  equal  numbers. 

It  was  necessary  that  an  officiating  priest  should  be  in  every  point 
ceremonially  "  clean"  during  his  period  of  duty,  for  a  priest  who  was 
not  "clean"  could  not  enter  the  Temple.  A  wi.-;e  law  prohibited  his 
tasting  Avine  or  strong  drink  during  the  term  of  his  service.  The 
demonstrations  of  grvA  common  to  the  nation  were  unlawful  in  him; 
he  must  not  rend  his  garments,  o^  cut  himself,  or  shave  his  beard  or 
head,  whatever  befell  him  or  his.  Contact  with  the  dead  was  to  be 
carefully  shunned  as  a  defilement. 

The  same  ideal  purity,  as  of  otie  lioly  to  the  Lord,  marked  the 
laws  of  the  priest's  marriage,  for  he  could  onlj^  marry  a  virgin,  or  a 
widow  who  had  not  been  divorced,  and  she  must  be  a  pure  Israelite, 
lawfully  born.  The  daughters  of  priests  were  held  in  special  honour, 
and  marriage  of  priests  with  them  was  in  high  favour.  A  priest,  sajs 
Josephus,  must  marry  a  wife  of  his  own  nation,  without  having  any 
regard  to  money,  or  other  dignities;  but  he  is  to  make  a  scrutiny,  and 
take  his  wife's  genealogy  from  the  ancient  records,  and  procure  many 
witnesses  to  it,  just  as  his  own  had  been  carefully  tested  before  liis  t 
consecration.  An  order  thus  guarded  by  countless  special  laws  mu:;t 
have  been  as  .sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  multitude  as  the  almost  simi- 
larly exclusive  Brahmins  of  India.  Jo.sephus  could  make  no  boast  of 
which  he  felt  so  proud  as  that  he  belonged  to  such  a  sacerdotal  no- 
bility. 

Thirteen    towns,    mostly    near    Jerusalem,    and    thus    affordinj 


W  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

easy  access  to  it,  -wheii  their  duties  called  them  to  the  Temple,  "srere 
assigned  to  the  priests.  During  their  term  of  service  they  lived  in 
rooms  in  the  Temple  buildings,  but  they  came  there  alone,  leavmg 
their  households  behind  them. 

For  the  support  of  the  order,  provision  had  been  made  from  the 
earliest  times,  by  assigning  them  part  of  the  various  tithes  paid  by 
the  people ;  fees  for  the  redemption  of  the  first-born  of  man  or  beast, 
and  in  commutation  of  vows,  and  what  may  be  called  the  perquisites 
of  their  oflice — the  shewbread,  heave-offerings,  parts  of  the  sacrifices, 
the  first-fruits  of  corn,  wine,  and  oil,  and  other  things  of  the  same 
kind.  Officiating  priests  were  thus  secured  in  moderate  comfort, 
if  they  received  a  fair  proportion  of  their  dues,  and  the  whole  order 
had,  besides,  the  great  advantage  of  freedom  from  any  tax,  and  from 
military  service. 

Among  the  members  of  this  sacred  caste  ministering  in  the  Temple, 
in  the  autumn  of  the  sixth  year  before  that  with  which  the  Christian 
era,  as  commonly  reckoned,  commences,  was  one  who  had  come  up, 
apparently,  from  Hebron.  He  was  now  an  elderly  man,  and  had  left 
behind  him,  at  home,  a  childless  wife— Elisabeth  by  name — like  him- 
self, advanced  in  years.  The  two  were  in  the  fullest  sense  "Israelites 
indeed:"  their  family  records  had  established  their  common  descent 
from  Aaron,  and  their  lives  proved  their  lofty  realization  of  the 
national  faith,  for  "they  were,  both,  righteous  before  God,  walking 
in  all  the  commandments  and  ordinances  of  the  Lord  blameless." 

But,  notwithstanding  all  the  satisfaction  and  inward  peace  of 
innocent  and  godly  lives,  in  spite  of  the  natural  pride  they,  doubtless, 
felt  in  the  consideration  that  must  have  been  shown  them,  as  born  of 
a  priestly  ancestry,  stretching  back  through  fifteen  hundred  years, 
and  though  they  must  have  had  round  them  the  comforts  of  a  modest 
competency,  there  was  a  secret  gi'ief  in  the  heart  of  both.  Elisabeth 
had  no  child,  and  Avhat  this  meant  to  a  Hebrew  wife  it  is  hard  for  us 
to  fancy.  Rachel's  words,  "Give  me  children,  or  else  Idle,"  were 
the  burden  of  every  childless  woman's  heart  in  Israel.  The  birth  of 
a  child  was  the  removal  of  a  reproach.  Hannah's  prayer  for  a  son 
was  that  of  all  Jewish  wives  in  the  same  position.  To  have  no  child 
was  regarded  as  a  heavy  punishment  from  the  hand  of  God.  How 
bitter  the  thouglit  that  his  name  should  perish  was  for  a  Jew  to  bear, 
was  seen  in  the  law  which  required  that  a  childless  widow  should  be, 
forthwith,  married  by  a  dead  husband's  brother,  that  children  might 
be  raised  up  to  preserve  the  memory  of  the  childless  man,  by  being 
accounted  his.  Nor  was  it  enough  that  one  brother  of  a  number 
acted  thus:  in  the  imaginary  instance  given  by  the  Sadducees  to  our 
Lord,  seven  brothers,  in  succession,  took  a  dead  brother's  wife,  for 
this  object.  The  birth  of  a  child  was  therefore  a  special  blessing, 
as  a  security  that  the  name  of  his  father  "  should  not  be  cut  off  from 
among  liis  brethren,  and  from  the  gate  of  his  place,"  and  that  it 
should  not  be  "put  out  «f  Israel."    Ancient  nations,  generally,  seem 


THE  LIFE  Of  CHRIST.  67 

to  have  had  this  feeling,  and  it  is  still  so  strong  among  Orientals,  that 
after  the  birth  of  a  first-born  son,  a-fathor  and  a  mother  are  no  longer 
known  by  their  own  names,  but  as  the  father  and  mother  of  the 
child.  There  was,  besides  a  higher  thought  of  possible  relation?-., 
however  distant,  to  the  great  expected  Messiah,  by  the  birth  of  chil- 
dren ;  but  Zacharias  and  Elisabeth  had  reason  enough  to  sorrow  at 
their  childless  home,  even  on  the  humblei  ground  of  natural  senti- 
ments. They  had  grievetl  over  their  misfortune,  and  had  made  it  the 
burden  of  many  prayers,  but  years  passed,  and  they  had  both  grown 
elderly,  and  yet  no  child  had  been  vouchsafed  them. 

The  autumn  service  of  the  course  of  Abia  had  taken  Zacharias  to 
Jerusalem,  and  his  week  of  Temple  duty  was  passing.  As  a  minis- 
tering priest  he  had  a  chamber  in  the  cloisters  that  ran  along  the  sides 
of  the  outer  Temple  court.  His  office  took  him  day  by  day,  in  his 
white  official  robes,  to  the  fourth  and  inmost  space,  immediately 
beside  the  sanctuary  itself,  a  part  into  which  none  could  enter  but 
priests  wearing  their  sacred  garments.  This  court  rose  above  three 
other  spaces,  each,  in  succession,  lower — the  court  of  the  men,  that 
of  the  women,  and  that  of  foreigners  who  had  become  Jews — each, 
separated  from  the  other  by  marble  walls  or  balustrades,  and  ap- 
proached only  liy  great  gates,  famous  throughout  the  world  for  their 
magniticence.  Over  all,  in  the  central  space,  stood  the  sanctuary, 
springing  from  a  level  fifteen  steps  higher  tjian  the  court  of  the  Israel- 
ites, next,  below  it,  and  thus  visible  from  all  parts,  as  the  crown  and 
glory  of  the  whole  terraced  structure.  It  was  built  of  blocks  of  fine 
white  marble,  each  about  37  feet  in  length,  12  in  height,  and  18  in 
breadth,  the  courses  which  formed  the  foundations,  measuring,  in 
some  cases,  the  still  huger  size  of  70  feet  in  length,  9  in  width,  and  8  in 
height.  The  whole  area  enclosed  within  the  Temple  bounds  formed  a 
square  of  600  or  900  feet,  and  over  the  highest  level  of  this  rose  the 
gilded  walls  of  the  sanctuary,  a  building,  perhaps,  about  150  feet  long 
by  90  broad,  with  two  wings  or  shoulders  of  30  feet  each,  on  a  line 
with  the  fagade,  the  whole  surmounted  by  a  roof  glittering  with  gilded 
spikes,  to  prevent  pollution  from  above  by  unclean  birds  alighting 
on  it. 

When  it  is  remembered  that  the  natural  surface  of  the  hill  on 
which  these  amazing  structures  were  built  was  altogether  too  con- 
tracted and  steep  to  supply  the  level  space  needed,  the  grandeur  of 
the  architecture  as  a  whole  will  be  even  more  apparent.  The  plateau 
of  the  successive  courts  was  only  secured  by  building  up  a  wall  from 
the  valley  beneath,  to  the  height  required,  and  this,  on  tlie  south  side, 
required  a  solid  mass  of  masonry  about  600  feet  in  length,  and  almost 
equal  in  height  to  the  tallest  of  our  chiu-ch  spires,  while,  on  the  top 
of  an  erection  so  unequalled,  rose  the  magnificent  Royal  Porch,  a 
building  longer  and  higher  than  York  Cathedral.  No  wonder  Jose- 
phus  calls  such  a  wall  ' '  the  most  prodigious  work  ever  heard  of, " 
Bor  that  its  surpassing  magnificence,  in  these  years,  when  its  dazzling 


68  THE  LIFE  pF  CHRIST, 

■whitenef?s  shone  fresh  from  the  mason's  hands,  should  have  gone 
abroad  to  all  countries. 

The  sanctuary  itself  was  divided  into  two  unequal  parts — the  Holy 
and  the  Holy  of  Holies.  Before  the  porch  stood  the  great  altar  for 
burnt  offerings,  with  rows  of  rings, — to  wliich  the  beasts  for  sacrifice 
were  tied, — sunk  in  the  pavement,  near, — while  a  line  of  cedar  l)eams, 
resting  on  eight  low  pillars,  gave  the  priests  the  means  of  hanging  up 
the  slaughtered  victims,  to  dress  them  for  the  altar.  The  Holy  of 
Holies,  the  inmost  division  of  the  sanctuary,  vras  left  an  awful  soli- 
tude throughout  the  .year,  except  on  the  great  Day  of  Atonement,  on. 
which  the  high  priest  entered  it  alone.  In  the  Temple  standing  in 
Christ's  day  it  was  entirely  empty,  unless,  indeed,  the  tradition  of 
the  Mischua  be  correct,  that  a  stone  stood  in  it,  instead  of  the  long- 
lost  Ark  of  the  Covenant,  as  a  spot  on  vdiich  the  high  priest  could  rest 
his  censer.  Great  gates,  plated  with  gold,  shut  in  this  awful  chamber, 
and  a  thick  veil  of  Babylonian  tapestry,  in  which  blue  and  scarlet 
and  purple  were  woven  into  a  fabric  of  matchless  beauty  and  enor- 
mous value — the  veil  tlaat  was  afterwards  rent  in  twain  at  the  time  of 
the  crucifixion — bung  before  it,  dividing  it  from  the  Holy  Place,  and 
shutting  out  all  light  from  its'  mysterious  depths. 

The  entrance  to  the  Holy  Place  was  by  two  doors,  of  vast  height 
and  breadth,  covered  with  plates  of  gold,  as  was  the  whole  front  on 
each  side  of  them,  over  a  breadth  of  thirty  feet,  and  a  height  of  fully 
a  hundred  and  thirty.  The  upper  part,  over  the  gates,  which  remained 
always  open,  was  covered  by  an  ornamentation  of  great  golden  vines, 
from  which  hung  clusters  of  grapes  the  length  of  a  man's  stature.  No 
wonder  Josephus  adds  that  such  a  front  wanted  nothing  that  could 
give  an  idea  of  splendour,  since  the  plates  of  gold,  of  great  weight,  as 
he  adds,  reflected  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun  with  a  dazzling  bright-' 
ness,  from  which  the  eyes  turned  away  overpowered.  When  the 
gates  of  the  Holy  Place  were  opened,  all  was  seen  as  far  as  the  inner 
veil,  and  all  glittered  with  a  surface  of  beaten  gold. 

In  the  Holy  Place  stood  only  three  things :  the  golden  candlestick 
with  its  seven  lamps,  in  allusion  to  the  seven  planets;  the  table  of 
shewbread;  and,  between  them,  the  altar  of  incense.  In  the  entrance, 
which  was  merely  the  open  fore-half  of  the  sanctuary,  and,  like  the 
rest  of  the  front,  was  covered  with  plates  of  gold,  stood  two  tables, 
one  of  marble,  the  other  of  gold,  on  which  the  priests,  at  their  entering 
or  coming  out  of  the  Holy  Place,  laid  the  old  shewbread  and  the  new. 
Before  the  entrance,  in  the  court  of  the  priests,  stood  the  great  altar  of 
burnt  offering,  of  imhewn  stone,  which  no  tool  had  touched,  and  the 
brazen  laver,  in  which  the  priests  washed  their  hands  and  feet  before 
beginning  their  ministrations. 

"In  the  morning,"  says  Josephus,  "at  the  opening  of  the  inner 
t«mple,"  that  is,  of  the  court  of  the  priests,  "those  who  are  to  officiate, 
receive  the  sacrifices,  as  they  do  again  at  noon.  It  is  not  lawful  to 
•wry  any  vessel  into  the  holy  house.    When  the  days  are  over  in  which 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  69 

a  coiirse  of  priests  officiates,  other  priests  succeed  in  the  performance 
of  the  sacrifices,  and  assemble  together  at  mid-day  and  receive  the  keys 
of  the  Temple,  and  the  vessels."  Among  the  various  priestlj-  duties 
none  was  of  such  esteem  as  the  offering  of  incense.  The  heat  of  eastern 
and  southern  coimtries,  by  its  unpleasant  physical  effects,  doubtless 
first  led  to  the  practice  of  burning  odorous  substances,  though  luxury 
and  mere  indulgence  soon  adopted  it.  Ultimately,  not  onlj^  chambers, 
clothes,  and  furniture  were  thus  perfumed,  but  the  beards  and  whole 
periaons  of  guests,  in  great  houses,  at  their  coming  and  leaving.  Burn- 
ing censers  were  waved  before  princes,  and  altars,  on  which  inceuse 
was  burned,  were  raised  before  them  in  the  streets,  when  they  entered 
towns  or  cities.  Thus  esteemed  a  mark  of  the  highest  honour,  the 
custom  was  early  transfeiTed  to  religious  worship,  in  the  belief  that 
the  deity  delighted  in  the  odours  thus  offered.  Hence  it  became  a  part 
of  the  recognized  worship  of  Jehovah,  the  Mosaic  law  requiring  in- 
cense to  be  burnt  on  the  altar  with  many  offerings.  A  daily  incense 
offering  morning  and  evening,  on  a  special  altar,  in  the  Holy  Place, 
at  the  times  of  trimming  and  kindling  the  sacred  lamps,  was  also  or- 
dained, and  another  yearly,  in  the  Holy  of  HoUes,  by  the  high  priest, 
on  the  great  Day  of  Atonement. 

The  daily  incense  offering  required  the  ministration  of  two  priests,onQ 
of  whom  bore  the  incense  in  a  special  vessel ;  the  other,  glowing  embers 
in  a  golden  fire-pan,  from  the  altar  of  burnt  sacrifice  before  the  entrance 
of  the  Holy  Place,  and  these  he  spread  on  an  altar  within.  The  first  priest 
then  sprinkled  the  incense  on  the  burning  coals,  an  office  held  so  hon- 
ourable that  no  one  was  allowed  to  perform  it  twice,  since  it  brought  the 
offering  priest  neai'er  the  Divine  Presence  in  the  Holy  of  Holies  than 
any  other  priestly  act,  and  carried  ^^^th  it  the  richest  blessing  from  on 
high,  which  all  ought  to  have  a  chance  of  thus  obtaining.  Like  the 
rest  of  the  sacred  functions,  it  was  determined  daily  by  lot. 

During  the  burning  of  the  incense,  each  morning  and  night,  the  wor- 
shippers in  the  different  courts  remained  in  silent  prayer,  their  faces 
towards  the  holy  spot  where  the  symbol  of  their  devotions  was  ascend- 
ing in  fragrant  clouds  towards  heaven :  their  fondest  hope  being  that 
their  prayer  might  rise  up,  odorous  and  well-pleasing  like  it,  towards 
Jehovah.  While  the  priests  entered,  morning  and  evening,  into  the 
Holy  Place,  with  its  seven  lamps  burning  night  and  day  for  ever,  the 
memento  of  the  awful  presence  in  the  pillar  of  fire  that  had  guarded 
them  of  old,  and  its  table  of  ' '  continual  bread"  of  the  presence — a  male 
lamb,  with  the  due  fruit  and  drink-offering  connected  with  such  a  sac- 
rifice, was  ready  to  be  offered  on  the  great  altar  of  burnt  offering  out- 
side. The  atoning  sacrifice,  and  the  clouds  of  incense,  the  outward 
symbol  of  the  prayers  of  the  people,  were  thus  iudissolubly  associated, 
and  so  holy  were  they  in  all  eyes,  that  the  hours  sticred  to  theni  were 
known  as  those  of  the  morning  and  the  evening  Si\erifice.  They  served, 
still  further,  to  set  a  time,  throughout  the  Jewish  world,  for  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  prayers  of  all  Israel,  and  thus,  when  the  priest  stood 


70  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

by  the  incense  altar,  and  the  flame  of  the  bvirnt  offering,  outside,  a*, 
cended,  the  prayers  offered  in  the  Temple  courts  were  repeated  all 
over  the  land,  and  even  in  every  region,  however  distant,  to  which  a 
godly  Jew  had  wandered. 

On  the  da}'  when  our  narrative  opens,  the  lot  for  the  daily  incense 
offering  had  fallen  on  Zacharias.  In  his  white  sacerdotal  robes,  with 
covered  head  and  naked  feet,  at  the  tinkling  of  the  bell  which  an- 
nounced that  the  morning  or  evening  sacrifice  was  about  to  be  laid  on 
the  gieat  altar,  he  entered  the  Holy  Place,  that  the  clouds  of  the  in- 
cense, which  symbolized  Isi-ael's  prayers,  might  herald  the  way  for  the 
smoke  of  the  victim  pres-ently  to  be  burned  in  their  stead.  In  a  place 
so  sacred,  sepai-ated  only  by  a  veil  from  the  Holy  of  Holies,  the  awful 
presence  chamber  of  the  Almighty — a  place  where  God  had  already 
shown  that  He  was  near,  by  human  words  to  the  officiating  priest — at 
a  moment  so  solemn,  when  it  had  fallen  to  him  to  enjoy  an  awful 
honour  which  most  of  his  brethren  could  not  expect  to  obtain,  and 
which  could  never  be  repeated,  he  must  have  been  well-nigh  over- 
powered with  emotion.  At  the  tinkling  of  the  bell  all  the  priests  and 
Levites  took  their  stations  through  the  Temple  coiu-ts,  and  he  and  his 
helper  began  their  ministrations. 

And  now  the  coals  are  laid  on  the  altar,  the  helping  priest  retires, 
and  Zacharias  is  left  alone  with  the  mysterious,  ever-burning,  lamps, 
and  the  glow  of  the  altar  which  was  believed  to  have  been  kindled,  at 
first,  from  the  pillar  of  fire  in  the  desert,  and  to  have  been  kept  un- 
quenched,  by  miracle,  since  then.  He  pours  the  incense  on  the  flames, 
and  its  fragrance  rises  in  clouds,  which  are  the  symbol  of  the  prayers 
of  Israel,  now  rising  over  all  the  earth.  As  the  intercessor  for  his 
people,  for  the  time,  he,  too,  joins  his  supplications. 

We  need  not  question  what  the  burden  of  that  prayer  must  have 
been,  Avith  one,  who,  like  him,  "  v^^aited  for  the  Consolation  of  Israel," 
and  "looked  for  Redemption."  It  was,  doubtless,  that  the  sins  of  the 
nation,  his  own  sins,  and  the  sins  of  his  household,  might  be  forgiven ; 
that  Jehovah  would  accept  the  atonement  of  the  lamb  presently  to  burn 
on  the  great  altar  in  their  stead;  and  that  the  long-expected  Hope 
of  Israel,  the  Messiah  foretold  by  prophets,  might  soon  appear. 

While  he  prays,  there  stands  a  mysterious  Presence  before  him,  on 
the  right  side  of  the  altar,  the  side  of  good  omen,  as  the  angels,  after- 
wards, appeared  at  the  right  side,  in  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  as 
Christ  was  seen,  by  the  MartjT  Stephen,  standing  on  the  Right  Hand 
of  God.  No  wonder  he  was  alarmed  at  such  a  sight,  in  such  a  place. 
Fear  of  the  supernatural  is  instinctive.  In  the  history  of  his  own 
nation,  which  Zachaiias,  like  every  Jew,  knew  so  well,  Jacob  liad 
held  it  a  wonder  that  he  had,  as  he  believed,  seen  God  face  to  face, 
and  that  his  life  was  preserved ;  Jehovah  Himself  had  hidden  Mose/J 
in  a  cleft  of  the  rock,  that  he  might  see  the  divine  glory  only  after  it 
had  passed  by,  "For  no  man,"  He  had  said,  "shall  see  me  and  live." 
The  stout-hearted  Gideon  had  trembled  at  the  tight  of  an  angel; 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  71 

Manoah  had  expected  to  die  after  a  similar  vision;  and  "when  Daniel 
saw  the  very  angel  now  before  Zacharias  ' '  there  remained  no  strength 
in  him." 

But  Gabriel  had  come  on  a  mission  befitting  the  world  from  which 
he  had  been  sent.  The  hour  had  arrived  when  the  prayer  which 
Zacharias,  and  those  like  him,  had  so  long  raised,  should  be  heard. 
The  Messiah  was  about  to  be  revealed,  and  the  faithful  priest  who 
had  so  longed  for  His  appearing  would  be  honoured  by  a  relationship 
to  Him.  He  had  for  many  a  year  desired  a  son :  not  only  would  hii 
wish  be  granted,  at  last,  but  the  son  to  be  born  would  be  the  prophet, 
long  announced,  to  go  before  the  Expected  One,  to  prepare  His  way. 
He  needs  not  fear:  he  who  speaks  is  Gabriel,  the  archangel,  who 
stands  in  the  presence  of  God,  and  as  one  who  thus  always  beholdsi 
the  face  of  the  Great  Father  in  heaven,  he  has  a  tender  love  to  His 
children  on  earth.  Had  Zacharias  thought  how  the  skies  rejoice  at  a 
sinner's  repenting;  how  the  angels  are  always  near  us  when  we  pray; 
how  they  bear  our  praj'^ers  into  the  presence  of  God ;  and  hoAV,  at  last, 
they  guide  the  souls  of  the  just  to  everlasting  joy;  he  would  have  re- 
joiced even  while  he  trembled. 

But  the  heart  is  slow  to  receive  the  access  of  any  sudden  joy,  and 
to  lay  aside  disappointment.  The  thought  rises  in  the  heart  of  Zacha- 
rias that  the  glad  tidings  of  the  birth  of  the  Messiah  may  well  be  true- 
but,  as  to  the  son  promised  his  wife,  stricken  in  years  as  she  now  is, 
can  it  be  possible?  A  sudden  dumbness,  imposed  at  the  angel's  word, 
at  once  rebukes  his  doubt,  and  confirms  his  faith. 

Meanwhile,  the  multitude  without  wondered  at  the  delay  in  his  re- 
appearance, to  bless  and  dismiss  them.  The  priest's  coming  out  of 
the  sanctuary  was  the  signal  for  the  lamb  being  laid  on  the  altar,  and 
was  a  moment  of  passing  interest  in  Jewish  worship.  A  passage  in 
that  noble  relic  of  pre-Christian  Jewish  literature,  Ecclesiasticus,  re- 
specting the  great  patriot  high  priest,  Simon  the  Just,  brings  a  similar 
scene,  though  on  a  far  grander  scale,  on  the  great  Day  of  Atonement, 
vividly  before  us.  The  crowds  now  around  marked  some  other  than 
a  common  day,  and  we  need  only  tone  down  the  picture  to  suit  it  to 
the  present  case ;  for  Zacharias,  as  a  faithful  priest,  engaged  on  such 
a  service,  was,  for  the  time,  an  object  of  almost  sacred  reverence. 

"How  glorious  was  he,"  says  the  Son  of  Sirach,  "before  the  mul- 
titude of  the  people,  in  his  coming  forth  from  within  the  veil !  He 
was  as  the  morning  star  in  the  midst  of  a  cloud,  and  as  the  moon 
when  its  days  are  full ;  as  the  sun  shining  upon  the  temple  of  the 
Most  High,  and  as  the  rainbow  that  glitters  on  the  bright  clouds,  and 
as  the  tlower  of  roses  in  the  spring  of  the  3"ear;  as  lilies  by  the  rivers 
of  waters,  and  as  the  branches  of  the  friinkincense  tree  in  the  time  of 
summer.     .     .     . 

"  When  he  put  on  the  robes  of  state,  and  was  arrayed  in  all  his  orna- 
ments, when  he  went  up  to  the  holy  altar,  he  adorned  the  forecourt 
of  the  Sanctuary.     But  when  he  received  the  pieces,  of  the  sacrifice 


72  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

from  the  lianas  of  the  priests,  and  stood  at  the  side  of  the  altar,  a 
crown  of  brethren  round  him,  then  was  he  lii?;e  the  younff  cedar  on 
Lebanon,  and  they  were  round  him  like  palm-trees,  and  all  the  sons 
of  Aaron  were  in  'their  splendid  robes,  and  the  gifts  for  the  Lord  in 
their  hands,  from  the  whole  congregation  of  Israel.  And,  when  he 
had  finished  the  service  at  the  altars,  that  lie  might  do  honour  to  the 
offering  of  tlie  Most  High,  Almighty,  he  stretched  forth  his  hand 
over  the  sacrifice,  and  poured  out  the  blood  of  grapes;  he  poured  it 
out  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  as  a  sweet-smell iug  savour  unto  the  Most 
High,  the  King  of  all.  Then  shouted  the  sons  of  Aaron ;  with  the 
silver  trumpets  of  wondrous  workmanship  did  they  sound,  and  made 
a  great  noise  to  be  heard,  for  a  remembrance  before  the  Most  High. 
Then  all  the  people,  together,  hasted,  and  fell  down  to  the  earth, 
upon  their  faces,  to  worship  God.  the  Lord  Almighty,  the  Most  High. 
The  singers  also  sang  praises  with  their  voices;  with  great  variety  of 
sounds  was  there  made  sweet  melody.  And  the  people  besought  the 
Lord,  the  Most  High,  by  prayer  before  Him  that  is  merciful,  till  the 
glorious  exalting  of  the  Lord  was  ended,  and  His  worship  was  finished. 

"Then  he  came  down,  and  lifted  up  his  hands  over  the  whole  con- 
gregation of  the  children  of  Israel,  to  give  the  blessing  of  the  Lord 
with  his  lips,  and  to  glorify  His  name.  And  they  towed  themselves 
down  to  worship  the  second  time,  that  they  might  receive  a  blessing 
from  the  Most  High." 

Fear  lest  any  calamity  might  have  befallen  Zacharias  added  to  the 
rising  excitement.  He  might  have  been  ceremonially  unclean,  and 
the  divine  anger  at  the  Holy  Place  being  thus  polluted,  might  have 
sti-uck  him  down.  The  offering  priest  never  remained  longer  than 
was  necessary  in  so  august  a  Presence.  His  appearance,  at  last,  how- 
ever, explained  all.  They  could  receive  no  Tilessing  that  day,  and 
Zacharias  could  no  longer  minister  in  his  course,  for  he  was  speech- 
less; all  he  could  do  was  to  tell  them  by  signs  what  had  happened. 
Had  they  known  it,  his  silence  for  the  time  was  but  the  prelude  to 
the  lasting  silence  of  the  Law,  of  which  he  was  a  minister,  now  that 
Christ  was  about  to  come. 

Having  now  no  more  to  detain  him  at  Jerusalem,  Zacharias  returned 
home,  we  presume,  to  Hebron.  His  journey,  if  it  was  in  October,  as 
seems  likely,  would  lead  him  through  the  clieerf  ul  scenes  of  the  grape 
harvest — a  great  event,  even  yet,  in  the  Hebron  district.  Had  it  been 
in  April,  at  the  spring  service,  the  stony  hills,  and  deep  red  or  yellow 
soil  of  the  valleys  through  which  he  had  "to  pass,  would  have  been  ablaze 
with  bright  colours;  shrubs,  grass,  gay  weeds,  and  wild-tlowers,  over 
all  the  uplands,  and  thickets,  of  varied  blossom,  sprinkled  with  sheets 
of  white  briar  roses,  in  the  hollows;  the  beautiful  cyclamen  peeping 
from  under  the  gnarled  roots  of  great  trees,  and  from  amidst  the 
roadside  stones.  Towns  of  stone  houses,  of  which  the  ruins  still  re- 
main, rose,  flat-roofed,  from  the  hill-sides,  or  from  their  tops,  in  sight 
of  each  other,  all  the  way.      Fields  with  stone  walls,  now  in  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  73 

iiutumn.  lay  idle  after  the  harvest,  or  were  being  re-sown;  but  the 
vineyards,  which  spread  far  and  wide,  over  valley  and  sloping  height, 
resoinided  with  voices,  for  the  houses  were  well-nigh  forsaken  to 
gather  the  ripe  grapes  Somewhere  in  Hebron,  in  its  cradle  of  hills, 
three  thousand  feet  above  the  neighbouring  Mediterranean,  lay  the 
liome  of  Zacharias,  and  there,  some  time  in  the  next  year,  in  accord- 
uiec  with  the  promise  of  the  angel,  Elisabeth  bore  a  son — the  future 
Baptist;  and  Zacharias  received  back  his  speech,  on  the  glad  day  of 
the  child  getting  its  name — the  eighth  after  its  birth, — the  day  of  its 
admission  into  the  congregation  of  Israel  by  circumcision. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  ANNQUNCEMENT  TO   MART. 

While  Zacharias  and  Elisabeth  were  rejoicing  at  their  promised 
blessing,  in  their  quiet  home  in  the  south,  there  lived  in  the  village  of 
Nazarjth  or  Nazara,  over  a  hundred  miles  to  the  north  of  them,  a 
Jew  of  the  name  of  Joseph,  and  a  simple  maiden  named  Mary,  who 
was  betrothed  to  him  as  his  future  wife.  Though  humble  enough  iu 
posit irju — for  he  was  b}'  trade  a  carpenter — Joseph  was,  in  reality',  of 
the  noblest  blood  of  his  race,  for  he  could  claim  descent  from  the 
ancient  kin.^s  of  his  nation,  and  was  the  legal  heir  to  the  throne  of 
David  and  Solomon. 

It  needs  not  surprise  us  that  the  representative  of  such  an  illustrious 
ancestry  should  be  found  in  a  station  so  obscure.  In  the  book  of 
Judges,  we  find  a  grandson  of  Moses  reduced  to  engage  himself  as 
family  priest,  in  Mount  Ephraim,  for  a  yearly  wage  of  ' '  ten  shekels, 
a,  suit  of  apparel,  and  his  victuals. "  At  the'  present  day,  the  greei: 
turban  which  marks  descent  from  Mahomet  is  often  worn  in  the  East 
by  the  very  poor,  and  even  by  beggars.  In  our  own  history,  the, 
glory  of  the  ouce  illustrious  Plantageuets  so  completely  waned,  that 
the  direct  representative  of  Margaret  Plantagenet,  daughter  and  heiress 
of  George  Duke  of  Clarence,  followed  the  trade  of  a  cobbler  in  New- 
port, Shropshire,  in  1637.  Among  the  lineal  descendants  of  Edmuud 
of  Woodstock,  sixth  son  of  Edward  I,  and  entitled  to  quarter  the 
royal  -arms,  were  a  village  butcher,  and  a  keeper  of  a  turnpike  gate, 
and  among  the  descendants  of  Thomas  Plantagenet,  Duke  of  Glouces- 
ter, fifth  son  of  Edward  III. ,  was  included  thelate  sexton  of  a  Loudon 
church.  The  vicissitudes  of  the  Jewish  nation  for  century  after  cen- 
tury; its  deportation  to  Babvlon,  and  long  suspension  of  national  life; 
its  succession  of  high-priestly  rulers,  after  the  return;  its  transition  to 
the  Asmouean  line,  and,  finally,  the  reign  of  the  Idumean  house  of 
Herod,  with  all  the  storm  and  turmoil  which  marked  so  many  changes, 
iiad  left,  to  use  the  figure  of  Lsaiah,  only  a  root  in  a  dry  ground,  au 
humble  citizen  of  Nazareth,  as  the  heir  of  its  ancient  royalty. 


74  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

In  thn  same  city  lived  a  family,  which,  like  that  of  Joseph,  seemi 
to  have  been  long- settled  there.  The  names  of  the  parents  we  do  not 
know,  but  they  had  three  daughters,  one  of  whom,  Mary,  was  be- 
trothed to  Joseph.  The  relation  thus  created  was  familiar  to  our  own 
ancestors  as  late  as  the  time  of  Shakespore,  and  was  equivalent  to  a 
civil  contract  of  marriage,  to  be  duly  followed  by  the  religious  rite. 
Among  the  Jews  of  Mary's  day,  it  was  even  more  of  an  actual  en- 
gagement. The  betrothal  was  formally  made,  with  rejoicings,  in  the 
house  of  the  bride,  under  a  tent  or  slight  canopy  raised  for  the  pur- 
pose. It  was  called  fhe  "making  sacred,"  as  the  bride,  thenceforth, 
was  sacred  to  her  husband,  in  the  strictest  sense.  To  make  it  legal, 
the  bridegroom  gave  his  betrothed  a  piece  of  money,  or  the  worth  of 
it,  before  witnesses,  with  the  words,  "  Lo,  thou  art  betrothed  unto 
me,"  or  by  a  formal  writing,  in  which  similar  words,  and  the  maiden's 
name,  were  given,  and  this,  in  the  same  v/ay,  was  handed  to  her  before 
witnesses.  Betrothals  were  commonly  arranged  by  the  fathers,  or 
in  case  of  their  being  dead,  by  the  mothers,  or  guardians,  and  the  con- 
sent of  any  brothers  the  maiden  might  have,  was  required.  In  the 
earlier  ages,  verbal  agreements,  sometimes  confirmed  by  oath,  before 
witnesses,  were  most  in  use,  but  after  the  Return,  written  forms  be- 
came the  rule. 

Though  betrothal  was  virtually  marriage,  and  could  only  be  LToken 
off  by  a  formal  "bill  of  divorcement,"  the  betrothed  did  not  at  once 
go  to  her  husband's  house.  To  give  her  time  for  preparation,  and  to 
soften  the  pain  of  parting  from  her  friends,  or,  perhaps,  in  part,  to  let 
them  get  a  longer  benefit  of  her  household  services,  an  interval  elapsed 
before  the  final  ceremony;  it  might  be  so  many  weeks,  or  months,  or 
even  a  whole  year. 

It  was  now  the  sixtb  month  from  the  appearance  of  Gabriel  to 
Zacharias,  and  Mary's  time  of  betrothal  M'as  passing  quickly  away  in 
her  family  home  at  Nazareth.  The  future  Herald  had  been  pointed 
out,  and  now  the  advent  of  the  Messiah  Himself  was  to  be  announced, 
as  silently,  and  with  as  little  notice  from  men,  for  Christ,  like  the 
sun,  rose  in  noiseless  stillness. 

A  heart  like  that  of  Mary,  full  of  religious  thoughtfulness  and 
emotion,  must  have  been  doubly  earnest  in  the  daily  devotions  which 
no  Jew  or  Jewess  neglected.  Like  all  her  people,  the  time  of  the 
morning  offering,  the  hour  of  noon,  and  the  time  of  the  evening  sac- 
rifice, would  find  her  in  her  private  chamber  in  lowly  prayer.  At 
some  such  moment,  the  great  event  took  place  of  which  the  narrative 
of  St.  Luke  informs  us. 

In  the  sixth  month,  we  are  told,  after  the  visit  to  Zacharias,  Gabriel 
was  sent  from  God  to  Mary,  and  having  entered  her  chamber,  where 
the  presence  of  a  man  must  have  been  startling  at  any  time,  but  then 
especially, — stood  before  her  with  the  usual  salutation,  to  which  he 
added  the  mysterious  words,  that  she  was  highly  favoured,  and  that 
the  Lord  was  with  her.     Katurally  troubled  by  such  an  interruptioe 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRISl'.  \  5 

and  such  words,  slie  shows  a  characteristic  of  her  calm,  self-collccled 
nature  in  being  able  to  think  and  reason,  as  if  undisturbed,  what  the 
salutation  might  mean.  Whatever  fear  she  hns,  speedily  passes, 
before  the  soothing  words  of  her  visitor.  He  bids  her  lay  aside  her 
alarm;  he  has  come  to  tell  her  that  she  has  found  favour,  above  all 
other  women,  with  God,  by  being  chosen  as  the  future  mother  of  the 
long-expected  Messiah,  wiio  was  to  have  the  name  of  Jesus.  ' '  The 
lloiy  Ghost,"  he  says,  "shall  come  upon  thee,  and  the  power  of  the 
Highest  shall  overshadow  thee ;  therefore  thy  son  shall  be  called  the 
Son  of  God;  and  the  Lord  God  shall  give  unto  Him  the  throne  of  His 
father  David;  and  He  shall  reign  over  the  house  of  Jacob^for  ever; 
and  of  His  kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end."  It  would  have  been  no 
more  than  human  weakness,  if  doubts  had  risen  at  .such  an  announce- 
ment, but  these  he  sets  to  rest,  if  they  were  springing,  by  telling  her 
that  a  miracle,  no  less  wonderful  than  that  which  would  happen  with 
herself,  had  already  been  wrought  upon  her  relative  Elisabeth.  Mary's 
answer  is  the  ideal  of  dignified  humility,  and  meek  and  reverend  in- 
nocence:— "  Behold  the  handmaid  of  the  Lord;  be  it  unto  me  accord- 
ing to  thy  word."     And  presently  she  was  alone. 

Had  the  narrative  of  the  miraculous  conception  occurred  in  the 
literature  of  a  heathen  nation,  it  would  justl}'  have  raised  doubts. 
But  in  the  sober  verses  of  the  Gospels,  written  by  Jews,  it  takes  a  far 
different  character.  The  idea  was  altogether  foreign  to  the  Jewish 
mind.  The  Hebrew  doctrine  of  the  Unily  of  God,  and  of  the  infinite 
elevation  of  the  Divine  Being  above  man,  the  profound  regard  of 
the  Jews  for  the  married  state,  and  their  abhorrence  of  unwedded 
life,  make  it  impossible  to  imagine  how  such  a  thought  could  ever 
liave  risen  among  them.  The  improbability  of  its  being  invented  by 
a  Jew  is  heightened  by  the  fact,  that,  though  lofty  thoughts  of  the 
nature  of  the  Messiah  were  not  wanting  in  some  Israelites,  the  almost 
universal  belief  was  that  He  was  to  be  simply  a  man,  who  would 
receive  miraculous  endowments,  on  His  foi'mal  consecration  as 
Messiah. 

What  best  to  do  in  a  position  so  mysterious  may  well  have  troubled 
Mary's  heart.  The  angel  had  told  her  that  her  relative  Elisabeth,  as 
well  as  herself,  had  been  favoured  of  God  in  connection  with  the  ex- 
pected Messiah,  and  it  is  a  natural  trait,  in  one  whose  strength  of 
mind,  and  calm  decision  of  character,  had  shown  itself  even  in  her 
Visitation,  that  she  now  determined  to  go  to  her  Idnswoman  and  con- 
fer with  her,  though  the  distance  Ijetween  them  was  over  a  hundred 
miles. 

What  were  the  thoughts  of  Mary  in  her  solitary  journey — for  soli- 
tary she  must  have  been,  with  such  a  secret  in  her  heart,  even  if  she 
travelled  with  a  company?  She  likely  went  on  foot,  for  it  was  the 
custom  of  her  people,  and,  moreover,  she  was  poor.  The  intimation 
made  to  her  was  one  which  she  could  hardly  grasp  in  its  full  signifi- 
cance.    Her  Son  was  to  sit  upon  the  throne  of  His  father  David,  and 


76  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

reign  over  the  aonse  of  Jacob,  founding  a  Ivingdom  •which  should  en- 
dure for  ever.  But  this  was  only  what  she  had  expected,  as  a  Jewess, 
for,  like  all  her  nation,  slie  thought  of  the  Messiah  as  a  Jewish  king, 
■who  should  restore  the  long-lost  glories  of  her  race,  and  make  Israel 
triumphant  over  all  the  heathen.  She  had  been  told,  as  well,  however, 
that  her  child,  from  its  birth,  should  be  called  the  Son  of  the  Highest, 
and  the  Son  of  God.  The  human  mind  is  slow  to  grasp  great  truths,  and 
needs  to  grow  into  a  comprehension  of  their  meaning:  it  cannot 
receive  them  in  their  fulness  till  it  has  been  educated,  step  by  step,  to 
understand  them.  Long  years  after  this  she  only  partially  realized 
the  impo*  of  such  words.  In  her  Son's  youth  she  was  perplexed  to 
know  what  was  meant  by  His  answer,  when  He  staj^ed  behind  in  the 
Temple,  and  years  after  that  .she  failed,  once  again,  to  realize  her  true 
relations  to  Him.  Nor  does  she  .seem  to  have  risen  to  the  full,  sub- 
limity of  her  position,  and  of  His,  while  He  lived,  though  the  death- 
less love  of  a  mother  for  her  child  brought  her  to  the  foot  of  the 
Cross.  But  in  such  slowness  to  believe,  and  such  abidingly  imperfect 
concepti(ins,  she  was  only  on  a  footing  with  those  who  enjoyed 
habitual  intercourse  "with  Him,  hearing  His  words,  and  seeing  His 
miracles,  day  by  day;  for  even  the  disciples  remained,  to  the  end, 
^Jewish  peasants,  in  their  ideas  respecting  Him,  thinking  that  He  was 
only  a  political  deliverer  of  the  nation.  Preoccupation  of  the  mind 
by  fixed  opinions,  leads  to  a  wrong  reading  of  any  evidence.  We 
imcousciously  distort  facts,  or  invent  them,  to  support  our  favourite 
theories,  and  sec  everything  through  their  medium,  like  the  musician, 
■who  held  that  God  worked  six  days,  and  rested  on  the  seventh,  be- 
cause there  are  seven  notes  in  music ;  or  as  in  the  instance  fancied  by 
Helvetius,  where  a  loving  couple  had  no  doubt  that  two  objects,  visi- 
ble on  the  disc  of  the  moon,  were  two  lovers  bending  towards  each 
other,  while  a  clergyman  had  as  little,  that  they  were  the  two  steeples 
of  a  cathedral.  Our  conclusions  are  determined  largely  by  our  pre- 
dispo.sitions,  and  our  prejudices,  or  prejudgments,  in  great  measure 
monopolize  our  faculties.  "We  are  not  so  much  ignorant  as  perverted. 
"\Ye  see  truth  through  a  prism.  We  are  so  entirely  the  creatures  of 
education,  of  the  opinions  of  our  neighbours  and  of  our  family,  and 
of  the  thousand  influences  of  life,  that  the  only  way  w^e  can  hope  to 
see  truth  in  its  own  white  and  unbroken  light  is,  as  Christ  tells  us,  by 
our  becoming  little  children.  With  Mary  and  the  di.sciples  this  came 
in  the  end  but  not  till  then.  The  hifluence  expressed  In  Seneca's 
apophthegm — Sardet  cognita  Veritas — blinded  their  eyes,  in  part,  while 
our  Lord  was  still  wdth  them;  but  He  rose  to  His  divine  grandeur  as 
He  left  them.  In  the  Acts  and  the  Epistles  the  disciples  breathe  a  far 
loftier  spirituality,  in  their  conception  of  the  work  and  T*erson  of 
Christ,  than  in  the  Gospels,  and  Mary,  beyond  question,  was  not  be- 
hind men  with  whose  Ipt  she  from  that  time  cast  in  her  own. 

Her  meeting  with  Elisabeth  was  naturally  marked  by  the  deep 
emotion  of  both,  and  we  owe  to  it  the  earliest  and  gi-andest  of  our 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  77 

hymns,  the  Magniffat.  Greeted  by  Elisabeth  as  the  future  mother 
of  her  Lord,  Mary  breaks  out,  with  the  poetical  fervour  of  Eastera 
nature,  in  a  strain  of  exalted  feeling.  The  rhythmical  expression 
into  which  she  falls  was  only  what  might  have  been  expe(!ted  from 
[  one  imbued,  as  all  Jewish  minds  were,  with  the  style  and  imagery  of 
the  Old  Testament.  Like  Miriam,  Deborah,  Hannah,  or  Judith,  she 
utters  a  song  of  joy : — 

My  soul  doth  ma^ify  the  Lord, 

And  my  spirit  hatli  rejoiced  in  God  my  Saviour; 

For  He  hatli  regarded  the  low  estate  of  His  handmaiden: 

For,  behold,  from  hencefortli  all  generations  shall  call  me  blessed. 

For  He  that  is  mighty  hath  done  to  me  great  things: 

And  Holy  is  His  name. 
And  His  mercy  is  on  them  that  fear  Him,  from  generation  to  generation. 
He  hath  shewed  strength  with  His  arm ; 

He  hath  scattered  the  proud  in  the  imaigination  of  their  hearts 
He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats ; 
And  exalted  them  of  low  degree. 
He  hath  filled  the  hungry  with  good  things; 
And  the  rich  He  hath  sent  empty  away. 
He  hath  holpen  His  servant  Israe 
In  remembrance  of  Hia  mercy; 
As  He  spake  to  our  fathers. 
To  Abraham  and  to  His  seed,  for  ever. 

The  whole  hymn  is  a  mosaic  of  Old  Testament  imagery  and  lan- 
guage, and  shows  a  mind  so  coloured  by  the  sacred  writings  of  her 
people  that  her  whole  utterance  becomes,  spontaneously,  as  by  a  second 
nature,  an  echo  of  that  of  prophets  and  saints.  It  is  such  as  wo 
might  have  expected  from  the  lips  of  some  ideal  Puritan  maiden,  in 
those  da3"s  in  our  own  histor3^  when  men  were  so  deeply  read  in  the 
oracles  of  God,  that  their  ordinary  conversation  fell  into  Scriptural 
phrases  and  allusions,  and  their  whole  life  was  coloured  by  the  daily 
contemplation  of  superior  beings  and  eternal  interests.  Mary,  like 
them,  must  have  lived  in  a  constant  realization  of  the  presence,  and 
special  providence,  of  One,  with  whose  gracious  communications  to 
her  people  she  had  thus  tilled  her  whole  thoughts.  A  Jewish  puri- 
tanism,  of  the  loftiest  and  most  spiritual  type,  must .  have  been  the 
very  atmosphere  in  which  she  moved,  and  in  which  her  child  was 
hereafter  to  be  trained. 

The  high  intellectual  emotion  and  eloquence  of  the  3fagnificat  re- 
veal a  nature  of  no  common  mould,  as  its  intense  religious  fervour 
shows  spiritual  characteristics  of  the  noblest  type.  But  the  strain 
throughout  is  strictly  limited  to  what  we  might  have  expected  in  a 
Jewish  maiden.  It  is  intensely  national  when  it  is  not  personal.  She 
rejoices  in  God,  and  magnifies  His  name,  for  having  honoured  her  so 
greatly,  notwithstanding  her  low  estate.  He  has  done  great  things 
for  her,  which  will  make  all  generations  pronounce  her  blessed.  He 
has  thus  favoured  her  because  she  feared  Him,  for  His  mercy  is  on 
such,  from  generation  to  generation.  As  of  old,  when  He  shewed 
strength  with  His  arm,  and  scattered  the  proud,  and  put  down  the 


T8  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

mighty  from  their  thrones,  to  deliver  or  exalt  His  weak  and  lowly 
people,  so,  now,  He  has  exalted  her,  and  disappointed  the  hopes  of 
the  great  ones;  He  has  tilled  her,  who  was  like  the  hungry,  with  good 
things,  and  has  sent  away  the  rich  empty,  who  expected  His  favours. 
Through  her  He  has  holpen  Israel,  in  remembrance  of  His  promise  to 
her  fathers,  to  Abraham,  and  to  his  seed,  for  ever,  that  He  would  be 
their  God.  Her  son  was  to  be  the  Anointed  who  should  redeem 
Israel  out  of  all  its  troubles.  As  a  descendant  of  David,  she  doubt- 
less thinks  of  Herod,  sitting,  as  an  Edomite  intruder,  on  the  throne 
rightfully  due  to  her  own  I'ace,  yet,  as  an  Israelite  in  the  best  sense, 
the  redemption  of  her  people  goes  beyond  the  merely  patriotic  and 
political,  to  the  restoration  of  that  primitive  loyalty  to  the  God  of 
their  fathers  which  she  cherished  in  her  own  breast,  but  the  spirit  of 
which  her  people  had  well-nigh  lost,  amidst  all  their  steadfastness  in 
the  outer  forms. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  how  willingly  Mary  lingered  in  Hebron, 
and  that  she  was  loath  to  return  to  Nazareth  sooner  than  was  neces- 
sary. Elisabeth  knew  her  great  secret  and  her  innocence,  but  at 
Nazareth  she  would  be  among  her  neighbours,  who  might  not  credit 
her  assurances;  and  she  must  some  day,  as  late  as  possible,  break  the 
matter  to  her  beti'Othed.  It  is  no  wonder  to  find  that  three  months 
passed,  before  she  could  venture  to  turn  her  face  homeward  once 
more. 

Her  position  on  her  return,  indeed,  exposed  her  to  a  trial,  great 
above  all  others  to  a  virtuous  woman.  Conscious  of  perfect  purity, 
she  is  suspected  of  the  reverse  by  him  to  whom  her  troth  is  plighted; 
but  He  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  relieved  her  from 
her  troubles  by  making  known  to  Joseph  the  mysterious  truth.  As  a 
just  man — which  was  a  current  expression  of  the  time  for  a  strict 
observer  of  the  LaAv — and  j'et  unwilling  to  expose  her  to  public 
shame,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  divorce  her  formally,  by  a  written 
"bill,"  duly  attested  by  witnesses,  but  being  divinely  instructed  that 
his  fears  were  groundless,  he  freed  her  from  all  future  trouble  by 
taking  her  home  as  his  wife. 

Legend,  as  might  have  been  expected,  was  early  busy  with  the  story 
of  Mary  and  Joseph. 

We  are  told  that  Joseph,  though  a  carpenter,  was  made  a  priest  in 
the  Temple,  because  of  his  knowledge  of  the  Law,  and  his  fame  for 
holiness.  Mary  was  his  .second  wife,  and  found  herself,  on  her  com- 
ing home,  in  a  circle  of  fom-  sons  and  two  daughters,  left  by  her  pre- 
decessor— the  famil}^  known  in  the  Gospels  as  the  brethren  and  sisters 
of  our  Lord.  Mary,  as  has  been  said,  was  the  daughter  of  Joachim 
and  Anna.  On  her  father's  side,  she  came  from  Nazareth ;  on  her 
mother's,  from  Bethlehem.  Joachim  was  a  simple,  God-fearing  man, 
a  shepherd,  of  the  tribe  of  Judah,  and  married  Anna  when  he  was 
twenty  years  of  age.  Twenty  years  passed,  however,  without  their 
taving  a  child,  and  both  Joachim  and  Anna  grieved  sorely  at  their 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  79 

loneliness.  At  the  Temple,  Joachim  found  himself  ordered  av/av 
from  among  those  who  had  children,  and  his  offerni2;s  refused,  aud 
Anna,  also,  had  to  bear  reproach  from  the  women  of  her  people. 

Then  "  Anna  wept  sore,  and  prayed  to  God.  And  when  the  great 
day  of  the  Lord  came,  Judith,  her*  maid,  said  to  her,  How  long  will 
thy  soul  mourn?  It  becomes  Ihcc  not  to  be  sad,  for  the  great  day  of 
the  Lord  has  come.  Take  thy  head-dress,  which  the  needlewoman 
gave  me;  it  is  not  allowed  me  to  put  it  on  thee,  because  I  am  thy 
maid,  and  thou  come.st  of  kings."  Then  was  Anna  nuu-h  troul)l('(i, 
and  laid  aside  her  mourning,  and  adorned  her  head,  and  put  on  her 
bridal  robes,  and  went  into  the  garden  about  the  ninth  hour.  There 
she  saw  a  laurel  tree,  and  sat  down  beneath  it,  aud  prayed  thus  to 
God: — "God  of  my  fathers,  bless  me  and  hear  my  crj',  as  Thou 
heardest  Sarah,  and  blessedst  her  by  giving  her  a  son,  Isaac."  While, 
now,  she  was  looking  up  to  heaven,  she  saw  the  nest  of  a  sparrow  in 
the  laurel-tree,  and  she  sighed  and  said,  "  Woe  is  me,  woe  is  me,  who 
Lave  no  child!  Why  Avas  I  born  that  I  should  have  become  accursed 
before  the  children  of  Israel,  arid  despised,  and  scorned,  and  driven 
away  from  the  temple  of  the  Lord  my  God?  Woe  is  me,  to  what  can 
I  liken  myself?  Not  to  the  birds  of  tlie  lieavens,  for  they  have  young; 
not  to  the  senseless  beasts,  for  they  are  fruitful  liefore  Thee,  O"  Lorcl ; 
not  to  the  creatures  of  the  waters,  for  they  liave  young;  not  to  the 
earth,  for  it  brings  forth  fruits  iu  their  seasons,  and  blesses  Thee,  O 
Lord. " 

Then  an  angel  came  and  told  her  she  should  have  a  child.  And 
Anna  said,  "  As  the  Lord  God  livetli,  be  it  male  or  female  that  I  bear, 
I  vow  it  to  the  Lord,  aud  it  shall  serve  Him  all  the  days  of  its  life." 
And  Anna  bore  a  daughter,  and  called  it  Mary,  as  the  angel  had  com- 
manded. 

When  six  months  had  passed,  Anna  put  Mary  on  the  ground,  and 
found  that  she  could  totter  a  few  steps.  Then  she  said,  "As  the 
Lord  liveth,  thou  shalt  never  put  thy  foot  on  the  earth  again  till  I 
have  led  thee  into  the  Temple  of  the  Lord".  At  the  end  of  the  first 
year,  Joachim  made  a  great  feast,  and  called  to  it  the  priests  and 
scribes,  and  the  elders,  and  man}'  friends.  And  he  brought  the 
maiden  to  the  priests,  and  they  blessed  her,  and  .said,  "God  of  our 
fathers,  bless  this  child,  and  give  her  a  name  which  .shall  be  known 
through  all  generations.     And  all  the  people  said,  Amen." 

We" are  then  told  that  Mary  was  taken  to  the  Temple  when  she 
was  three  years  old,  having  lived  till  then  in  a  sanctuary  made  for 
her  in  her  father's  house.  And  while  Joachim  and  Anna  were  at  the 
foot  of  the  tifteen  steps  that  led  up  to  the  Temple  courts,  and  were 
changing  their  soiled  travelling  raiment  for  clean  and  titling  dress,  as 
the  custom  was,  Mary  climbed  the  steps  alone,  and  never  looked  back, 
but  kept  her  face  towards  the  altar.  And  she  was  left  iu  the  Temple, 
that  she  might  grow  up  with  the  other  virgins. 

From  this  time  till  she  was  twelve  years  old,  it  is  said,  she  lived  ia 


60  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  Temple,  her  graces  keeping  pace  with  her  years.  From  the  morn- 
ing till  the  third  hour,  she  remained  in  praj'er,  and  from  that  till  the 
ninth  she  was  busied  with  spinning.  Then  she  hetook  herself  once 
more  to  prayer,  till  an  angel  each  day  came  with  food  for  her.  Her 
tetrothal  to  Joseph  is  related  in  great  detail,  but  we  forbear  to  quote 
it.  ^ 

Tradition,  to  which  we  owe  these  beautiful  legends,  has  delighted 
to  speak  of  the  Virgin's  appearance  and  character.  She  was  more 
given  to  prayer,  we  read,  than  any  round  her,  brighter  in  the  knowl- 
edge of  God's  law,  and  perfectly  humble;  she  delighted  to  sing  the 
Psalms  of  David  with  a  melodious  voice,  and  all  loved  her  for  her 
kindness  and  modesty. 

It  is  impossible  to  trust  to  the  descriptions  of  Mary's  person,  but  it 
is  interesting  to  know  how  remote  generations  imagined  her.  She 
was  in  all  things  serious  and  earnest,  says  one  old  tradition,  spoke 
little,  and  only  what  was  to  the  purpose;  she  was  very  gentle,  and 
showed  respect  and  honour  to  all.  She  was  of  middle  height,  though 
some  say  she  was  rather  above  it.  She  spoke  to  all  with  a  prudent 
frankness,  soberly,  without  confusion,  and  always  pleasantly.  She 
had  a  fair  complexion,  blonde  hair,  and  bright  hazel  eyes.  Her  eye- 
brows were  arched  and  dark,  her  nose  well  proportioned,  her  lips 
ruddy  and  full  of  kindness  when  she  spoke.  Her  face  was  long 
rather  than  ]-ound,  and  her  hands  and  fingers  were  finely  shaped. 
She  had  no  pride,  but  was  simple,  and  wholly  free  from  deceit. 
Without  effeminacy,  she  was  far  from  forwardness.  In  her  clothes 
wliich  she  herself  made,  she  was  content  with  the  natural  colours. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   BIRTH   OF   CHKIST. 

It  might  have  been  expected  that  Mary's  child  would  have  been, 
born  in  the  city  of  Nazareth,  where  Joseph  and  Marj-  lived,  but  cir- 
cumstances over  which  they  had  no  control  made  a  distant  village 
the  birthplace. 

The  Jewish  nation  had  paid  tribute  to  Rome,  through  their  rulers, 
since  the  days  of  Pompey ;  and  the  methodical  Augustus,  wlio  now 
reigned,  and  had  to  restore  order  and  soundness  to  the  finances  of 
the  empire,  after  the  confusion  and  exhaustion  of  the  civil  wars,  took 
good  care  that  this  obligation  should  neither  be  forgotten  nor  evaded. 
He  was  accustomed  to  require  a  census  to  be  taken  periodically  in 
every  province  of  his  vast  dominions,  that  he  might  know  the  num- 
ber of  soldiers  he  could  levy  in  each,  and  the  amount  of  taxes  due  to 
the  treasury.  So  exact  was  he,  that  he  wrote  out  with  his  own  hand 
a  summary  of  statistics  of  the  whole  empire,  including  the  citizens 
and  allies  in  arms,  in  all  the  kingdoms  and  provinces,  with  their 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  81 

tributes  and  taxes.  Three  separate  surveys  of  the  empire  for  such 
fiscal  and  military  ends  are  recorded  as  ordered — in  the  726th,  746th, 
and  767th  years  of  the  city  of  Rome,  respectively ;  the  first,  long  be- 
fore the  birth  of  Christ;  the  third,  in  our  Lord's  j-outh;  but  the  sec- 
ond, very  near  the  time  when  He  must  have  been  born. 

In  an  empire  embracing  tlie  tlicn  known  world,  such  a  census 
could  hardly  have  been  made  simultaneously,  or  in  any  short  or 
fixed  time;  more  probably  it  was  the  work  of  J'ears,  in  successive 
provinces  or  kingdoms.  Sooner  or  later,  however,  even  the  do- 
minions of  vassal  kings  like  Herod  had  to  furnish  the  statistics  do 
mandod  by  their  master.  He  had  received  his  kingdom  ou  the  foot- 
ing of  a  subject,  and  grew  more  entirely  dependent  on  Augustus  as 
years  passed,  asking  his  sanction  at  every  turn  for  steps  he  proposed 
to  take.  He  would,  thus,  be  only  too  ready  to  meet  his  wish,  by 
obtaining  the  statistics  he  sought,  as  may  be  judged  from  the  fact 
that  in  one  of  the  last  years  of  his  life,  just  before  Christ's  birth,  he 
made  the  whole  Jewish  nation  take  a  solemn  oath  of  allegiance  to  tha 
Emperor  as  well  as  to  himself. 

It  is  quite  probable  that  the  mode  of  taking  the  required  statistics 
was  left  very  much  to  Herod,  at  once  to  show  respect  to  liim  before 
his  people,  and  from  the  known  opposition  of  the  Jews  to  anything 
like  a  general  numeration,  even  apart  from  the  taxation  to  which  it 
was  designed  to  lead.  At  the  time  to  which  the  narrative  refers,  a 
simple  registration  seems  to  have  been  made,  on  the  old  Hebrew  plan 
of  enrolling  by  families  in  their  ancestral  districts,  of  course  for 
future  use;  and  thus  it  passed  over  quietly.  The  very  different  re- 
sults, when  it  was  followed  by  a  general  taxation,  some  years  later, 
will  hereafter  be  seen. 

The  proclamation  having  been  made  through  the  land,  Joseph  had 
no  choice  l)ut  to  go  to  Bethlehem,  the  city  of  David,  the  place  in 
which  his  family  descent,  from  the  house  and  lineage  of  David,  re- 
quired him  to  be  inscribed.  It  must,  apparently,  have  been  near  the 
close  of  the  j^ear  749  of  Rome,  or  at  the  opening  of  750;  but  winter 
in  Palestine  is  not  necessarily  severe,  for  the  flowers  spring  up  after 
the  November  rains,  and  flocks  are  often  driven  out  to  the  pastures, 
as  St.  Luke  tells  us  was  the  case  at  the  time  of  Christ's  birth.  Un- 
willing to  leave  her  behind  in  a  home  so  new  to  her,  Joseph  took 
Mary  with  him:  the  two  journeying  most  likely,  as  tradition  has 
painted — Joseph  afoot,  with  Mary  on  an  ass  at  his  side.  There  were 
by-paths  interlacing  and  crossing,  all  over  the  country,  and  they  may 
have  chosen  some  of  these,  but  if  they  kept  to  the  travelled  road, 
which  it  is  most  likely  they  did,  both  for  safety  and  company,  we 
can  follow  their  pi'ogress  even  now. 

Passing  down  the  little  valley  of  Nazareth,  they  w^ould  find  them- 
selves crossing  the  rich  ])lain  of  Esdraclon,  not  then,  as  now,  half 
tilled  and  jvell-nigh  unpeopled,  but  covered  with  cities  and  villages, 
full  of  teeming  life  and  human  activities.     Galilee,  according  to  Jo- 


82  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

seplius,  contained  in  those  days,  two  hundred  and  four  cities  and  vil' 
lages,  the  smallest  of  which  numbered  above  lif teen  thousand  inhab- 
itants. It  is  calculated,  indeed,  that  it  had  a  population  of  about  fif- 
teen hundred  to  the  square  mile,  which  is  a  third  more  than  the  uum- 
'ber  in  Lancashire,  crowded  as  it  is  with  large  and  densely  peopled 
vowns.  Speaking  of  the  district  just  north  of  Galilee,  Captain  Bur- 
ton tells  us  that,  to  one  standing  on  a  peak  of  Lebanon,  overlooking 
it,  "the  laud  must,  in  many  places,  have  appeared  to  be  one  contin- 
uous town;"  and  in  the  highlands  of  Syria,  still  north  of  this,  in  the 
region  of  Hamah,  there  are  the  ruins  of  three  hvmdred  and  sixty -five 
towns,  so  that  Mr.  Drake  had  good  ground  for  thinking  the  Arabs 
right  in  saying,  "that  a  man  might  formerly  have  (ravelled  for  a  year 
in  this  district,  and  never  have  slept  twice  in  the  same  village." 

Leaving,  on  the  left,  the  rounded  height  of  Tabor,  and  the  villages 
of  Nain  and  Endor,  up  among  the  hills,  the  road  stretched  directly 
south  to  Jezreel,  once  Aliab's  capital,  on  a  gentle  swell  of  the  rich 
plain  of  Esdraelon.  On  their  way  they  would  pass  through  a  land- 
scape of  busy  cities  and  towns,  varied  by  orchi^rds,  vineyards,  gar- 
dens, and  fields,  for  every  available  spot  was  cultivated,  to  the  very 
tops  of  the  hills.  The  mountains  of  Gilboa,  where  Saul  perislied,  lay 
a  little  east  of  Jezreei  as  they  went  on,  and  then  came  Engannim, 
with  its  spring,  on  the  edge  of  the  hill-country  of  Samaria.  iDothan, 
with  its  rich  pastures,  where  Joseph  had  found  his  brethren  so  many 
ages  before,  would  soon  be  seen  on  then-  right ;  and,  before  long,  their 
winding  road,  rising  and  falling  among  continuous  hills,  would  bring 
them  to  Samaria  itself,  then  just  rebuilt  by  Herod,  with  such  mag- 
nificence, that  he  had  given  it  the  name  of  Sebaste,  the  Greek  equiv- 
alent of  Augusta,  in  honour  of  his  imperial  master.  Sychar  or  She- 
chem,  with  its  lovely  neighbourhood,  would  be  their  resting-place  ou 
tlie  second  day,  for  it  is  nearly  midway  between  Judea  and  Galilee; 
and  though  the  distance  between  the  two  was  often  reckoned  as  only 
a  three  days'  journey,  it  was  not  uncommon  to  lengthen  it  to  four. 
As  the  chief  town  of  the  Samaritans,  Sychar  would  hardly  offer  hos- 
pitality to  travellers  with  their  faces  towards  the  hated  Jerusalem. 
Joseph  and  Mary,  as  was  the  custom  with  Jews  passing  through, 
would,  therefore,  avoid  the  town,  and  pass  the  night  in  what  shelter 
they  could  find  at  Jacob's  springs, — or  Jacob's  well,  as  our  ver.sicn 
has  it, — not  far  off,  eating  provisions  they  had  brought  with  them,  to 
avoid  tasting  food  defiled  by  the  touch  of  a  Samaritan,  and  drinking 
only  the  water  from  the  springs.  The  beauty  of  the  valley,  with  itd 
swelling  heights  of  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  separated  only  by  a  few  hun- 
dred paces,  and  its  rich  upland  glens,  opening  on  each  side  beyond — 
the  crown  and  water-shed  of  Central  Palestine — would  have  little  in- 
terest to  them,  for  it  was  Samaritan  ground.  They  would  breathe 
freely  only  when  they  had  passed  the  heights  of  Akrabbim,  the 
border  ridge  between  Samaria  and  Judea,  and  had  once  mere  set  foot 
•u  the  holy  soil  of  Israel. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIGT.  83 

Once  in  Judea,  its  bleak  and  bare  hills  were  hallowed,  at  each 
opening  of  the  landscape,  by  the  sight  of  spots  sacred  to  every  Jew. 
Shiloh  would  greet  them  first,  where  Hannah  came  to  pray  before 
the  Lord;  then  Gilgal,  w^here  her  son  sat  to  judge  Israel.  Their  way 
would  next  pass  through  the  valley  of  Baca,  of  which  the  Psalmist 
had  sung,  "Passing  through  the  valley  of  tears,  they  make  it  rich  in 
springs;  and  the  latter  rain  covers  it  Avith  blessings."  The  road 
winds  on  from  this,  through  the  district  town  Gophna,  past  the  veu- 
erable  Bethel,  with  all  its  memories,  and  past  Rumah,  in  Benjamin, 
where  Jeremiah  had  pictured  Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  slain 
or  carried  off  by  the  Babylonian  conqueror.  Over  against  it  rose 
Gibeon,  high  on  its  hill,  where  Solomon  worshipped;  and  an  hour 
later  they  would  pass  Mizpeh,  on  its  lonely  height,  where  Samuel 
raised  his  memorial  stone  Ebenezer.  And  then,  at  last,  after  having 
passed  from  one  holy  place  to  another,  their  feet  would  stand  within 
the  gates  of  Jerusalem. 

'Bethlehem,  the  end  of  their  journey,  lay  about  six  miles  south  of 
Jerusalem,  on  the  east  of  the  main  road  to  Hebron.  It  covered  tho 
upper  slope,  and  part  of  the  top,  of  a  narrow  ridge  of  grey  Jura 
limestone,  of  about  a  mile  in  length — one  of  the  countless  heights, 
seamed  by  narrow  valleys,  which  make  up  the  hill  country  of  Judea. 
Its  narrow,  steep  streets  lay  no  less  than  2,588  Paris  feet  above  the 
Mediterranean,  and  looked  out  over  a  sea  of  hills,  bare  and  rocky, — 
one  of  them,  about  three  miles  to  the  east,  the  peak  of  the  Frank 
mountain,  Jebel  Fureidis,  now  bare,  but  then  covered  with  the  new 
fortifications  of  Herodium,  in  the  circuit  of  which  the  hated  tyrant 
Herod  was  soon  to  find  his  tomb.  On  the  east,  the  mountains  of 
Moab  rose  against  the  horizon  like  a  purple  wall,  the  ban-en  and  des- 
olate uplands  of  the  wilderness  of  Judea  lying  between,  and  stretching 
far  to  the  south.  The  ridge  of  Bethlehem  itself  is  still  covered,  on 
its  northern  side,  as  all  the  hills  around  must  have  been  in  Mary's 
day,  with  bold,  sweeping  lines  of  terraces,  which  descend,  like  gi- 
gantic steps,  to  the  lower  valleys,  and  bear  tier  on  tier  of  fig-trees, 
olives,  pomegranates,  and  vines;  the  vines  overhanging  the  teiTac3 
banks,  and  relieving  the  eye  from  the  dazzling  glare  of  the  white 
limestone  rocks  and  soil.  The  ridge,  as  a  whole,  breaks  down,  ab- 
ruptly, into  deep  valleys,  on  the  north,  south,  and  east,  passing  into 
gorges,  which  descend,  in  the  distance,  to  the  Dead  Sea  on  the"  east, 
and  to  the  coast  lowlands  on  the  west.  In  a  little  plain  close  under 
the  town,  to  the  eastward,  are  some  vinej^ards  and  barley -fields,  ia 
which  Ruth  came  to  glean  in  the  early  days  of  Israel,  beside  a  gentle 
brook  which  still  murmurs  through  them. 

It  was  to  Bethlehem  that  Joseph  and  Mary  were  coming,  the  town 
of  Rutk  and  Boaz,  and  tlie  early  home  of  their  own  great  forefather 
David.  As  they  approached  it  from  Jerusalem,  they  would  pass,  at 
the  last  mile,  a  spot  sacred  to  Jewish  memory,  where  tiie  light  of 
Jacob's  life  went  out,  when   his   first    love.  Rachel,  died,  and  wa^ 


84  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

buried,  as  her  tomb  still  shows,  "in  the  way  to  Ephrath,  whitih  is 
Bethlehem." 

The  ascent  to  the  toAvn,  over  the  dusty  glare  of  the  grey  limestone 
hills,  was  the  laot  of  the  journey,  and  it  is  well  if  Mary  did  not  find 
it,  in  parts,  as  other  travellers  have  found  it,  before  and  since,  so 
slippery  as  to  make  it  seem  safer  to  alight  and  go  up  on  foot.  A 
quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  north  of  the  town-gate  she  would  pass  the 
well,  from  which,  as  she  had  heard  from  infancy,  her  ancestor  David 
had  so  longed  to  drink.  Presently,  passing  through  the  low  gate,  she 
and  Joseph  were  in  the  mountain  town  or  village  of  Bethlehem. 

Travelling  in  the  East  has  always  been  very  different  from  Western 
ideas.  As  in  all  thinly-settled  countries,  private  hospitality,  in  early 
times,  supplied  the  want  of  inns,  but  it  was  the  peculiarity  of  the 
East  that  this  friendly  custom  continued  through  a  long  series  of 
ages.  On  the  great  roads  through  barren  or  uninhabited  parts,  the 
need  of  shelter  led,  very  early,  to  the  erection  of  rude  and  simple 
buildings,  of  varying  size,  known  as  khans,  which  offered  the  way- 
farer the  protection  of  walls  and  a  roof,  and  water,  but  little  more. 
The  smaller  structures  consisted  of  sometimes  only  a  single  empty 
room,  on  the  floor  of  which  the  traveller  might  spread  his  carpet  for 
sleep;  the  larger  ones,  always  built  in  a  hollow  square,  enclosing  a 
court  for  the  beasts,  with  water  in  it  for  them  and  their  masters. 
From  immemorial  antiquity  it  has  been  a  favourite  mode  of  benev- 
olence to  I'aise  such  places  of  shelter,  as  we  see  so  far  back  as  the 
times  of  David,  Avhen  Chimham  built  a  gieat  khan  near  Bethlehem, 
on  the  caravan  road  to  Egypt. 

But  while  it  has  long  been  thus,  in  special  circumstances,  the 
Eastern  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  hospitality,  which  was  felt  deeply 
by  the  Jews,  made  inns,  in  one  sense,  or  even  khans,  where  travellers 
provided  for  themselves,  unnecessary  in  any  peopled  place.  The 
simplicity  of  Eastern  life,  which  has  fewer  wants  than  the  Western 
mind  can  well  realize,  aided  by  universal  hospitality,  opened  private 
houses  everywhere  to  the  traveller.  The  ancient  Jew,  like  the 
modern  Arab,  held  it  a  reflection  on  a  communit}^  if  a  passing  way- 
farer was  not  made  some  one's  guest.  To  bring  water  at  once,  to 
wash  the  traveller's  feet,  dusty  with  the  Eastern  sandals,  was  an  act 
of  courtesy  which  it  showed  a  churlish  spirit  to  omit.  Food  and 
lodging,  for  himself  and  his  beasts,  if  he  had  any,  were  provided, 
"^  and  he  was  regarded  as  under  the  sacred  protection  of  his  host. 
At  the  time  of  Christ  this  primitive  simplicity  still  continued. 
The  Rabbis  constantly  urge  the  religious  medt  of  hospitality, 
promising  Paradise  as  its  reward,  and  ranking  the  kindly  reception 
of  strangers  higher  than  to  have  been  honoured  by  an  appearance  of 
the  Shechinah  itself.  Its  universal  recognition  as  a  natuial  duty,  in 
His  age,  is  often  found  even  in  the  discourses  of  our  Lord. 

We  may  feel  sure,  therefore,  that  it  was  not  an  "inn"  where 
Joseph  and  Mary  found  shelter  after  their  journey,  though  that  Avord 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  8S 

'i*  used  in  our  English  version.  In  the  only  two  other  places  in 
which  it  occurs,  it  refers  to  a  friendly  "  guest-chamber"  in  a  private 
house.  At  such  a  time,  however,  when  strangers  had  arrived  from 
every  part,  the  household  to  which  they  looked  for  entertainment 
had  already  opened  their  guest-chamber  to  earlier  comers,  and  the 
only  accommodation  that  could  be  offered  was  a  place,  half  kitchen 
and  half  stable,  -which  was  simply  one  of  the  countless  natural  hol- 
lows or  caves  in  the  hill-side,  against  which  the  house  had  been  built, 
as  is  still  seen  frequently  in  Palestine. 

How  long  Joseph  and  Mary  had  been  in  Bethlehem  before  Jesus 
was  born  is  impossible  to  say,  for  time  is  of  no  value  to  Orientals, 
and  a  stay  of  a  few  weeks  more  or  less  would  be  little  regarded.  St. 
Luke  merely  tells  us  that  "  while  they  were  there"  Mary  gave  birth 
to  the  Saviour.  Milton,  following  the  immemorial  tradition  of  the 
Church,  sings: 

"  It  was  the  winter  ivild 

While  the  heaveu-bom  child. 
All  meanly  wrapt,  in  the  rude  manger  lies; 

Nature,  in  awe  to  him, 

Had  dolT'd  her  gaudy  trim, 
With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathize; 

It  was  no  season  then  for  her 

To  wanton  with  the  sun." 

But  the  poet's  fancy  alone  creates  the  bleak  wintryness  of  the  time, 
for  the  outlying  shepherds  on  the  hills  around  were  living  witnesses 
of  the  reverse.  Yet  it  seems  most  probable  that  the  great  event  took 
place  between  December,  749,  of  Rome,  and  February,  750 ;  and  the 
only  reason  why  there  can  be  any  hesitation  in  supposing  December 
25th  to  have  been  the  very  daj'  is  the  natiual  doubt  whether  the  date 
could  have  been  handed  down  so  exactly,  and  the  fear  lest  the  wish 
to  ass(jciate  the  birth  of  the  Redeemer  with  the  return  of  the  sun, 
which  made  Christmas  lie  early  spoken  of  as  the  ' '  day  of  the  tri- 
umphant sun,"  may  have  led  to  its  having  been  chosen. 

The  simplicity  of  St.  Luke's  uaiTative  is  very  striking.  An  event, 
compared  with  which  all  others  in  human  history  are  insigniticant,  is 
recorded  in  a  few  words,  without  any  attempt  at  exaggeration  or 
embellishment.  The  Apocrj-phal  Gospels,  on  the  contrary,  abound  in 
miraculous  details,  for  the  most  part  trifling  and  childish.  Some 
features  in  their  narratives,  however,  are  not  wanting  in  natiu-alness 
or  even  sublimity,  and,  at  the  least,  they  have  the  merit  of  showing 
how  the  early  Church  painted  for  itself  the  scene  of  the  Nativity. 
"  It  happened, "  say  these  old  legends,  "as  Mary  and  Joseph  were 
going  up  towards  Bethlehem,  that  the  time  came  when  Jesus  should 
be  born,  and  Mary  said  to  Joseph,  '  Take  me  down  from  my 
ass, '  and  he  took  her  down  from  her  ass,  and  said  to  her,  MVhera 
shall  I  take  thee,  for  there  is  no  inn  here?"  Then  he  found  a  cave 
near  the  grave  of  Rachel,  the  wife  of  the  Patriarch  Jacob — the 
mother  of  Joseph  and  Benjamin;  and  light  never  entered  the  cave. 


86  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

but,  it  was  always  filled  with  darkness.  And  the  sun  was  then  just 
going  down.  Into  this  he  led  her,  and  left  his  two  sons  beside  her, 
and  went  out  toward  Bethlehem  to  seek  help.  But  when  Mary  en- 
tered the  cave  it  was  presently  filled  with  light,  and  beams,  as  if  of 
the  sun,  shone  around;  and  thus  it  continued,  day  and  night,  while 
she  remained  in  it. 

"  In  this  cave  the  child  was  born,  and  the  angels  were  round  Him 
at  His  birth,  and  worshipped  the  New-born,  and  said,  '  Glory  to  God 
in  the  liighest,  and  peace  on  earth  and  good-will  to  men.'  Meanwhile 
Joseph  was  wandering  about,  seeking  help.  And  when  he  looked  up 
to  heaven,  he  saw  that  the  pole  of  the  heavens  stood  still,  and  the 
biixLs  of  tlie  air  stopi^ed  in  the  midst  of  their  flight,  and  the  sky  was 
darkened.  And  looking  on  the  earth  he  saw  a  dish  full  of  food,  pre- 
pared, and  workmen,  resting  round  it,  with  their  hands  in  the  dish  to 
eat,  and  those  who  were  stretching  out  their  hands  did  not  take  any 
of  the  food,  and  those  who  were  lifting  their  hands  to  their  mouths 
did  not  do  so,  but  the  faces  of  all  were  turned  upwards.  And  he  saw 
sheep  which  were  being  driven  along,  and  the  sheep  stood  still,  and 
the  shepherd  lifted  his  hand  to  strike  them,  but  it  remained  uplifted. 
And  he  came  to  a  spring,  and  saw  the  goats  with  their  mouths  touch- 
ing the  water,  but  they  did  not  drink,  but  were  under  a  spell,  for  all 
things  at  that  moment  were  turned  from  their  course." 

But  if  wonders  such  as  these  were  wanting,  the  biith  of  the  Saviour 
was  not  without  attestations  of  His  divine  glory.  If  Eis  birth  was 
mean  on  earth  below,  it  was  celebrated  with  hallelujahs  by  the 
heavenly  host  in  the  air  above.  The  few  fields  in  the  valley  below 
Bethlehem  have,  likely,  been  always  too  valuable  to  be  used  for 
pasture,  but  the  slopes  and  heights  of  the  liills  around  were  then,  as 
they  had  been  in  David's  time,  and  are  still,  the  resort  of  shepherds, 
with  their  numerous  flocks,  which  supplied  the  requirements  of  the 
neighbouring  Temple.  The  "  Onomasticon, "  of  Eusebius  informs 
us  that  about  "a  thousand  paces  from  Bethlehem  stands  a  tower 
called  Eder — that  is,  the  tower  of  the  shepherds — a  name  which  fore 
shadowed  the  angelic  appearance  to  the  shepherds,  at  the  birth  of  our 
Lord."  Jewish  tradition  has  preserved  the  record  of  a  tower  of  this 
name,  in  this  locality,  where  the  flocks  of  sheep  for  the  Temple 
sacrifices  were  pastured ;  and  there  still  remain,  at  the  given  distance, 
eastwards  from  Bethlehem,  the  ruins  of  a  church  which  Helena,  the 
mother  of  Constantine,  caused  to  be  built  on  the  spot  believed  to  have 
been  that  at  which  the  heavenly  vision  was  seen. 
I  On  the  night  of  the  birth  of  Christ,  a  group  of  shepherds  lay  out, 
with  their  flocks,  on  the  hiU-side,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this 
ancient  watch-tower.  Some  of  them  were  keeping  their  turn  of 
watching  while  the  others  slept,  for  shepherds  relieved  each  other  by 
watches,  as  our  sailors  do,  at  fixed  hours.  St.  Luke  expressly  tells  us 
that  they  were  ' '  watching  the  watches  of  the  night. "  To  have  re- 
ceived such  surpassing  honour  from  above,  they  must  have  beea 


THE  LIPE  OF  CnrJST,  W 

members,  though  poor  and  humble,  of  that  true  Israel  ■which  in- 
cluded Mary  and  Joseph,  Zacharias  and  Elisabeth,  Simeon  and  Anna 
— the  representatives,  in  those  dark  days,  of  the  saints  of  their 
nation  in  its  brighter  past.  They  must  have  been  men  looking  out, 
in  their  simple  way,  towards  the  invisible  and  eternal,  and  seeking 
that  kingdom  of  God  for  themselves  which  was  one  day,  as  they 
believed,  to  be  revealed  in  their  nation  at  large.  Only  that  mind 
which  has  sympathy  with  external  nature  can  receive  in  their  true 
significance  the  impressions  it  is  fitted  to  convey,  and  only  the  heart 
which  has  sympathy  with  spiritual  things  can  recognize  their  full 
meaning.  Poetic  sensibility  is  required  in  the  one  case,  and  religious 
in  the  other.  In  each  it  is  the  condition  of  sincere  emotion.  The 
stillness  over  hill  and  valley,  broken  only  by  the  bleating  of  the 
sheep;  the  unclouded  brightness  of  the  Syrian  sky,  with  its  in- 
numerable stars;  and  the  associations  of  these  mountain  pastures, 
dear  to  every  Jew,  as  the  scene  of  David's  youth,  were  over  and 
around  them.  And  now.  to  quote  the  beautiful  narrative  of  St. 
Luke,  "lo,  an  angel  of  the  Lord  carao  upon  thera,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  shone  round  about  them,  and  they  were  sore  afraid.  And 
the  angel  said  unto  them,  '  Fear  not,  for,  behold,  I  bring  you  good 
tidings  of  great  joy,  which  shall  be  unto  all  the  people.  For  unto 
you  is  born,  this  day,  in  the  City  of  David,  a  Saviour,  who  is  Christ 
the  Lord.  And  this  shall  be  the  sign  unto  you:  ye  shall  find  a  babe 
wrapped  in  swaddling  clothes,  lying  in  a  manger.'  And  suddenly 
there  was  with  the  angel  a  multitude  of  the  Heavenly  Host,  praising 
God  and  saying — 

•  Glory  to  Go4  in  the  highest. 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good- will  toward  men.'  " 

"With  this  ever-memorable  anthem — the  first  and  last  melody  of  heaven 
ever  heard  by  mortal  ears — the  light  faded  from  the  hills,  as  the 
angels  went  away  into  heaven,  and  left  earth  once  more  in  the  shadow 
of  night,  knowing  and  thinking  notliing  of  that  which  so  supremely 
interested  distant  worlds.  Wondering  at  such  a  vision,  and  full  of 
simple  trust,  the  shepherds  had  only  one  thought — to  see  the  babe 
and  its  mother  for  themselves.  Climbing  the  hill,  therefore,  with 
eager  haste,  they  hurried  to  Bethlehem,  and  there  found  Mary  and 
Joseph,  and  the  babe  lying  in  a  manger,  as  had  been  told  them. 

No  details  are  given :  no  heightening  of  the  picture  of  this  first  act 
of  reverence  to  the  new-born  Saviour.  Nor  are  they  needed.  The 
lowliness  of  the  visitors,  the  pure  image  of  tlie  Virgin  Mother  and  her 
Child,  are  better  left  in  their  own  simplicity.  Infancy  is  for  ever 
dignified  by  the  manger  of  Bethlehem :  womanhood  is  ennobled  to 
its  purest  ideal  in  Mary:  man,  as  such,  receives  abiding  honour,  io 
the  earliest  accepted  homage  to  her  Son  being  that  of  the  simpla 
poor. 

*^  L  of  C— *. 


88  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

A  great  teacher  has  pointed  some  striking  lessons  on  the  way  in 
"which  the  whole  incident  was  received,  as  St.  Luke  relates,  by  those 
immediately  concerned.  The  shepherds  spread  abroad  the  story,  with 
hearts  full  of  grateful  adoration ;  the  hearers  wonder  at  it,  but  Mary, 
ponders  in  her  heart  all  that  had  been  told  her.  ' '  There  were  more 
virgins  in  Israel,  more  even  of  the  tribe  of  David,  than  she,"  says  the 
great  preacher;  "but  she  was  the  Chosen  of  God.  It  was  natural, 
and  it  is  easy  to  understand,  that  when  a  second  appearance  of  angels, 
like  that  which  she  had  already  herself  experienced,  was  seen,  sho 
should  ponder  in  her  heart  their  words,  which  concerned  her  so 
nearly.  But,  if  we  ask  ourselves — was  this  pondering  the  words  in 
her  heart  already  the  true  faith  that  carries  the  blessing, — the  fruitful 
seed  of  a  personal  relation  to  the  Saviour?- — did  Mary  already  believe, 
firmly  and  immovably,  that  the  Saviour  of  the  world  should  see  the 
light  of  life  through  her? — the  Gospels  leave  us  too  clearly  to  think 
the  opposite.  There  was  a  time,  long  alter  this,  when  Christ  was 
already  a  Teacher,  when  she  wavered  between  Him  and  His  brethren 
who  did  not  believe  in  Him;  when  she  went  cut  with  them  to  draw 
Him  away  from  His  course,  and  bring  Hiiu  back  to  her  narrower 
circle  of  home  life,  as  one  who  was  hardly  in  His  right  mind.  Firm, 
unwavering  trust,  that  knows  no  passing  cloud,  is  a  work  of  time 
with  all  AvHo  have  an  inner  personal  nearness  to  the  Saviour;  and  it 
was  so  with  Mary.  She  reached  it  only,  like  us  all,  through  manifold 
doubts  and  struggles  of  heart,  by  that  grace  from  above  which  roused 
Jier,  ever,  anew,  and  led  her  on  from  step  to  step." 


CHAPTER  X. 

AT     BETHLEHEM. 

The  first  two  months  of  the  life  of  Christ,  if  not  a  longer  time, 
were  spent  quietly  in  Bethlehem:  That  great  event  in  a  Hebrew 
household,  His  circumcision,  marked  the  eighth  day  from  His  birth. 
To  dedicate  their  children  to  the  God  of  Israel  in  His  appointed  way, 
and  thus  at  once  give  them  "a  portion  in  Israel,"  and  set  them  apart 
from  the  nations  by  this  sacred  token,  was  a  duty  which  no  Jewish 
parent  would  for  a  moment  dare  to  neglect.  "  On  the  eighth  day," 
sa3's  the  Book  of  Jubilees,  "  shalt  thou  circumcise  thy  boy,  for  on 
that  day  were  Abraham  and  the  people  of  his  house  circumcised. 
And  no  one  may  dare  to  change  the  day,  nor  go  a  day  beyond  the 
eight  days,  for  it  is  an  everlasting  law,  established  and  graven  on  the 
tablets  of  heaven.  And  he  who  docs  it  not  belongs  rot  to  the  chil- 
dren of  the  promise,  but  to  the  children  of  destruction.  Sons  of 
Belial  are  they  who  do  it  not. "  The  infant  Saviour  vras  in  all  proba- 
bility carried  on  the  legal  day  to  the  Temple,  as  it  way  so  near,  for  the 
perforcoauce  of  the  rite, — for  Joseph  and  Mary,  iik«  all  other  Jews, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  89 

would  think  a  religious  act  doubly  sacred  within  tlie  hrJlowed  courts 
of  Mount  Zion.  Custom,  however,  would  allow  its  being  done-  in  the 
local  synagogue,  or  in  the  humble  house  of  prayer,  in  Bethlehem 
itself,  or  even  in  the  house  in  which  Mary  and  Joseph  lodged. 

The  name  Mary's  child  received  had  already  been  fi  xed  at  the  An- 
,^unciation,  and  was  formally  given  at  the  circumcision,  in  accord- 
ance with  Jewish  customs  in  reference  to  male  infants.  Its  associa- 
tion with  such  a  strictly  Jewish  rite  made  it  the  symljol  of  the  child';j 
formal  admission  into  the  congregation  of  Israel,  cf  which  he  was 
henceforth  a  member.  The  infant  Jesus  was  now  an  acknowledged 
Israelite. 

Thirty-three  days  more  had  to  elapse,  in  accordance  with  Jewish 
custom,"  before  Mary  could  visit  the  Temple,  or  even  go  outside  her 
dwelling,  or  touch  anything  made  sacred  by  being  consecratcid  to 
God.  fncluding  the  circumcision  week,  the  Jewish  mother  had  to 
pass  forty  days  of  seclusion  after  the  Ijirth  of  a  son,  and  si.\ty-six 
after  that  v)f  a  daughter,  before  she  could  again  take  part  in  connnou 
life.  After  this  long  delay,  she  might  app'ear  in  the  Holy  Place,  to 
thank  God  for  her  preservation,  and  to  receive  from  the  priest  the 
legal  rite  of  ])uritication. 

"When,  at  last,  the  day  of  her  long-desired  visit  to  the  Temple  came, 
Mary,  with  her  child,  had  to  present  themselves- in  the  Court  of  the 
Women  as  soon  as  the  morning  incense  had  been  offered,  "and  the  nine 
blasts  of  the  Temple  trumpets  had  given  the  signal  for  morning 
prayer.  The  road  from  Bethlehem  ran  along  the  western  side  of  the 
hill  which  overk)oks  Mount  Zion  from  the  south, — that  on  which 
Pompey,  sixty  years  before,  had  pitched  his  camp — a  defilement  of 
the  holy  soil  never  since  forgotten.  Passing  Herod's  great  amphi- 
theatre,*with  its  heathen  ornaments, — a  sight  as  revolting  to  a  Jewess 
as  was  the  remembrance  of  the  bloody  games  celebrated  in  the  circus 
within — Mary  would  go  up  the  Valley  of  the  Giants,  and  at  the  further 
end  of  it  the  full  splendour  of  the  city  and  Temple  would  be  before 
her.  The  long  sweep  of  the  valley  of  Hinnom  ran,  bending  west- 
ward, to  the  valley  of  the  Kidron,  with  the  royal  gardens  where  the 
two  valleys  met,  and  mansions  and  palaces  rising  on  the  hills  beyond. 
Over  Ophel  rose  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  the  Royal  Porch  of  the 
Temple,  a  structure  longer  and  higher  than  York  Cathedral,  built 
upon  a  solid  mass  of  masonry,  almost  equal  in  height  to  the  tallest  of 
om-  chui'ch  spires.  Passing  up  the  northern  arm  of  Hinnom,  her 
road  skirted  the  pools  of  Gihou,  shining,  as  she  looked  at  them,  in 
the  morning  light,  and  wound  round  to  the  Gennath  Gate,  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  towers  beyond  the  palace  of  Herod,  on  the  line 
of  the  oldest  of  the  city  walls.  These  fortresses  had  all  been  built 
by  Herod  to  overawe  Jerusalem,  and  had  been  named  by  him,  the 
one,  after  his  friend  Hippicus,  the  next,  after  his  brother  Phasael, 
and  the  third,  after  his  wife  Mariamne,  whom  he  had  murdered,  but 
could  not  forget.     On  the  north-east,  the  colossal,  eight-sided  Pseplii- 


90  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

nos,  with  its  double  crown  of  breastworks  and  battlements,  looked 
down  on  the  city,  and  all  four  glittered  in  the  early  light,  and  rose 
high  into  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky.  Mary  was  now  within  the  walls 
of  Jerusalem,  and  had  to  thread  her  way  through  the  narrow  streets 
of  the  lower  town,  and,  after  crossing  the  bridge  over  the  valley,  to 
Mount  Moriah,  would  at  last  reach  the  eastern  side  of  the  Temple, 
where  the  Golden  Gate,  at  the  head  of  the  long  flight  of  steps  that 
led  to  the  valley  of  the  Kidron,  opened  into  the  Court  of  the 
Women. 

She  would,  doubtless,  be  early  enough  on  her  way  to  hear  the  three 
trumpet  blasts  which  announced  the  opening  of  the  outer  gate,  long 
before  the  call  to  prayer.  The  earlier  she  came,  the  less  chance  wotdd 
there  be  of  her  meeting  anything  on  the  way  that  might  defile  her, 
find  prevent  her  entering  the  Temple.  Women  on  her  errand  com- 
monly rode  to  the  Temple  on  oxen,  that  the  body  of  so  huge  a  beast 
between  them  and  the  ground  might  prevent  any  chance  of  defile- 
ment from  passing  over  a  sepulchre  on  the  road,  and,  doubtless,  she 
road  either  an  ass  or  an  ox,  as  was  tlie  custom. 

While  the  mothers  who  were  coming  that  morning  for  purification 
gradually  gathered,  Mary  would  have  to  wait  outside  the  lofty  gate  of 
thQ  Court  of  the  Israelites,  known  as  that  of  Nicanor,  because  the 
head  and  hands  of  the  Syrian  general  of  that  name,  slain  in  battle  by 
Judas  Maccaba3us,  had  been  hung  up  on  it  in  triumph.  She  bad 
doubtless  often  heard,  among  the  household  stories  of  her  childhood, 
how  the  haughty  enemy  of  her  people  wagged  his  hand,  each  day, 
towards  Judea  and  Jerusalem,  with  the  words,  "  Oh!  when  will  it  be 
in  my  power  to  lay  them  waste?"  and  how  the  hand  that  had  thus 
been  lifted  against  the  holy  place  in  blasphemj^  had  been  exposed  on 
the  gate  before  her  in  shame.  It  was  the  greatest  of  all  the  Temple 
gates :  greater  even  than  the  outer  gate  east  of  it,  known  as  the  Beau- 
tiful, from  its  being  covered  with  massy  silver  and  gold,  richly  cai'ved, 
or  from  its  being  made  of  Corinthian  brass,  elaborately  chased,  and  of 
far  higher  value  than  even  gold.  It  was  known  also  as  the  Agrippa 
Gate,  for  over  its  eastern,  or  outer  side,  glittered  a  gigantic  Roman 
eagle,  underneath  which  Herod  had  inscribed  the  name  of  his  friend 
Yipsanius  Agrippa,  the  friend  and  son-in-law  of  Augustus.  A  flight 
of  fifteen  steps,  in  crescent  shape,  formed  the  approach  to  it,  and 
marked  the  height  of  the  Com-t  of  the  Men,  above  that  of  the  Women. 
The  gate,  itself,  stood  at  the  inner  end  of  a  massive  structure,  fifty 
cubits  in  depth,  with  porticoes  at  the  eastern  side,  and  chambers  above 
it,  under  which  Joseph  doubtless  waited  with  Mary,  for  husbands 
could  enter  the  C'ourt  of  the  Women  with  their  wives,  though  no 
woman  could  pass  into  the  Court  of  the  Men.  They  must  have  shud- 
dered as  they  passed  underneath  the  great  golden  eagle,  for  it  was  the 
hateful  symbol  of  idolatry  and  Roman  domination,  for  destroying 
■which,  in  the  riots  before  Hei'od's  death,  so  many  of  the  flower  of 
Jerusalem  were  soon  to  die. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  91 

After  a  time,  the  Nicanor  Gate  was  opened,  and  the  offerings  of  all 
the  women  who  had  come  for  purification,  wliicli  was  much  the  same 
as  churcliing  is  with  us,  were  taken  from  them,  by  tlie  Levites,  into 
the  Court  of  the  Priests,  to  be  burned  on  the  altar,  after  the  morning 
sacriiice.  Mary  might  have  liad  either  a  Iamb,  or  a  pair  of  young 
piireons.  for  the  rite;  but  Joseph  Avas  poor,  and  she  Avas  contented 
with  the  ciieaper  offering  of  doves,  very  probably  bought  from  the 
Temple  officer,  who  keptllocks  of  doves,  purchased  with  the  funds  of 
the  Temple,  and  sold  to  those  who  were  about  to  offer,  at  the  market 
price.  Or  she  may  have  got  them  in  the  outer  court,  which  had  been 
turned  into  a  noisy  bazaar,  by  great  u"umbers  of  money-changers, 
sellers  of  doves,  and  even  dealers  in  oxen,  who  sought  the  custom  of 
the  crowds  frequenting  the  Temple,  contrary  to  the  verj'  idea  of  such 
a  place,  ilean while,  the  assembled  mothers  spent  the  interval  before 
their  offering  was  laid  on  the  qltar,  in  giving  thanks  to  God  for  their 
recoverj^  After  a  time,  a  priest  came  with  some  of  the  blood,  and, 
Laving  spi'inkled  them  with  it,  pronounced  them  clean,  and  thus  the" 
rite  ended. 

Her  own  "purification,"  however,  was  not  the  only  object  of  this 
first  visit  to  the  Temple,  after  the  birth  of  her  Son.  In  the  patriarchal 
times,  the  firstborn  son  of  each  family  seems  to  have  been  the  assistant 
of  the  Family  Head  in  the  priestly  services  of  the  household.  Jewish 
tradition  has  ahvaj's  supported  this  belief,  and  the  ancient  commen- 
tators appeal  to  various  passages  in  support  of  it.  A  great  change 
was,  however,  introduced  by  Moses.  Aaron  and  his  sons  were  set 
apart,  with  the  whole  tribe  of  Levi,  as  the  only  priests,  and  thus  the 
priestly  services  of  the  firstborn  were  no  longer  required.  That  they 
had  originally  been  claimed,  however,  was  still  kept  before  the  people 
by  a  law  erelong  announced  at  Sinai,  that  the  eldest  male,  of  both 
man  and  beast,  was  sacred  to  God.  Of  the  lower  creatures,  some 
were  to  be  offered  on  thb  altar;  others,  redeemed  at  a  ti.xed  price. 
The  firstborn  son  was  to  be  presented  before  God  in  the  Temple,  and 
consecrated  to  His  service,  a  month  after  birth,  but  a  money  payment 
of  not  more  than  five  shekels,  and,  in  the  case  of  a  parent's  poverty, 
of  less,  was  accepted  as  a  "redemption"  of  the  rights  this  involved. 
Rabbinical  law,  in  the  time  of  Mary,  had  made  a  refinement  on  the 
original  statute  of  IMoses,  no  chikl  being  required  to  be  "presented] 
to  the  Lord"  who  was  in  any  way  maimed,  or  de.ective,  or  had  any  1 
blemi.sh,  so  as  to  be  unfit  for  a  priest — a  rule  whi:;h  throws  an  inci- 
dental light  on  Mary's  child,  such  as  might  have  been  expected.  He 
must  have  been,  in  all  points,  without  physical  blemish. 

The  details  of  the  ceremony,  as  observed  in  the  days  of  our  Lord, 
have  not  come  down  to  us'  but  may,  doubtless,  be  ilhistrated  by  those 
still  in  force,  for  the  "redemption  of  the  firstborn"  is  still  observed 
by  strict  Jews  as  the  legacy  of  immemorial  tradition.  The  Hebrew 
father  invites  ten  friends  and  a  Rabbi,  who  must  be  a  Cohen,  that  is, 
«ne  reputed  to  belong  to  the  house  of  Aaron, — to  his  house,  on  th« 


•2  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

thirty -first  day  after  the  child's  birth.  The  infant  is  then  brought  in 
by  him  and  laid  on  the  table  before  the  Rabbi,  with  a  sum  of  money 
• — which,  in  England,  if  the  father  be  ordinarily  well-to-do,  generally 
amounts  to  about  twelve  shillings.  He  then  formally  tells  the  Rabbi 
that  his  wife,  who  is  an  Israelite,  has  borne,  as  her  firstborn,  a  male 
child,  which,  therefore,  he  now  gives  to  the  Rabbi,  as  the  representa- 
tive of  God.  "Which  would  you,  then,  rather  do?"  asks  the  Rabbi, 
"give  up  your  firstborn,  who  is  the  first  child  of  his  mother,  to  Jeho- 
vah, or  redeem  him  for  five  shekels,  after  the  shekel  of  the  sanctuary, 
which  is  five  gera?"  The  father,  of  course,  answers  that  he  wishes  to 
redeem  his  child.  "  This  is  my  firstborn,"  says  he;  "  here,  take  unto 
thee  the  five  shekels  due  for  his  redemption."  As  he  hands  the 
money  to  the  Rabbi,  he  praises  God  for  the  day — "  Blessed  art  Thou, 
0  Lord  our  God,  King  of  the  Universe,  who  hast  sanctified  us  with 
Thy  commandments,  and  commanded  iis  to  perform  the  redemption 
:>f  a  son.  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  King  of  the  Universe, 
fvho  hast  maintained  us,  and  preserved  us,  to  enjoy  this  season."  The 
.j^abbi  then  takes  the  money,  and  after  passing  the  coin  round  the 
vhild's  head,  as  a  symbol  of  redemption,  lays  his  other  hand  on  its 
l.j-ow,  with  the  words — "This  [child]  is  instead  of  this  [money],  and 
th's  [money]  instead  of  this  [child] :  may  this  child  be  brought' to  life, 
to  i\ie  Law,  and  to  the  fear  of  heaven;  and  as  he  has  been  brought  to 
be  lansomed,  so  may  he  enter  into  the  Law,  and  good  deeds."  He 
then  places  both  his  hands  on  the  child's  Lead,  and  prays — "God 
makf;  thee  as  Ephraim  and  Manasseh.  The  Lord  bless  and  preserve 
thee.  The  Lord  lift  up  His  countenance  upon  thee,  and  give  thee 
peace  Length  of  daj^s,  years,  and  peace,  be  gathered  to  thee ;  and 
God  leep  thee  from  all  evil  and  save  thy  soul."  And  now  the  rite  is 
over. 

In  i  nation  which  has  boasted,  for  two  thousand  years,  that  it 
hands  i  town  its  religious  customs,  from  generation  to  generation,  with- 
out a  ^-hadow  of  change,  in  word  or  form,  a  practice  of  to-day  is, 
doubtk-LS,  in  most  respects,  identical  with  its  counterpart  in  the  time 
of  JMary.  It  was,  we  may  assume,  with  some  such  prayers  and  solemn 
forms  thit  Joseph  and  Mary,  still  standing  before  the  Nicanor  Gate, 
"presemod"  the  infant  Saviour  "to  the  Lord,"  after  Mary  had  been 
declared    '  clean"  by  the  sprinkling  of  the  blood  of  the  doves. 

It  was  still  morning,  and  crowds  of  men  were  entering  the  Court 
of  the  L  raelites,  by  the  Nicanor  Gate,  or  passing  out.  The  mothers 
and  fathers  who  had  firstborn  sons  to  redeem  were  still  before 
the  gate,  Mary  and  Joseph  among  them.  And  now  an  aged  man, 
who  could  not  come  earlier  to  his  mornipg  devotions,  approaches. 
We  know  only  that  his  name  was  Simeon,  a  very  common  one,  then, 
among  the  Jews,  and  that  he  was  one  in  whom  the  the  reign  of  form 
and  rite  had  not  extinguished  true  spiritual  conceptions.  He  was  "a 
just  man  and  devout,"  says  St.  Luke — an  expression,  the  fo'''"'  ^» 
"which,  in  those  days,  is  seen  in  the  explanation  of  nen''  ^^eror  Coa- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  93 

character  given  to  the  great  high  priest  Simon.  "He  was  called 
'  Just '  both  for  his  piety  towards  God,  and  his  charity  towards  his 
countrymen."  Simeon  must  have  been  one  who,  though  he  followed 
the  Law,  did  so  from  the  love  of  it,  and  from  the  fear  of  God,  and 
was  careful  of  its  spirit,  while,  no  doubt,  exact  in  the  countless  ritual 
observances  then  thought  to  constitute  "righteousness;"  one,  like 
Nathanael,  "an  Israelite  indeed,  in  whom  was  no  guile."  Habitually 
drawing  near  God,  the  promise  had  been  fulfilled  "to  this  aged  saint 
that  God  would  draw  near  to  him:  for  "the  Holy  Ghost  was  upon 
him."  Too  old  to  care  for  longer  life,  so  far  as  earth  alone  was  con- 
cerned, his  heart  yet  beat  warmly  for  his  down-trodden  nation,  and 
for  man  at  large,  sunk  in  heathen  darkness.  He  would  fain  wait 
among  the  living  till  the  appearance  of  the  "  Consolation  of  Israel" — 
the  familiar  name  by  which  his  race,  in  their  deep  yearning  for  de- 
liverance, had  come  to  speak  of  the  long-exix;cted  ;\ressiah,  as  the  sure 
restorer  of  its  glory.  He  had  a  premonition,  divinely  sent,  that  he 
should  have  this  joy,  and  had  come  this  morning  "  by  the  spirit"  into 
the  Temple.  How  he  knew  it  we  cannot  tell,  but,  as  Mary  stood  pre- 
senting her  child,  he  recognized  in  Him  the  "Messiah  of  God."  The 
ceremony  over,  his  full  heart  cannot  restrain  itself.  Tottering  towards 
the  young  mother,  he  takes  her  babe  in  his  arms,  and  giveslhauks  to 
God  in  words  of  touching  beauty — "  Lord,  now  lettest  Thou  Thy  ser- 
vant depart  in  peace,  according  to  Thy  word :  for  mine  eyes  have  seen 
Th}'  Salvation,  which  Thou  hast  prepared  before  the  face  of  all  peo- 
ples: a  light  to  lighten  the  heathen  and  the  glory  of  Th}^  people 
Israel."  Like  a  true  Jew,  he  thinks  of  Israel  as  the  centre  of  the 
Messianic  glory,  the  light  of  which  is  to  stream,  afar,  over  the  heathen 
world  around,  attracting  them  to  it. 

Turning  to  Joseph  and  ]\Iary,  the  old  man  then  says  a  few  parting 
words,  with  prophetic  insight  of  the  future  both  of  the  child  and  its 
mother.  "Your  child,"  says  he  to  her,  "is  destined  for  the  fall  of 
many  in  Israel,  for  many  will  reject  Him;  but  also  for  the  rising  again 
of  many,  who  will  believe  on  Him  and  live.  He  is  sent  for  a  sign 
which  shall  be  spoken  against,  and  will  meet  with  reproach  and  con- 
tradiction, which  will  reveal  the  thoughts,  of  many  hearts  respecting 
Him" — a  truth  too  sadlj^  culminating  at  Calvary.  Mary's  own  heart 
"would  be  pierced  with  a  great  sorrow." 

At  that  instant,  we  are  told,  an  aged  woman,  Anna  by  name,  of  the 
tribe  of  Aslier,  and  therefore  a  Galilean,  approached  the  gate.     She 
was  eighty-four  years  of  age,  and  had  thus  lived  through  the  long  sad 
period  of  war,  conquest,  and  oppression,  which  had  intensitied,  in 
?very  Jewish  heart,    the  yearning   for  national  deliverance  by  the 
promised  ^less.'sh.    She  must  have  remembered  the  fatal  war  between 
the  Asmoneau  brothers,  Aristobulus  and  Hyrcanus,  which  had  brought 
all  the  misery  of  her  people  in  its  train,  and  she  had  likely  seen  the 
legions  of  Pompey,  when  they  encamped  on  the  hills  round  Jerusalem. 
showi.    ■  "  of  Heroa  was  a  recollection  of  her  middle  life,  and  its  dread- 
under  the  aJcc^x 
the  cave  in  which  i. 


94  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

ful  story  of  war,  murder,  and  crime,  must  have  sunk  into  her  heart, 
as  it  had  into  the  hearts  of  all  her  race. 

Her  long  life  had  been  ppent  in  pious  acts  and  services,  for,  aftei 
she  had  been  seven  years  a  wife,  her  husband  had  died,  leaving  her 
doubtless,  still  very  yoimg,  since  Hebrew  girls  married  at  twelve  oi 
fourteen  years  of  age.  She  had  never  mamed  again,  a  fact  men- 
tioned by  St.  Luke,  in  accordance  with  the  feeling  of  the  day.  to  ber 
honour,  but  had  been,  in  the  words  of  St.  Paul,  "a  widow  indeed," 
"trusting  in  God,"  and  "continuing  in  supplications  and  prayers 
night  and  day."  She  might,  in  truth,  be  said  to  have  lived  in' the 
Temple,  and  to  have  spent  her  life  in  fastings  and  prayers;  having 
very  likely  come  from  Galilee  to  be  near  the  holy  place,  and  thus  able 
to  give  herself  up  to  religious  exercises,  on  the  spot,  where,  in  the 
eyes  of  a  Jew,  they  were  most  sacred. 

Such  a  woman  must  have  been  well  known  in  a  place  like  Jerusa- 
lem. Catching  the  burden  of  Simeon's  words  as  she  passed,  she  too, 
like  him,  forthwith  thanks  God  that  the  promise  of  the  Messiah 
is  now,  at  last,  fulfilled.  There  could  have  been  few,  however,  to 
whom  the  glad  tidings  of  such  a  Saviour  were  welcome,  for  though 
the  heart  of  the  nation  was  burning  with  Messianic  hopes  of  a  politi- 
cal kind,  we  are  told  that  Anna  was  able  to  tell  them  to  all  in  Jerusa- 
lem who  looked  fcr  a  redemption  of  a  higher  tyjie. 

Returning  to  Betnli'hem,  Joseph  and  ^lary  teem  to  have  intended 
to  settle  in  it  permaiicutly,  for  even  after  their  return  from  Egj'pt 
they  would  have  gone  to  it  again,  but  for  their  fear  of  Archelaus.  St. 
Matthew  speaks  of  their  living  in  a  "house"  when  the  Magi  came, 
A^ery  soon  after  the  Presentation,  but  the  natural  chamber  in  the  hill- 
side, which  was  Mary's  first  shelter,  would  be  as  much  a  part  of  a 
house  as  any  other  It  has  for  ages  been  the  custom  to  speak  of  the 
birthplace  of  Jesus  as  a  cave,  but  the  word  raises  very  dill'erent  ideas 
in  om*  minds,  from  any  that  could  have  been  felt,  where  such  cool, 
dry  recesses  are,  even  still,  ordinary  parts  of  village  or  country  houses 
of  the  humbler  kind. 

The  "Cave  of  the  Nativity"  now  shown  in  Bethlehem,  is  surrounded 
by  such  artificial  distractions,  that  it  is  hard  to  realize  the  possibility 
of  its  being  the  actual  scene  of  the  most  stupendous  event  in  all  his- 
tory. A  convent,  like  a  medieval  castle  for  strength  and  solidity, 
and  of  great  extent,  crowns  the  hill,  its  huge  buttresses  resting  on  the 
shelving  rocks  far  below.  The  village  lies'on  the  eastern  and  western 
summit-crests  of  the  hill,  at  a  height  above  the  sea  onlj'  SCO  feet  lower 
than  the  top  of  Helvellyn,  and  as  high  as  the  loftiest  hill-top  in  the 
Cheviot  range.  You  may  walk  round  it  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  or 
along  its  whole  length  in  half  that  time,  or  from  side  to  side  of  it  in  a 
quarter.  The  villagers  support  themselves  partly  by  field  work,  tui 
mainly  by  carving  rosaries,  crucifixes,  and  models  of  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre, in  wood,  for  sale.  The  Cave  of  the  Nativity  lies  on  the  eaa* 
Jiill,  under  a  "  Church  of  St.  Mary,"  first  buiX  by  the  En\RTor  Coa- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  M 

stantine,  but  often  renewed  since.  To  this  cliurcli  there  is  joined,  on 
the  north,  the  Latin  cloi.ster  of  the  Franciscans,  with  the  Church  of 
St.  Catherine,  whicli  belongs  to  it,  and,  on  the  south,  the  Greek  and 
tlie  Armenian  cloisters. 

The  ' '  Church  of  the  Nativity" — venerable  at  least  for  its  great  age 
— is  built  in  the  form  of  a  cro.ss.  The  choir,  two  steps  higher  than 
the  long  nave,  includes  the  top  and  arms  of  the  cross,  and  is  divided 
from  the  nave  by  a  partition.  A  low  door,  in  the  west,  leads,  through 
the  porch,  to  the  desolate  and  cheerle.ss  nave,  with  forty-four  pillars, 
in  seven  rows,  .supporting  the  roof,  the  rough  beams  of  which  are 
uncovered,  and  look  verj'  bare  and  dreary.  The  Greeks  and  Arme- 
nians have  charge  of  this  part,  the  Latins  being  only  allowed  to  pass 
through  it  to  their  cloister.  The  former  have  altars  in  the  choir;  that 
of  the" Greeks,  which  is  consecrated  to  "the  three  kings,"  standing  in 
the  centre,  and  showing,  in  a  niche  under  it,  a  star  of  white  marble, 
marking  the  spot  where  the  star  of  the  wise  men  stood  in  the  heavens 
over  Bethlehem!  The  Cave  of  the  Nativity  is  under  the  altar,  and  is 
reached,  from  both  sides  of  the  choir,  by  a  flight  of  broad  and  beau- 
tiful marble  steps,  respectively  tifteeu  and  thirteen  in  number.  The 
cave  itself  is  about  thirty-eight  feet  long,  eleven  broad,  and  nine  high, 
and  is  paved  with  black  and  red-veined  marble.  The  sides  are  partly 
lined  with  marble  slabs,  but  some  of  these,  on  the  north,  have  fallen 
off.  and  show  the  bare  wall,  while,  elsewhere,  curtains  of  silk  or  linen 
are  hung  up — the  silk  apparently  only  at  festivals.  From  the  roof 
hangs  a  row  of  silver  lamps  along  the  whole  length  of  the  cave.  The 
sile^f  the  manger  itself  is  on  the  east  side  of  the  gi-otto,  in  a  rounded 
niche  about  eight  feet  high  and  four  broad,  in  which  an  altar  stands. 
The  pavement  of  this  recess  is  a  few  inches  higher  than  that  of  the 
cave,  and  is  formed  of  marble  slabs  on  which  there  is  a  silver  star, 
with  sparkling  rays,  inlaid  with  precious  stones.  Along  the  edge 
runs  an  inscription  which  no  one  can  read  without  emotion — "Hie 
de  Virgine  Maria  Jesus  Christus  natus  est." 

South  from  this  spot,  in  a  corner,  is  a  small  separate  cave,  three 
steps  lower  than  the  larger  one,  and  in  this  stands  the  "Altar  of 
the  3Ianger;"'  but  as  the  wooden  manger  which  was  exhibited  in 
earlier  times  was  taken  to  Rome  in  1486,  by  Pope  Sixtus  V. ,  very  little 
interest  attaches  now,  even  on  the  ground  of  antiquity,  to  the  crib  of 
coloured  marble  shown  in  its  place.  A  painting  of  the  Adoration  of 
the  Shepherds  covers  the  rock  behind.  Five  silver  lamps  swing 
before  this,  and  opposite  is  the  "Altar  of  the  Magi,"  with  another 
painting.  It  throws  additional  distrust  over  all,  except,  perhaps,  the 
central  facts  of  the  spot,  that  a  door  from  the  larger  cave  admits  into 
a  long,  crooked,  rough  ("peniug,  like  the  gallery  of  a  mine,  in  which 
are  various  altars,  in  recesses,  natural,  or  formed  by  man.  You  are 
shown  the  "Chapel  of  St.  Joseph;"  then  that  of  "The  Innocents," 
under  the  altar  of  which  a  squai;e  latticed  opening  is  said  to  lead  te 
ihe  cave  in  which  the  bones  of  tiie  murdered  Innocents  were  burisd. 


96  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

From  the  Chapel  of  the  Innocents  you  pass  the  ahar  of  Eusebius  of 
Cremona,  who  lies  there ;  and  in  a  cave  at  the  west  end  of  the  gallery 
you  are  shown  the  tombs  of  the  Holy  Paula  and  her  daughter  Eusto- 
chium,  with  that  of  their  friend  St.  Jerome,  whose  cell — the  scene  of 
his  wonderful  version  of  the  Scriptures — is  pointed  out,  a  little 
beyond.  . 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE   MAGI. 

The  two  centuries  in  which  Judea  was  a  province  of  the  Persian 
Empire  were,  perhaps,  the  happiest  time  in  the  history  of  the  Jewish 
nation.  Enjoying  perfect  religious  liberty,  for  which  alone  they 
cared,  they  were  loyal  and  contented.  Nehemiah,  the  rebuilder  of 
Jerusalem,  was  at  the  same  time  a  Persian  pacha,  and  the  people  at 
large  only  expressed  their  common  fidelity  to  the  power  he  repre- 
sented, in  allowing,  with  a  liberality  amazing  in  their  case,  a  sculp- 
ture of  Svisa,  the  Persian  metropolis,  to  be  cut  over  one  of  the  gates 
of  the  Temple. 

The  most  striking  characteristic  of  each  nation  furthered  this 
mutual  respect.  In  Persia  the  highest  form  of  Aryan  religion  had 
been  brought  face  to  face  with  the  highest  form  of  Shemitic,  and 
there  were  many  points  in  which  mutual  sympathy  and  regard  were 
inevitable.  Both  nations  hated  idolatry;  indeed,  the  Persian  was 
more  zealous  in  this  than  the  Jew  had  been,  for  there  were  not 
wanting,  even  in  the  exile,  Jews  who  served  idols.  In  Ormuzd  and 
Ahriman,  the  personifications  of  Light  and  Darkness,  or  Good  and 
Evil,  the  Persian,  as  it  might  seem,  had  only  developed  the  Jewish 
doctrine  of  Jehovah  and  the  Evil  that  struggled  to  counteract  His 
beneficent  rule.  To  the  Persian,  as  to  the  Jew,  his  sacred  books 
were  the  weapon  against  darkness,  and  the  guide  to  blessedness. 
They  prescribed  commandments  and  supplied  revelations.  They 
taught  a  life  after  death,  and  future  rewards  and  punishments;  they 
disclosed  the  issue  of  the  great  striiggle  between  Good  and  Evil,  and 
what  would  happen  at  tliu  end  of  the  world.  Times  of  great  trial 
were  to  prove  the  faitliful  before  the  final  day.  Their  blood  would 
Gow  like  water.  At  the  end  of  every  millennium,  however,  Ormuzd 
would  send  a  prophet,  with  a  new  revelation,  and  thus  a  reformation 
would  be  effected  for  the  time.  The  prophet  next  to  appear  would 
be  born  of  a  virgin,  and,  after  destroying  the  works  of  Ahriman, 
would  establish  a  happy  kingdom  for  a  thousand  years.  To  aid  him 
in  this,  the  most  famous  men  of  all  times  would  appear  in  life  again. 
At  the  end  of  the  millennium,  the  resurrection,  it  was  taught,  would 
take  place,  through  fifty-seven  years.  Then  would  begin  the  burn- 
ing-up  of  the  world  by  fire:  the  ftiountains  would  sink,  and  the 
whole  globe  become  like  a  sea  ©f  molten  metals.     Through  this  all 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  »7 

men  must  pass,  to  be  purified  from  the  sins  still  cleaving  t^  them; 
but  while  the  holy  would  do  it  with  ease,  the  wicked  would  suffer 
mnsuchastheslme  torments  would  have  gifn  them  during  life 
After  ^his  purification,  even  the  formerly  wicked  would  be  freed 
from  evil.  Ahriman  and  hell  would  be  conquered  and  pass  away ; 
the."  would  remain  only  the  great  communion  of  the  blessed,  who 

^'IsMl'Sanfrthis  life,  the  Persians  were  taught  that  no  man  can  re- 
main neutral  but  must  take  the  side  either  of  good  or  evil.  To  fol- 
Kw  the  former  was  not  only  right  but  natural,  since  Ormuzd  is  the 
Creator  Tet  even  he  who  chooses  the  right  side  does  not  always 
receive  his  reward  for  evil  is  powerful,  and  hinders  Ormuzd  in 
^nn Wivs  iron  favouring  his  servant  here.  The  bad,  by  the  help 
r^rimannw  obtain  prosperity,  and  even  secure  the  blessings 
des^neTfo^  the  good,  but  in  the  world  to  come  this  would  be  no 
longer  possible  As  a  man  has  lived  on  earth,  so  they  be  leved, 
wS  be  his  reward  or  suffering  in  the  life  beyond.  He  who  has 
Ten  sood  and  mi?^  in  thought,'word,  and  deed  would  be  owned 
as  a  fervant  of  Ormuzd,  and  received  into  the  fellowship  of  the 
?nirits  in  tilt  while  he  who  had  opposed  Ormuzd  here,  would  be 
d? ivfn  down  in  the  life  hereafter,  to  dwell  with  Ahriman  and  his 
?o  lowers?  h'tuck  darkness.     The  decision  as  to  the  side  to  wh  ch 

hz^^^l^%^!^^^^^  -U  te  iJS  1^1 

Sl^k^'^5s£rfsuX 

ovpr  the  brido-e   it  seems  too  narrow  and  slight,  the  tootsttps  loucr, 

nsLmL-thatthe  Jews  were  indebted  to  it,  to  any  great  extent,  for 

?i  .  doft  •  ne  of  the  resurrection,  indeed,  seems  hardly  to  have  been 
innitlcoM^San  popular  beliefs,  though  found  i:i  one  place  m 
r  Ji  ti  jS?kSrespecting  kngelsTgood  and  bad,  no  doubt 
eeeived  an  impulse  from  those  of  the  Persians,  but  as  ^^^ 
rdation  between  the  twa  theologies  was  mainly  that  of  independent 
similarity  in  some  details. 


98  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Bvit  while  the  Jew  borrowed  very  little  from  Persian  sources,  the 
exile,  partly  under  Persian  rule,  the  two  hundred  years  of  Persian 
supremacy  in  Judea,  and  the  lasting  connection  between  the  Jews  of 
the  East  and  their  Ijrethren  in  Palestine,  must  have  created  a  deep 
interest,  on  both  sides,  in  faiths  which  had  so  much  in  common. 

The  extent  to  which  Parsism  had  spread  in  the  East,  in  the  days  of 
Christ,  cannot  be  known,  but  it  had  doubtless  diffused  itself,  more  or 
less,  by  the  movements  of  men  in  these  troublous  times,  over  many 
regions. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  knowledge  of  Judaism  was  by  no  means 
confined  to  Palestine.  The  great  bulk  of  the  Jewish  nation  had 
never  returned  from  Babylon,  but  remained,  rn  distinct  communi- 
ties, spread  over  the  surface  of  that  empire.  Their  fidelity  to  their 
faith  was  proved  by  their  having  supported  the  colony  at  Jerusalem 
till  it  no  longer  needed  their  help.  They  looked  to  the  Temple  as 
their  religious  centime,  contributed  largely  to  its  funds,  and  received 
their  ecclesiastical  instructions  from  its  authorities.  The  Babylonian 
Jew  prided  himself  on  the  purity  of  his  descent.  What  the  Hebrews 
of  Judea  boasted  they  were,  compared  to  those  of  other  countries, 
the  Babylonian  Hebrew  claimed  to  be  to  the  Judean — ''like  jDure 
flour  compared  to  dough."  From  Babylon,  the  Jew  had  sprSad 
through  every  region  of  the  East,  and  wherever  he  went  he  became  a 
zealous  missionary  of  his  faith.  Various  causes  had  led  to  the  same 
wide  dispersion  in  the  West,  with  the  same  result.  The  number  of 
proselj'tes  gained,  over  the  world,  by  this  propaganda,  was  incredi- 
])le.  The  West  was  as  full  of  Jews  as  the  East.  Egypt,  and  other 
parts  of  Africa,  had  a  vast  Jewish  population.  To  use  the  words  of 
Joscphus,  the  habitable  globe  was  so  full  of  Jews,  that  there  was 
scarcely  a  corner  of  the  Roman  empire  where  they  might  not  be 
found.  The  great  synagogue  at  Alexandria  was  so  large  that,  if  we 
can  believe  the  Talmud,  the  Hazan,  or  Reader,  had  to  make  use  of  a 
handkerchief,  as  a  signal,  when  the  congregation  were  to  repeat  tl:2ir 
"  Amen." 

Incidental  proofs  of  the  success  of  Jewish  proselytism  are  numer- 
ous. Cicero,  and  Horace,  Juvenal,  Tacitus,  and  Seneca  alike  give 
vent  to  the  irritation  everywhere  felt,  at  the  numbers  of  Greeks  and 
Romans,  thusvron  over,  to  what  they  regarded  as  a  hateful  supersti- 
tion. Exemption  from  military  service  gi'anted  to  the  Jews,  trade 
privileges  they  specially  enjoyed,  marriage,  and  other  inducements, 
Bv.'clled  the  list  of  proselytes  in  every  part.  "The  Jewish  faith," 
Bays  Seneca,  ' '  is  now  received  over  every  land :  the  conquered  have 
given  laws  to  the  conqueror."  "This  race,"  says  Dio  Cassius,  "  has 
been  repeatedly  checked  by  the  Romans,  yet  it  has  increased  amaz- 
ingly, so  that  it  has  assumed  the  greatest  boldness."  Josephus  tells 
ustiiat  in  Antioch  a  great  multitude  of  Greeks  were  constantly  com- 
ing forward  as  proselytes.  Still  further  east,  it  was  the  same,  for 
St.  Luke  racords  that  proselytes  thronged  to  the  feasts  at  Jerusalem 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  9J 

fr^m  provinces  of  the  empire,  north  of  the  IMediterranean,  such  as 
Pontus,  Asia,  Phrygia,  Pamphylia,  Cappadocia,  and  from  Rome  it- 
self; from  its  southern  territories,  such  as  Egypt,  Arabia,  Crete,  and 
the  parts  of  Libya  about  C3Tene,  and  from  its  eastern  extremities, 
and  even  from  lands  beyond — Mesopotamians,  Parthiaus,  Medes, 
and  Elamites, — dwellers  in  the  vast  regions  reaching  from  the  Cas- 
pian Sea  to  the  Persian  Gulf,  on  the  north  and  south,  and  even  fur- 
ther to  the  east.     The  influence  of  Judaism  extended  into  all  lands. 

Among  the  Jewish  ideas  diffused  far  and  near  by  this  universal 
agenc}^  none  would  find  so  easy  and  wide  a  circulation  as  that 
which,  above  all  others,  filled  the  mind  and  heart  of  ever\-  Jew  iu 
that  age — the  expected  appearance  of  a  great  prince,  of  whom  they 
spoke  as  the  Messiah  or  "  Anointed."  No  indication  of  popular  feel- 
ing can  be  more  sure  than  that  supplied  by  the  literature  of  a  period; 
and  Jewish  literature,  from  the  date  of  Daniel  to  the  age  of  Christ, 
was  more  and  more  completely  Messianic.  The  Book  of  Enoch,  the 
Jewish  Sibylline  books,  the  Psalter  of  Solomon,  the  Ascension  of 
Moses,  tlie  Ascension  of  Isaiah,  the  Fourth  Book  of  Esdras,  the  Tar- 
gums  of  Onkelos  and  Jonathan,  and  other  writings  of  later  Judaism, 
strove  to  sustain  and  rouse  the  nation,  in  those  dark  days,  by  pro- 
phetic anticipations  of  Messianic  deliverance.  Burning  hope  glows 
through  them,  like  fire  through  clouds,  revealing  the  feverish  con- 
centration of  heart  and  thought  of  all  Israel  on  this  one  grand  expec- 
tation. 

Tlie  restlessness  of  Judea  was  only  another  symptom  of  this  uni- 
versal tension  of  the  popular  mind.  Patriotic  hatred  of  foreign  rule, 
and  religious  zeal  against  the  introduction  of  heathen  manners,  kept 
the  country  in  a  continual  ferment.  This  was  heightened  at  every 
festival  by  assurances  of  the  Rabbis,  priests,  and  fanatical  "proph- 
ets," that  Jehovali  would  not  much  longer  endure  the  intrusion  of 
the  heathen  into  His  own  Land.  This  temper  of  the  people  forced 
Herod  to  erect  five  times  as  many  fortresses  in  Judea  as  were  re- 
quired in  Galilee;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  them,  the  robbers  and  bandits 
of  the  Judean  hills  never  ceased  to  make  war  against  the  existing 
government,  in  the  name  of  Jehovah.  Blind  superstition  reigned. 
The  bigoted  masses  were  coutinuallj'  deceived  by  pretended  Me-s- 
siahs,  who  led  them,  at  one  time,  to  the  Mount  of  Olives,  to  see  the 
walls  of  the  now  Iicathen  Jerusalem  fall  down  at  the  word  of  the 
prophet ;  at  another,  to  the  Jordan,  to  pass  through,  dry-shod,  like 
tlieir  fathers;  at  a  third,  as  if  nothing  could  w;tru  tliem.  into  the 
wilderness,  to  wait  for  the  signs  of  the  Son  of  I\iau  predicted  by 
Daniel.  What  must  have  been  the  contagious  effect  of  such  a  state 
of  things  on  the  multitudes  of  Jews  and  proselytes  from  every  coun- 
try, who  yearly  visited  Jerusalefh?  Josephus,  perhaps  with  some 
exaggeration,  tells  us  that,  at  mauj'  feasts,  there  were  not  less  than 
three  millions  of  pilgrims.  How  must  they  have  spread  over  the 
whole  earlii  the  expectation  of  a  gi-eat  Jewish  king  who  wa«  t« 


TOO  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

conquer  the  world !  for  this  the  Messiah  was  to  accomplish.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  Josephus,  Tacitus,  and  Suetonius  should  record  the  fact, 
though  the  Jewish  liistorian  in  mean  liattery,  and  the  others  from 
the  turn  of  affairs,  applied  it  to  Vespasian. 

It  is,  therefore,  only  what  might  have  been  expected,  when  St. 
Matthew  tells  us  that  strangers  f I'om  the  East  came,  soon  after  His 
birth,  to  visit  the  infant  Jesus.  Any  real  or  fancied  occasion,  which 
might  lead  to  the  belief  that  the  prince,  so  universally  looked  for, 
had  actually  appeared,  was  well-nigh  certain  to  call  forth  such  an 
incident. 

The  simple  notice  given  us  throws  no  further  light  on  these  earliest 
pilgi-ims  from  the  great  Gentile  world,  than  is  afforded  by  the  title 
Magi,  and  the  intimation  that  they  were  led  to  undertake  their  jour- 
Eey  to  Bethlehem  by  some  mysterious  appearances  in  the  heavens. 

The  worship  of  the  heavenly  bodies  had  been  established  for  im- 
memorial ages  in  the  East,  where  the  transparent  atmosphere  reveals 
the  splendours  of  the  universe,  both  by  night  and  day,  with  a  glory 
unknown  to  duller  regions.  In  ages  when  science  was  yet  unknown, 
and  motion  was'  everywhere  assumed  as  the  result  of  inherent  life,  it 
was  almost  inevitable  to  regard  the  sun  as  the  lord  of  day,  and  the 
moon  and  stars  as  ruling  the  night.  From  this  it  was  only  a  single 
step  to  superstition.  "Magic,"  as  Professor  Bastian  observes,  "is 
the  physics  of  the  children  of  nature."  It  is  the  first  step  towards 
induction,  and  misleads,  only  by  as.suming  that  accidental,  or  inde- 
pendent, coincidence,  or  succession,  is  necessarily  cause  and  effect. 
Like  children,  men,  in  simple  ages,  jump  to  conclusions  from  iso- 
lated observations,  nor  is  the  power  of  slow  and  careful  generaliza- 
tion, from  a  wide  range  of  facts,  attained,  till  very  much  later. 

The  phenomena  of  the  daily  and  nightly  heavens  thus  led  very 
early,  in  the  East,  to  a  belief  in  astrology;  the  patient  scientitic  faculty 
being  yet  wanting  which  would,  hereafter,  develop  that  illusive  science 
into  astronomy,  as,  in  a  later  age,  it  raised  alchemy  into  chemistry. 
The  stars  were  supposed,  then,  as  they  have  been  till  recent  times,  to 
exercise  supreme  influence  over  human  life  and  the  course  of  nature, 
and  from  this  belief  avast  system  of  imaginarj^-esults  was  elaborated. 
The  special  power  of  each  star,  alone  or  in  conjunction  with  others, 
over  health  and  sickness,  prosperity  or  trouble,  life  or  death,  the 
affairs  of  nations,  and  the  phenomena  of  nature,  was  supposed  to 
have  been  discovered;  and  this  power  was  believed  to  affect  the  future 
as  well  as  the  present.  Diodorus  Siculus,  who  lived  in  the  generation 
before  Christ,  says  of  the  astrologers  of  the  East,  "They  think  the 
noblest  study  is  that  of  the  five  stars  called  planets,  which  they  call 
interpreters.  This  name  they  give  them,  because  other  stars  do  not 
wander  like  them,  but  have  a  fixcii  course,  while  these  have  paths  of 
their  own,  and  predict  things  to  be,  thus  interpreting  to  men  the  will 
of  the  gods.  For  they  say  that  they  portend  some  things  by  their 
rieiag,  others  by  their  setting,  and  still  others  by  their  colour,  to  those 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  101 

■who  study  them  diligently.  For,  at  one  time,  they  say  they  foretell 
the  violence  of  storms ;  at  another  the  excess  of  rains  or  of  heat,  the 
appeamuce  of  comets,  eclipses  of  the  sun  or  moon,  earthquakes,  and, 
indeed,  every  change  in  the  sk3^  either  fortunate  or  the  reverse,  not 
only  to  nations  and  districts,  but  to  kings  and  common  people."  The 
position  of  the  stars  at  a  child's  birth  was  held  to  determine  its  future 
fate  or  fortune,  and,  hence,  to  cast  nativities,  early  became  one  of  the 
(nost  important  functions  of  astrologers. 

This  science  was  very  early  cultivated  among  the  races  inliabiting 
<he  Mesopotamian  plains.  Like  all  higher  knowledge  in  simple  times, 
st  was  in  the  hands  of  a  priestly  caste,  known  as  Magi,  a  word  which 
seems  of  Aryan  derivation.  This  order  flourished  among  the  Medes, 
Babylonians,  and  Persians,  but  it  is  chiefly  famoas  in  connection  with. 
Persia,  and  seems  as  if  it  had  risen  among  the  Aryan  races,  and  had 
only  mingled  as  a  foreign  element  in  the  Semitic  civilization  of  Baby- 
lon. 

"We  first  meet  the  title  as  that  of  one  of  the  Chaldean  officials  sent 
by  Nebuchadnezzar  to  Jerusalem — the  Rabmag,  or  head  of  the  Magi; 
and  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  we  find  the  caste  divided  into  five  classes, 
as  the  astrologers  and  dream  interpreters  of  Babylon.  Their  origin, 
however,  identified  them  with  the  purer  faith  of  Persia,  much  more 
than  with  a  corrupt  idolatry,  and  hence  they  especially  flourished 
under  the  Persian  rule.  In  "later  times  the  name  lost  its  early  pres- 
tige, from  the  growth  of  lower  magical  arts,  practised  as  the  order 
degenerated,  so  that,  in  the  New  Testament,  it  is  applied,  excepting 
in  tlie  case  of  those  who  came  to  visit  the  infant  Saviour,  only  to  two 
' '  sorcerers" — Simon  Magus,  and  one  Bar-Jesus. 

Soon  after  the  presentation  of  our  Lord  in  the  Temple,  a  strange 
report  spread  through  Jerusalem.  Members  of  the  old  priestly  caste 
of  Persia  had  "come  from  the  East,"  inquiring  where  they  could  find 
a  new-born  King  of  the  Jews,  whose  star,  thej'  said,  they  had  seen  in 
the  East.  It  was  quite  in  keeping  with  Jewish  belief  to  find  indica- 
tions of  great  events  in  the  appearances  of  the  heavens,  for  their 
ancient  Scriptures  spoke  of  a  star  that  should  come  out  of  Jacob,  and 
they  had  long  referred  the  prophecy  to  their  expected  Messiah.  It 
was,  indeed,  universally  believed  that  extraordinary  events,  especially 
the  birth  and  death  of  great  men,  were  heralded  by  appearances  of 
stars,  and  still  more  of  comets,  or  by  conjunctions  of  the  heavenly 
bodies.  Thus  Suetonius  tells  us  that  at  the  death  of  Caesar  "a  hairy 
star  shone  continuously  for  seven  days,  rising  about  the  eleventh 
hour,"  and  Josephus  relates  that  for  a  whole  year  before  the  fall  of 
Jerusalem  a  star,  in  the  shape  of  a  sword — doubtless  a  comet — hung 
over  the  doomed  city.  A  hundred  and  thirty  years  after  Christ's 
birth,  a  false  Messiah,  in  Hadrian's  reign,  assumed  the  title  of  Bar- 
Cochba — "the  son  of  the  star" — in  allusion  to  the  star  to  come  out  of 
Jacob.  The  Jews  had  already,  long  before  Christ's  day,  dal)bled  in 
astrologj',  and  the  various  forms  of  magic  which  became  connected 


102  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

with  it.  They  were  skilled  in  mysterious  combinations  of  letters  and 
numbers,  which  they  used  as  talismans  and  amulets,  to  heal  the  sick, 
to  drive  away  evil  spirits,  and  bring  frightfvd  curses  when  Apslied, 
and  they  even  aflBrmed  that  some  of  their  spells  could  draw  the  moon 
from  heaven  or  open  the  abyss  beneath  tne  earth.  Such  practices 
dated  among  them  as  far  back  as  the  time  of  Alexander  the  Great. 
They  were  much  given  to  cast  horoscopes  from  the  numerical  value 
of  a  name.  Everywhere  -through  the  whole  Roman  empire,  Jewish 
magicians,  dream  expounders,  and  sorcerers,  were  found.  Josephus 
ascribes  the  banishment  of  the  Jews  from  Rome  to  the  acts  of  im- 
postors of  this  kind.  Nor  did  their  superstition  stop  here.  They 
were  skilled  in  the  mysteries  of  astrology  itself.  "The  planets  give 
wisdom  and  riches,'"  says  the  Talmud,  and  it  adds,  in  other  passages, — 
"The  life  and  portion  of  children  hang  not  on  righteousness,  but  on 
their  star."  "The  planet  of  the  day  has  no  virtue,  but  the  planet  of 
the  hour  (of  nativity)  has  much.  Those  who  are  born  under  the  sun 
are  beautiful  and  noble-looking,  frank  and  open;  those  born  under 
Tcnus,  rich  and  amatory;  under  Mercury,  strong  in  memory  and 
wise;  under  the  moon,  feeble  and  inconstant;  under  Jupiter,  just; 
under  Mars,  fortunate."  "The  calculation  of  the  stars  is  the  ioy  of 
the  Rabbi,"  says  the  Pirke  Aboth.  In  another  passage,  indeed,  a  Rabbi 
tells  an  inquirer  that  "there  is  no  planet  that  rules  Israel,"  but  the 
explanation  added  i-hov.'s  a  pride  that  only  a  Jew  could  express— 
"The  sons  of  Israel  are  themselves  stars."  Many  Rabbis  gave  them- 
selves to  astrology. 

Belief  in  the  influence  of  the  stars  over  life  and  death,  and  in  special 
portents  at  the  birth  of  great  men,  survived,  indeed,  to  recent  times. 
Chaucer  abounds  in  allusions  to  it.  He  attributes  the  great  rain  and 
the  pestilence  of  1048  and  1350  to  an  extraordinary  conjunction  of 
Saturn  with  other  planets,  and  in  the  Man  of  Lawes  Tale  he  says: — 

"  In  sterr^  manyawj-nter  thei'byfore, 
Vras  write  the  deth  of  Ector  and  Achilles, 
Of  Ponipe,  Julius,  er  they  were  i-bore ; 
The  stry-f  of  Thebes,  and  of  Erciiles, 
Of  Sampson,  Tumus,  and  of  Socrates 
The  deth." 

StiU  later,  Shakespere  tells  us — 

"  When  beggars  die  there  are  no  comets  seen; 
The  heavens  themselves  blaze  forth  the  death  of  princes;** 

and  Bedford  at  Henry  V.  's  f imeral  is  made  to  say — 

"  Comets,  importing  change  of  time  and  states. 
Brandish  your  crystal  tresses  in  the  sky, 
And  with  them  scourge  the  bad  revolting  stars 
That  have  consented  unto  Henry's  death." 

The  special  phenomena  that  led  the  Magi  to  undertake  their  journey 
have  been  elsewhere  stated.  That  successive  conjunctions  of  three 
planctji  in  tlie  sign  of  the  Zodiac,  Pisces,  which  v^-as  believed  by  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  103 

Je^vs  to  be  that  iu  which  a  similar  conjunction  happened  before  the 
birth  of  Moses,  and  in  v.'hich  another  was  to  occur  before  the  birth  of 
tiie  ]\[essiah,  should  have  roused  the  attention  of  men  to  whom  the 
motions  of  the  planets  were  revelations  from  heaven,  was  only  ufttural. 
Dou\)tless  they  had  heard  in  their  own  country  such  a  belief  exp*-essed 
by  Jews,  and'^traced  to  the  prophecy  of  Balaam,  one  of  their  own 
caste,  and  from  their  own  parts.  When,  iu  addition  to  such  signifi- 
cant facts,  at  a  time  when  all  men  were  looking  for  a  great  Jewish 
prince,  a  comet  appeared  soon  after,  nothing  could  be  more  in  keep- 
ing than  that*  men,  to  whom  such  phenomena  were  the  voice  of  God, 
should  set  out  to  pay  homage  to  the  new-bora  King  who  was  to  rule 
the  world. 

At  the  time  when  the  Magi  arrived,  Herod,  now  an  old  man,  was 
sinking  into  the  last  stages  of  disease,  but  was  still  as  jealous  and 
afraid  of  attempts  against  his  throne  as  ever.  Its  steps  were  wet  with 
the  blood  of  his  best-loved  wife,  his  sons,  his  benefactor,  and  of  the 
flower  of  the  nation,  murdered  to  make  it  secure.  Like  our  own 
William  the  Conqueror,  or  Henry  VIII. ,  or  like  Alexander  the  Great, 
or  Nero,  or  Tiberius,  his  character  had  grown  darker  in  his  later  years, 
and  now,  in  his  old  age,  he  sat  alone  in  his  new  palace,  amidst  splen- 
dour of  architecture  greater  if  possible  than  that  of  the  Temple,  lonely, 
hated  and  hating,  his  subjects  Avaiting  impatiently,  in  veiled  rebellion, 
for  his  death.  In  his  own  court,  shortly  before,  a  plot  had  been  dis- 
covered which  had  filled  all  Jerusalem  vrith  commotion.  The  Phari- 
sees, to  the  number  of  6,000,  had  refused  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance, 
and  their  leaders,  whom  the  people  believed  gifted  with  the  power  of 
prophecy,  had  gone  the  length  of  asserting,  that  God  had  determined 
that  Herod  andhis  family  should  be  speedily  driven  from  the  throne, 
to  m.ake  way  for  the  ]\Iessiah.  To  secure  the  fulfilment  of  this  pre- 
diction, the  influence  of  their  firm  supporter,  the  v,dfe  of  Pheroras,  his 
brother,  was  used,  to  carry  the  plot  inside  the  palace,  among  the  ladies 
of  the  court.  Bagoas,  the  eunuch,  as  most  easily  approached,  from 
his  connection  with  the  harem,  was  made  their  tool,  and,  Avith  him,  a 
youth  named  Carus,  the  loveliest  person  of  his  day.  but  loathsomely 
immoral.  Bagoas  was  won  over  to  believe  that  he  would  be  the  father 
of  the  coming'Messiah,  but  Herod  found  out  the  v.-hole,  and  the  con- 
spiracj^  was  quenched  iu  blood.  No  wonder  that,  as  St.  Matthew 
tells  us,  "he  was  troubled,  and  all  Jerusalem  with  him,"  when  the 
news  spread  of  strangers  having  come  on  such  an  errand  as  that  of 
tlie  ^.I;igi.  To  Herod  their  arrival  was  a  fresh  cause  of  jealous  terror : 
to  Jerusalem  a  possible  ground  of  hope. 

Herod  had  often  before  shown  the  craft  bred  by  habitual  suspicion, 
and  was  too  clever  to  take  any  rash  steps  uovv-.  Summoning  the  heads 
of  the  priesthood  and  the  "scribes"  to  his  palace,  he  demanded  of 
them  Avliere  Ciirist  sliould  be  born. 

Jewish  theology  had  already  determined,  correctly,  that  the  Messiah 
was  to  be  of  the  stock  of  Judah,  which  had  fram  the  first  challenged 


104  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

tlie  headship  of  the  tribes,  and  had  been  supreme  since  Ephraim'a 
captivity  in  Assyria.  It  boasted  of  David,  the  ancestor  and  the  pro- 
totype of  the  Messiah,  and  the  words  of  Jacob  that  the  "sceptre" 
should  "not  depart  from  it,  until  Bhiloh  come,"  or,  as  it  maj^be  trans- 
lated, from  the  Greek  version,  "till  he  comes  to  whom  the  dominion, 
belongs,"  had  long  been  understood  to  refer  to  the  Messiah.  "  How 
fair  is  the  King  Messiah, "  says  the  Targum  on  the  jjassage,  "who  will 
rise  from  the  house  of  Judah!"  The  words  of  Zechariah,  "The 
Lord  of  Hosts  hath  visited  the  house  of  Judah,  and  hath  made  them 
as  his  goodly  horse  in  the  battle,"  are  also  applied  by  another  Targum 
to  the  Messiah.  "A  king  will  rise  from  the  children  of  Jesse,"  says 
the  same  Targum  elsewhere,  "and  the  Messiah  ■sl'iH* spring  from  his 
children's  children."  Hence  "the  Son  of  David"  was  a  constant 
name  for  this  expected  Prince. 

As  a  descendant  of  David,  Bethlehem,  David's  town,  was  naturally 
regarded  as  the  place  of  his  birth,  and  hence  the  passage  in  Micah, 
adduced  by  the  priests  and  scribes,  is  also  quoted  by  the  Targums. 
"An  Arab  said  to  a  Jew  at  his  plough,"  says  the  Talmud,  "  'Your 
Messiah  is  born! '  '  What  is  liis  name?  '  asked  the  Jew.  '  Menahem, 
the  son  of  Hezekiah.'  '  Where  was  he  born? '  asked  the  Jew  again. 
'In  the  king's  castle  at  Bethlehem  Judah,"  answered  the  Arab." 

Long  before  the  birth  of  Christ,  it  had  been  felt  that  the  time  for 
the  advent  of  the  Messiah  was  fulfilled,  and  his  non-appearance  even 
led  to  the  fanciful  idea  that  he  was  already  born,  but  kept  himself 
hidden  in  some  unknown  part.  "We  know  this  man  whence  he  is," 
said  the  Jews,  long  after,  of  Jesus,  "but  when  the  Christ  cometh,  no 
man  knoweth  whence  He  is!"  "Thou,  O  anointed  one  of  Israel," 
cries  the  Targum,  "  Thou  who  art  hidden  on  account  of  the  sins  of 
the  people  of  Zion,  Thine  shall  be  the  kingdom!" 

The  prophecy  of  Balaam  had  led  to  the  same  belief  among  the  Jcm'?, 
as  amongst  the  Eastern  Magi — that  a  great  star  would  appear  in  heaven 
when  the  Messiah  came.  "When  the  Messiah  is  to  be  revealed," 
says  the  book  Sohar,  "a  star  will  rise  in  the  east,  shining  in  great 
brightness,  and  seven  other  stars  round  it  will  fight  against  it  on  every 
side."  "  A  star  will  rise  in  the  east  which  is  the  star  of  the  Messiah, 
and  will  remain  in  the  east  fifteen  days."  The  rising  of  Ear-Ccchba, 
"  the  son  of  the  star,"  was  a  terrible  illustration  of  this  belief. 

To  I; ear  of  Magi  coming  from  the  East — the  country  of  Balaam,  the 
reputed  founder  of  the  caste,  announcing  the  appearance  of  "the  star 
of  the  Messiah,  which  they  themselves  expected,  was,  hence,  fitted 
to  rou.se  the  Ralibinical  world  of  Jerusalem  to  the  highest  excitement. 
They  had  already  a  wondrous  estimate  of  the  great  soothsayer,  lor 
Philo,  a  contemporary  of  Christ,  speaks  of  him  as  "  famous  for  his 
gift  of  prophecy."  "  He  was  skilled,"  says  he,  "  in  every  branch  r f 
the  black  art.  He  had  learned  the  greatest  names  (names  of  angels 
and  of  God,  to  be  weed  in  magic),  through  his  knowledge  of  the 
flight  of  birds,  and  did  much  that  was  wonderful  by  their  means. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  105 

He  predicted  rain  In  the  hottest  time  of  summer;  heat  and  drought 
in  the  midst  of  winter ;  unf ruitf ulness  when  the  fields  were  greenest ; 
plenty  in  years  of  famine,  and  the  overflowing  or  drying  up  of 
streams;  the  removal  of  pestilence;  and  a  thousand  other  things,  the 
foretelling  of  which  got  him  boundless  fame,  which  spread  even  to 
this."  The  Rabbis  believed,  indeed,  that  Balaam  himself  was  a 
Rabbi,  who  taught  disciples  the  black  art,  and  that  the  jMagi,  his 
successors,  knew  his  prophecy  of  the  star  of  the  Messiah,  through  the 
tradition  of  his  schools. 

Having  learned  the  expected  birthplace  of  the  Messiah,  which  he 
would  himself  have  known,  had  he  been  a  Jew  and  not  an  Idumean, 
Herod  sent  for  the  iVIagi  and  made  every  inquiry,  under  the  pretext 
that  he,  also,  wished  to  do  homage  to  the  young  child.  But  very 
different  thoughts  were  in  his  heart.  A  descendant  of  David  was 
not  likely  to  be  spared  by  the  man  who  had  murdered  the  last  of  the 
Asmoneans.  The  hope  of  the  world  was  not  to  perish  thus,  how- 
ever, for  the  Magi  having  paid  their  visit  to  Bethlehem,  and  presented 
gifts  to  Him,  as  all  Easterns  do  when  they  come  before  princes  or 
the  great,  a  dream,  sent  from  above,  led  them  to  return  to  their  own 
country  without  revisiting  Jerusalem. 

Balked  in  his  purpose  so  far,  Herod  was  not  the  man  to  stop  at 
half-measures.  A  few  murders  more  were  nothing.  The  most 
thorough  precautions  must  be  taken.  A  band  of  soldiers  was  there- 
fore sent  to  Bethlehem  with  orders  to  kill  every  male  child  near  the 
.supposed  age  of  the  infant  he  dreaded.  Josephus  is  silent  about  this 
slaughter,  but  this  needs  not  surprise  us,  for  what  was  a  Single  deed 
of  blood,  in  a  mountain  village,  among  the  crimes  of  Herod?  Nor  is 
it  alone  in  the  omissions  of  the  historian,  for  his  whole  history  of  the 
centuries  after  the  Return  omits  far  more  than  it  tells. 

Joseph  and  Mary  had  left  Bethlehem  before  this  tragedy,  and  had 
fled  to  the  friendly  shelter  of  Egypt,  at  a  warning  divinely  given. 
How  long  they  remained  there  is  not  known.  All  Palestine  was 
under  Herod,  so  that  he  could  have  reached  them  in  any  part  of  it, 
but  in  Egypt  the  fugitives  were  safe.  It  was,  moreover,  almost 
another  Judea,  for  the  favour  shown  to  their  race  by  the  Ptolemies 
had  induced  as  many  as  a  million  of  Jews  to  settle  in  the  Nile  valley, 
and  of  the  five  quarters  of  Alexandria,  with  300,000  free  citizens, 
Jews  occupied  more  than  two.  They  had  had  a  temple  of  their  own 
at  Leontopolis,  in  the  Delta,  for  about  ICO  'Vears,  though  they  pre- 
ferred to  go  up  to  that  at  Jerusalem;  the  Greek  translation  of  the 
Bible,  which  liad  already  widely  taken  the  place  of  the  Hebrew 
original,  had  been  made  in  Egj'pt,  and  the  Egyptian  Rabbis,  by  their 
efforts  to  turn  Judaism  into  a  philosophic  system  which  should  win 
it  the  favour  of  the  cultivated  Romans  and  Greeks,  had  founded  a 
new  school  of  Jewish  theology,  which  was,  hereafter,  to  influence 
even  Christianity. 

It  has  been  usual  to  suppose  that  Herod  died  in  the  spring  of  tk^ 


10«  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

year  750 — that  is,  within  a  few  months  after  the  birth  of  Christ 
feut  there  seem  to  be  some  reasons  for  believing  that  he  lived  till  753. 

Josephus  says  that  he  died  shortly  before  the  Passover,  and  that  an 
eclipse  of  the  moon  happened  not  long  before.  In  the  year  750  such 
an  eclipse  happened  on  the  13th  of  March;  but  if  he  died  at  the  end 
of  that  month,  or  in  April,  there  must  have  been  a  crowding  of 
events  into  the  short  interval,  beyond  what  seems  possible. 

It  appears,  however,  that  there  was  an  eclipse  of  the  moon  on  the 
night  of  January  the  10th,  in  the  year  753,  and  it  is  urged  that  this 
suits  the  facts  much  better,  by  giving  three  months  instead  of  one  for 
the  incidents  mentioned  by  Josephus,  even  if  Christ  were  born  three 
years  later,  and  by  leaving  ample  time  for  those  related  by  Matthew 
and  Luke.  A  passage  has  been  found  in  a  Calendar  of  the  Feasts,  in 
the  Talmud  which  seems  to  support  this  later  date.  "  The  1st  Shebet 
(or  24th  of  January)  is  a  day  of  double  good  fortune  as  the  day  of 
the  death  of  Herod  and  of  Jannai,  for  it  is  joy  before  God  when  the 
wicked  are  taken  from  this  world."  If  this  be  right,  the  eclipse 
happened  on  the  10th  of  January,  Herod's  death  on  the  24th,  and 
there  was  ample  time  before  April  for  the  burial  and  all  that  followed, 
which  must  have  required  weeks. 

If,  then,  Herod  had  yet  nearly  three  years  to  live  after  the  birth  of 
Christ,  Joseph  and  Mary  must  have  stayed  in  Egypt  that  length  of 
time.  Nor  "would  it  be  ditficult  for  Joseph  to  find  support,  as  the 
different  classes  of  Jewish  workmen  in  Egj'pt  were  associated  in 
guilds,  which  maintained  those  out  of  employment,  much  as  trades' 
unions  do,  now.  The  goldsmiths,  the  silversmiths,  the  nail-makers 
and  needle-makers,  the  coppersmiths,  and  the  weavers,  are  specially 
mentioned  as  being  banded  together  in  such  associations,  which 
supported  any  stranger  of  their  respective  crafts  till  he  found  work. 
The  workers  in  wood,  in  all  probability,  had  such  a  union  as  well; 
and  Joseph,  moreover,  thotigh  called  a  carpenter  in  the  Grospels,  may 
have  been  more,  for  the  word  does  not  necessarily  mean  a  worker  in 
wood  only,  but  a  Avaggon  smith  and  other  occupations  as  well.  In 
its  Hebrew  sense,  it  may -mean,  indeed,  any  kind  of  trade  which  uses 
cutting  instruments,  and  is  used  indifferently  of  workers  in  metal, 
wood,  or  stone. 

Egypt,  though  thus  filled  with  a  Jewish  population,  was,  however, 
no  land  for  Joseph  and  Mary,  nor,  above  all,  for  the  infant  Jesus. 
Neither  the  Greek  inhabitants  of  the  towns  and  cities,  nor  the 
Egyptian  peasantry,  were  very  friendly  to  the  strangers  who,  in 
hundreds  of  thoufjauds,  intruded  into  the  Nile  valley.  The  old 
hatred  between  the  land  of  Mizraim  and  the  sons  of  Israel  seemed 
still,  in  some  measure,  to  survive  on  both  sides.  The  Jews  hated  the 
Egyptian  priesthood,  Avith  its  worthless  secrets  and  its  ridiculous 
symbols,  and  prided  themselves,  as  the  prophets  had  done  of  old,  on 
their  purer  faith.  They  saw,  in  Egypt,  the  incarnation  of  the  most 
corrupt  heathenism,     The  command,  ' '  Thou  shall  make  no  likeuusa 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  107 

engraven  imnce,"  was  nowhere  mnckccl  to  suoh  an  extent  a?  on  the 
banks  of  the  Nile.  Even  Philo  makes  the  remark  that  the  Egj'ptian 
xehgion  is  tlie  most  grovelling  of  all  forms  of  id:)latrv.  since  it  did 
not  look  to  the  heavens  for  objects  of  worship,  but  to  the  earth,  and 
the  slime  of  the  Nile,  with  its  creatures.  Joscphus  derides  the  system 
whicli  worshipped  crocodiles  and  apes,  vipers  and  cats;  and  even  the 
Iioraan  Juvenal  scoffed  at  a  race  who  grew  their  divinities  in  their 
kitchen  garden.  The  Apo-stle  Paul  evidently  had  Egyptian  heathen- 
ism in  his  mind  when  he  speaks  of  idolatry  as  ruiming  to  the  foul 
license  of  changing  the  image  of  the  invisible  God  into  the  likeness 
of  men,  of  birds,  of  four-footed  beasts,  and  creeping  things.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  Jews  suffered  from  the  traditional  hatred  of  their 
race  by  the  Egyptians,  in  the  repetition  of  scandals  and  shameful 
calumnies  against  them,  which  had  survived  since  tlie  Exodus.  It 
was  said  that  the  children  of  Israel,  whom  ISIoses  led  out  of  Egypt, 
were  lepers,  whom  Pharaoh  had  banished  from  the  country;  and 
Greeks  and  natives,  catching  at  the  bitter  slander,  strove  which 
should  turn  it,  and  otliers  equally  contemptuous,  with  most  effect, 
against  their  Jewish  fellow-citizens,  whom  all  eeiually  disliked.  The 
very  fact  that  the  Komans  had  granted  special  favours  to  the  Jews, 
and  that  they  were  rivals  in  trade,  was,  indeed,  itself  sufiicient  to 
account  for  such  an  attitude  of  acrid  raillery  and  depreciation. 
Things  had  at  last  come  to  open  rupture,  and  the  Jewish  community 
of  Alexandria  looked  forward  only  to  ultimate  expulsion  and  ruin. 
It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  Joseph  and  Mary  sought  to  return  as 
soon  as  possible  to  their  own  country. 

The  Apocrjphal  Gospels  are  full  of  extraordinary  miracles  wrought 
by  the  infant  Jesus  while  in  Egypt,  and  of  legends  respecting  him 
and  Mary,  but  none  of  them  are  worth  reproducing.  Memphis  is 
commonly  given  as  the  place  where  Joseph  settled,  and  his  stay  is 
variously  stated  as  having  lasted  three  years,  two,  or  only  one. 

The  star  and  the  Magi  have  naturally  given  rise  to  many  legends. 
The  country,  the  number,  and  the  names  of  the  illustrious  visitors 
are  as  entirely  passed  over  by  the  Apocrypha  as  by  the  Gospels,  but 
later  tradition  abundantly  atones  for  the  omission.  They  were  said 
to  be  the  kings  of  Sheba  and  Seba,  in  Arabia,  come  to  offer  gifts  to 
His  light  and  to  the  brightness  of  His  rising,  but  Persia,  Chaldea, 
Ethiopia,  and  India,  have  each  had  their  advocates.  It  is  equally 
undetermined  in  the  legends,  whether  they  were  Jews  or  heathen, 
though  most  of  the  fathers  favour  the  idea  that  they  were  the  latter, 
and  the  Arabic  Gospel  of  the  Infancy  represents  them  as  worshipping 
lire,  and  as  referring  to  a  prophecy  of  Zoroaster  respecting  the 
Mes.siah.  Their  three  gifts  led  to  the  fancy  that  they  themselves 
were  only  three  in  number,  which  was  supposed  to  correspond  to 
the  three  divisions  of  the  earth  as  then  known,  Europe,  Asia,  and 
Africa.  Sometimes,  however,  they  are  spoken  of  as  twelve,  to 
correspond  with  the   Apostles,   and  their  names  given,    with  the 


108  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  -      ^ 

special  gift  which  each  presented.  Their  Icingdoma  also  are  men- 
tioned, and  their  very  ages,  which  are  made  to  represent  youth,  man- 
hood, and  grey  hairs.  Bede,  indeed,  is  able  to  tell  us  that  Melchior 
was  an  old  man,  with  long  white  hair,  and  a  sweeping  beard,  and 
that  he  gave  the  gold  as  to  a  king;  that  Caspar  was  a  beardless  youth,- 
with  a  ruddy  face,  and  that  he  presented  the  frankincense,  as"  a  gift 
worthy  the  God;  while  Balthasar  was  a  swarthy  strong-bearded  uiau, 
and  gave  the  myrrh  for  the  burial.  In  the  cathedral  at  Cologne, 
visitors  may  yet  see  the  supposed  skulls  of  the  three,  set  in  jewels, 
and  exhibited  in  a  great  gilded  shrine.  They  are  said  to  have  been 
discovered  by  Bishop  Reinald  of  Cologne  in  the  twelfth  century. 

Imagination  has  been  equally  busy  with  the  star.  The  Arabic 
Gospel  of  the  Infancy  says  it  was  an  angel  in  the  form  of  a  star,  and 
several  of  the  Fathers  were  of  the  .same  opinion.  Origen  believed  it 
to  have  been  a  comet.  One  tradition  is  beautiful.  In  the  farthest 
East,  it  says,  lived  a  people  who  had  a  book  which  bore  the  name  of 
iSeth,  and  in  this  Avas  written  the  appearance  of  the  star  of  the 
Messiah,  and  the  offering  of  gifts  to  Him.  This  book  was  handed 
down  from  father  to  son,  generation  after  generation.  Twelve  men 
were  chosen  who  should  watch  for  the  star,  and  when  one  died, 
another  was  chosen  in  his  place.  These  men,  in  the  speech  of  the 
land,  were  called  Magi.  They  went,  each  year,  after  the  wheat-har- 
vest, to  the  top  of  a  mountain,  which  was  called  the  Mountain  of 
Victory.  It  had  a  cave  in  it,  and  was  pleasant  by  its  springs  and 
trees.  At  last  the  star  appeared,  and  in  it  the  form  of  a  little  child, 
and  over  him  the  sign  of  the  cross;  and  the  star  itself  spoke  to  them, 
and  told  them  to  go  to  Judea.  For  two  years,  which  was  the  time  of 
their  journey,  the  star  moved  before  them,  and  they  wanted  neither 
food  nor  drink.  Gregory  of  Tours  adds  that  the  star  sank,  at  last, 
into  a  spring  at  Bethlehem,  where  he  himself  had  seen  it,  and  where 
it  still  may  be  seen,  but  only  by  pure  maidens. 

The  Gospel  of  Matthew,  which  was  written  for  the  Jewish  Chris- 
tians of  Palestine,  has  for  its  primary  aim  the  proof  that  Jesus  was 
the  promised  Messiah,  and  as  nothing  would  weigh  so  much  in  the 
minds  of  men  trained  in  Jewish  ideas,  as  evidences  from  their  own 
Scriptures,  it  abounds  with  quotations  from  them  to  show  how 
prophecy  was  fulfilled  in  our  Saviour.  There  are  five  such  quotation* 
in  the  first  two  chapters,  some  of  which  would  not  perhaps  have  struck 
us,  of  themselves,  as  priTnarily  bearing  on  the  ^lessiah.  In  Christ's 
day,  a  system  of  allegorizing  was  in  vogue  with  the  Rabbis  of  the 
various  Jewish  schools,  as  it  afterwards  came  to  be  in  the  Christian 
Church,  and  this,  though  familiar  to  those  for  whom  the  Gospel  was 
first  written,  is  not  so  much  so  to  us.  How  far,  in  some  cases,  it  is 
intended  to  be  understood  that  the  passages  quoted,  originally  re- 
ferred to  the  events  to  which  they  are  applied,  has  been  a  subject  of 
much  controversy,  for  the  sacred  writers  themselves  evidently  intend 
them  to  be  understood,  in  some  instances,  sm  a  divine  fulfilment  ol 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  109 

prophecy,  but,  in  others,  only  as  an  illustration  and  .parallel.  Per- 
haps the  rule  laid  down  l)y  Tholuck  is  as  nearly  right  as  any 
"Where  parallels  are  adduced  in  the  New  Testament,"  says  he, 
"from  the  Old,  wliether  it  be  in  words  of  the  prophets,  or  in  institu- 
tions or  events,  it  is  to  be  taken  for  granted,  in  general,  tloat  tlie 
intention  was  we  should  regard  them  as  divinely  designed.  On  the 
contrary,  there  are  other  cases,  as  for  example,  Matthew  ii.  17, 
■where  the  plirase  '  that  it  might  be  fulfilled '  is  not  used,  but  only 
'  then.'  In  these  the  sacred  writer  is  to  be  regarded  as  following  the 
custom  of  liis  day,  by  expressing  his  own  thoughts  in  the  words  of 
Scripture. " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

NAZARETH,    AJsD   THE  EARLY  DAYS  OF  JESUS. 

The  exceeding  difficulty  of  telling  the  story  of  a  life  like  that  of 
Jesus  Christ,  a  man  and  yet  divine,  one  having  all  power  given  Him 
in  heaven  and  in  earth,  and  j'et  like  other  men  in  all  respects  except 
sin,  is  at  once  evident,  on  the  least  reflection.  Indeed,  it  is  not  so 
much  difl^cult  as  impossible,  to  tell  it  as  such  conditions  demand,  for 
human  intellect  can  only  comprehend  the  created,  not  the  Creator. 
The  Eternal  still  dwells  in  thick  darkness;  no  eye  hath  seen  or  can 
see  Ilim:  His  very  attributes  utterly  transcend  our  compreliension. 
In  Jesus  Christ,  as  at  once  God  and  Man,  we  have  opposite  concep- 
tions which  we  may  humbly  receive,  but  can  neither  harmonize, 
explain,  nor  adequately  express.  Man,  as  such,  is  not  almighty,  but 
frail  as  a  flower;  not  omniscient,  but,  even  at  his  highest  wisdom,  a 
child  on  the  shore  of  tlie  Infinite ;  not  omnipresent,  but  fixed  at  any 
given  moment  to  one  minute  spot.  We  cannot  conceive  what  is  im- 
plied in  a  nature  of  wliich  almighty  power,  omniscience,  and  omni- 
presence are  attributes ;  far  less  present  them,  adequately,  in  words, 
as  united  with  human  weakness  and  local  limitation.  The  ^lan 
Christ  Jesus  may  be  realized.  His  acts  and  Avords  maybe  related; 
His  divine  powers  may  be  illustrated  by  their  recorded  exhibitions, 
and  there  may  be  the  most  sincere  admission  of  His  highest  claims; 
but  the  narfative  must  still  inevitably,  as  a  wliole,  be  that  of  the 
human  side  of  His  nature  only. 

It  .seems  necessary  to  remind  the  reader  of  this  at  the  point  which 
■we  have  reached,  to  prevent  misconceptions.  We  yield  to  none  in 
reverence  to  J'esus  Christ  as  "God  manifest  in  the  tlcsh;"  but  the 
mystery  of  a  nature  which  could  be  thus  described  must  ever  remain 
beyond"  tlie  po'wer  of  adequate  presentation  in  any  narrative  of  His 
eartldy  life. 

Having  heard  of  Herod's  death,  Joseph  determined  to  return  to 
Palestine,  ■with  the  intention  of  settling  permanently  at  Bethlehem. 
Oa  reaciiing  Judea,  howevsr,  and  fmding  Archelaus  liad  been  ap- 


no  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

pointed  ethnarch,  the  dread  of  one  who,  of  all  the  family,  was 
believed  to  be  tHe  most  like  the  hated  tyrant,  his  father  Herod, — the 
tumults  and  massacres  in  Jerusalem  at  his  accession,  and  the  chronic 
disturbance  of  the  country,  induced  him  to  choose  his  former  place 
of  residence,  in  Galilee,  instead. 

In  Nazareth,  he  was  still  under  the  rule  of  another  of  Herod's 
sons,  Herod  Autipas — a  man  of  no  higher  principle  than  his  brother, 
as  his  shameless  life  abundantly  proved,  l)ut  less  likely  to  be  goaded 
into  violent  acts  towards  his  people,  from  receiving  less  irritation  at 
their  hands,  than  Archelaus  had  to  bear,  at  tho?e  of  the  fiercely  or- 
thodox population  of  Judea.  With  the  exception  of  the  dead  Anti- 
pater,  moreover,  Archelaus  was  the  most  tyiaunical  and  self-willed  of 
the  sons  of  Herod,  and  he  was  not  at  all  unlikely  to  follow  up  the 
suspicious  cruelty  of  his  father,  which  had  ltd  to  the  Bethlehem  mas- 
sacre, should  any  hint  betray  the  return  of  the  supposed  rival  to  his 
dominions.  Herod  Antipas,  on  the  other  hand,  was  far  less  likely  to 
trouble  himself  about  any  claimant  of  the  throne  of  Judea,  a  prov- 
ince unconnected  with  his  government.  Thus,  Nazareth  became, 
once  more,  a  year  or  two  before  the  commencement  ( f  our  present 
era,  the  habitation  of  the  infant  Jesus.  Here  He  was  to  spend  all 
His  future  life,  except  part  of  its  last  few  years. 

Nazareth  lies  among  the  hills,  which  extend  for  about  six  miles  be- 
tween the  plains  of  El  Battauf  on  the  north,  and  Esdraelon  on  the 
south.  It  is  on  the  north  side  of  the  latter,  and  overlooks  one  of  the 
numerous  little  folds  or  bays  of  the  great  plain,  which  are  seen 
wherever  the  hills  open.  The  village  lies  on  the  northern  side  of  this 
green  bay,  and  is  reached  by  a  narroAV,  steep,  and  rough,  mountain 
path,  over  which  the  villagers  have  to  bring  their  harvests  labor- 
iously from  the  plain  beneath,  on  camels,  mules,  and  donkeys.  If  the 
traveller  ride  up  this  path  in  March,  when  Palestine  is  at  its  best,  he 
will  be  charmed  by  the  bright  green  of  the  plains  and  the  beauty  of 
the  flowers,  everywhere  lighting  up  the  otherwise  barren  hills,  which, 
at  best,  yield  scanty  pasture  for  sheep  and  goats.  The  red  anemone 
and  the  pink  phlox  are  the  commonest ;  rock  roses,  white  and  yellow, 
are  plentiful,  with  a  few  pink  ones,  the  cytisus  here  and  there  cov- 
ers the  ground  with  golden  flowers,  and  the  pink  convolvulus, 
marigold,  wild  geranium,  and  red  tulip,  are  varied  by  several  kinds 
of  orchis — the  asphodel,  the  wild  garlic,  mignonette,  sah^ia,  pimper- 
nel, and  white  or  pink  cyclamen.  As  the  path  ascends,  the  little  fer- 
tile valley  beneath,  rvmning  east  and  west,  gradually  opens  to  about 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  breadth,  covered  with  fields  and  gardens, 
divided  by  cactus  hedges,  and  running  into  the  hills  for  about  a 
mile.  Near  the  village,  beside  the  pathway,  about  an  hour  from  Es- 
draelon,  is  a  spring,  from  which  the  water  pours  from  several  tap? 
in  a  slab  of  masonry,  falling  into  a  trough  below,  for  camels,  horseSj 
asses,  and  cattle. 

The  distant  view  of  the  village  itself,  in  spring,  is  beautiful.     Ita 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  Ill 

streets  rise,  In  terraces,  on  the  hill-slopes,  towards  the  north-west. 
The  hills,  here  and  there  broken  into  perpendicular  faces,  rise  ahovc 
it,  in  an  amphitheatre  rovnid,  to  a  height  of  about  five  hundred  feet, 
and  shut  it  in  from  the  bleak  "winds  of  winter.  The  flat-roofed  houses, 
built  of  the  j^ellowish- white  limestone  of  the  neighbourhood,  shine 
in  the  sun  with  a  dazzling  brightness,  from  among  gardens,  and  fig- 
trees,  olives,  cypresses,  and  tlie  white  and  scarlet  blossoms  of  the 
orange  and  pomegranate.  A  mosque,  with  its  graceful  minaret,  a 
larii'e  convent,  from  whose  gardens  rise  tall  cypresses,  and  a  modest 
church,  are  the  principal  buildings.  The  streets  are  narrow,  poor, 
and  dirty,  and  the  shops  are  mere  recesses  on  each  side  of  them,  but 
the  narrowness  shuts  out  the  heat  of  the  sun,  and  the  miniature  shops 
are  large  enough  for  the  local  trade.  Numbers  of  do2:s  which  belong 
to  the  place,  and  have  no  owner,  lie  aliout,  as  in  all  Eastern  towns 
Small  gardens,  rich  in  green  chimps  of  olive-trees  and  stately  palms, 
break  the  monotonous  jellow  of  the  rocks  aud  houses,  while  doves 
coo,  and  birds  of  many  kinds  twitter,  ia  the  branches,  or  flit  across 
the  open.  The  bright  colours  of  the  roller,  the  hoopoe,  the  sunbird, 
or  the  bulbul,  catch  the  eye  as  one  or  other  darts  swiftly  past,  and 
many  birds  familiar  in  England  are  seen  or  heard,  if  tlie  traveller's 
stay  be  lengthened,  for  of  the  323  l.irds  found  in  Palestine,  172  are 
also  British.  The  song  of  the  lark  Hoods  a  thousand  acres  of  sky 
with  melody;  the  restless  titmouse,  tlie  willow- wren,  the  blackcap, 
the  hedge-sparrow,  the  Avhitethroat,  or  the  nightingale,  flit  or  war- 
ble, on  tlie  hill-side,  or  in  the  cactus  liedges,  Avhile  the  rich  notes  of 
the  song-thrush  or  blackliird  rise  from  the  green  clumps  in  the  valley 
beneath.  The  wagtail  runs  over  the  pebbles  of  the  brook  as  here  at 
home;  the  common  sjiarrow  haunts  the  streets  and  house-tops; 
swallows  and  swifts  skim  the  hill-sides  and  the  grassy  meadows; 
and,  in  winter,  the  robin  redbreast  abounds.  Great  butterflies  flit 
•over  the  hill-sides,  amongst  the  flowers,  while  flocks  of  sheep  and 
goats  dot  the  slopes  and  the  little  plain  below.  Through  this  a 
brook  ripples,  the  only  one  in  the  valley,  and  thither  the  women 
and  maidens  go  to  fetch  water  in  tall  jars,  for  household  use.  It 
is  the  one  spring  of  the  town,  and,  hence,  must  have  been  that 
which  the  mothers  and  daughters  of  Christ's  day  frequented.  It 
rises  under  tlie  choir  of  the  present  Greek  church,  and  is  led  down 
Uie  hillside  in  a  covered  channel.  An  ojien  space  near  the  church 
(s  the  threshing-floof  of  the  village,  where,  after  harvest,  the  yoked 
o.xen  draw  the  threshing-sledges  slowly,  round  and  round,  over  the 
grain,  in  the  open  air.  No  wonder  that  in  spring  Nazareth  .should 
have  been  thought  a  paradise,  or  that  it  should  be  spoken  of  as 
perhaps  the  only  spot  in  Palestine  where  the  mind  feels  relief  from 
the  unequalled  desolation  that  reigns  nearly  everywhere  else. 

Later  in  the  year,  the  hills  around  lose  the  charm  of  their  spring 
flowers.  They  are  then  grey  and  barren,  divided  by  dry  gullies, 
with  no  colour  to  relieve  their  tame  and  commonplace  outlines,  the 


112  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

same  on  every  side.  But  even  then,  the  rich  hues  at  sunset,  with  its 
tints  reflected  from  the  rocks,  the  long-drawn  shadows  of  afternoon, 
and  the  contrasts  of  light  and  dark  on  a  cloudy  day,  give  frequent 
charms  to  a  landscape  in  itself  unattractive. 

Nazareth  lies  nearly  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the  sea,  and  some 
of  the  hills  which  cluster  round,  and  shut  it  in,  rise,  as  has  been 
said,  about  five  hundred  feet  higher.  It  is  a  mountain  village,  only 
to  be  reached  from  the  plain  by  a  tedious  climb. 

The  Nazareth  hills  are  of  different  kinds  of  white  limestone.  A 
thick  bed  of  this  rock — containing  flints,  and  merging,  above,  into 
the  marl  which  is  still  found  at  Nablus,  and  into  a  more  thinly  bedded 
soft  limestone  beneath — originally  covered  the  whole  country,  from 
Samaria  to  Nazareth.  This  stone,  though  hard  when  exposed  to  the 
air,  is  so  soft,  where  fresh,  that  it  can  be  cut  like  chalk.  Beneath  it 
lies  hard  dolomitic  limestone.  The  hills  are  the  remains  of  these 
different  rocks,  after  denudation  through  a  long  geological  period, 
their  strata  being  more  or  less  disturbed  by  volcanic  upheaval  and 
contortion.  Three  centres  of  eruptive  outbursts  are  visible  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Esdraelon — one  in  the  range  of  Gilboa,  on  the 
south-east;  another  at  Little  Hermon,  betAveen  Gilboa  and  Tabor; 
and  the  third  in  the  south-eastern  part  of  the  Carmel  range,  at  Jebel 
Iskander — no  fewer  than  twenty-nine  outbursts  of  basalt,  on  the  east, 
west,  and  north  of  the  plain,  marking  their  former  activity.  The 
limestone  beds  are  everywhere  more  or  less  tilted  up  by  this  volcanic 
energy.  The  rich  dark  soil  of  Esdraelon  has  been  formed  from  the 
wearing  down  of  the  basalt  which  now  forms  part  of  some  of  the 
neighbouring  hills,  and  from  strata  of  volcanic  mud  derived  from  it. 
Tlie  smaller  plains  of  Palestine  are  of  a  more  claj'ey  soil,  the  hills 
round  them  being  of  limestone  or  basalt,  presenting,  at  times,  sudden 
and  precipitous  cliffs,  and  the  original  soft,  chalky  Umestone  remain- 
ing still  on  their  tops. 

The  free  air  of  their  mountain  home  seems  to  have  had  its  effect  on 
the  people  of  Nazareth.  Its  bright-eyed,  happy  children  and  comely 
women  strike  the  traveller,  and  eventheir  dress  diliers  from  that  of 
other  parts.  Through  Palestine  generally,  the  frequent  and  exces- 
sive changes  of  climate  expose  the  peasants,  or  fellahin,  to  rheuma- 
tism, coughs,  and  bronchitis;  and,  as  a  protection,  the  men  in  many 
parts  wear  a  sheepskin  coat,  on  warm  days  as  well  as  cold.  The 
women,  however,  make  no  change  in  their  dress,  which  usually  con- 
sists of  nothing  but  a  long  bl4e  garment  tied  in*  round  the  waist,  a 
bonnet  of  red  cloth,  decorated  with  an  edging  or  roll  of  silver  coins, 
bordering  the  forehead  and  extending  to  the  ears,  reminding  one  of 
iLe  crescent-shaped  female  head-dress  worn  by  some  of  the  Egyptian 
priestesses.  Over  this,  a  veil  or  shawl  of  coarse  white  cotton  ■ 
thrown,  which  hangs  down  to  the  waist,  serving  to  cover  the  mo^-d 
while  the  bosom  is  left  exposed,  for  Eastern  and  Wester"-  ^^  ^'^  * 
decorum  differ  in  some  things. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  113 

The  people  of  the  plain  of  Esdraelon  are  different.  Their  dark 
skins,  bright  ej'es,  white  teeth,  and  wonderful  taste  in  the  combina- 
tion of  the  brightest  colours,  draw  the  attention.  Nothing  more  pic- 
turesque could  be  desired  than  the  women,  in  their  red  veils  and  long 
pointed  sleeves;  carrying  water;  the  dark  camel-drivers,  in  black 
head-dresses,  and  striped  brown  and  white  abbas,  riding  on  diminu- 
tive donkeys,  before  the  train  of  clumsy,  swinging,  dull-coloured 
camels;  the  rich  sheikh,  in  a  purple  jacket,  scarlet  boots,  thin  wliite 
cloak,  and  yellow  head-dress;  his  grey  mare,  with  a  scarlet  saddle, 
with  long  brown  tassels  at  its  peaks;  alternating  with  the  herds  of 
black  goats  and  diminutive  red  oxen. 

The  various  costumes  which  seem  peculiar  to  Nazareth  are  not  less 
^striking.  The  short  abba  or  cloak  of  the  men,  and  their  gorgeous 
kefeyeiis,  or  kerchiefs,  folded  triangularly,  and  thrown  over  the  head, 
80  as  to  fall  over  tlic  neck  and  shoulders;  the  white  veil,  the  silk 
dresses,  the  broad  scarves,  and  many-coloured  trousers,  red,  greefl, 
blue,  and  yellow,  of  the  women,  give  a  crowd  a  peculiarly  picturesqua 
appearance,  and  differ  materially  from  the  sordid  dresses  of  the  poorer 
southern  villages.  In  a  country  where  nothing  changes,  through  age 
after  age,  the  dress  of  to-day  is  very  likely,  in  most  respects,  the  same 
as  it  was  two  thousand  years  ago,  though  the  prevailing  colour  of  the 
Hebrew  dress,  at  least  in  the  better  classes,  was  the  natural  white  of 
the  materials  employed,  which  the  fuller  made  even  whiter. 

One  characteristic  of  the  liills  round  Nazareth  existing  already  in 
Christ's  day,  and,  indeed,  much  earlier,  is  a  striking   proof  of   the 
denseness  of  the  population  of  Palestine  in  former  times,  and  of  its 
restless  iuduslry  and  energy.     Many  of  them  are  honeycombed  with 
countless   excavations  of   various   kinds.     Cemeteries   of  over   two 
>vundred  tombs,  cut   in  the  soft  rock,  some  of  them  large  tunnelled 
vaults,  with  separate  hollows  for  twelve  bodies;    large  numbers  of 
cisterns,  grape  and  olive  presses,  store  or  dwelling  caves,  wells  and 
Juarries,   arc   everywJiere  abundant,   as,  indeed,  they  are   over  the 
whole  country,  but  especially  in  the  Sheplielah  or  Philistine  plain. 
The  cisterns  are  from  twenty  to  thirty  feet  deep,  shaped  like  a  church 
oell  or  inverted  funnel,  about  two  and  a  half  feet  across  at  the  mouth, 
and  fifteen  to  twenty-five  at  the  bottom,  the  whole  cut  out  of  the  solid 
limestone,  showing  that  Palestine  must  always  have  been,  for  a  good 
part  of  the  year,  a'waterless  country,  needing  to  stoi-e  up  the  rains  of 
autumn  and'  spring.     It  is  not  uncommon  to  find  groups  of  from  three 
to  ten,  or  even  more,  of  these  fine  excavations  together.     What  must 
liave  been  the  density  of  the  pojtulatiou,  what  its  civilization  and  iu- 
Justry,  to  leave  such  remains  in  sucli  numbers'? 
The  Nazareth  hills  are,  for  the  most  part,  neglected  now,  but  were 
''lized  in  Christ's  day  as  the  hill-sides  along  the  Rhine  or  the  lime- 
to -c!  of  Malta  are  at  present,  by  terrace  cukTvation.    Traces  of  these 
traffic  ou-ixces  may  still  be  seen.    All  tlie  loose  stones  were  gathered 
Other  notice  rough  walls  along  the  sides  of  the  hills,  like  so  many, 


114  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

steps,  as  at  Bethlehem  stiU.  The  tops  of  the  strips  thus  gained,  after 
being  levelled,  produced  grapes  and  all  kinds  of  fruit  in  great  abund- 
ance. The  supporting  walls,  having  been  long  neglected,  have  fallen 
down,  and  well-nigh  disappeared ;  the  earth  once  behind  them  has 
been  washed  away  by  the  heavy  rains,  and  the  slo-pes,  except  iu 
spring,  when  the  flowers  are  in  their  glory,  show  little  but  barren  rock. 
The  view  from  Nazareth  itself  is  limited,  as  might  be  ejcpected 
from  its  nestling  in  an  amphitlieatre  of  hills  that  shut  in  the  little 
valley,  except  to  the  west,  where  it  opens  on  Esdraelon.  From  the 
top  of  the  hill  at  the  back  of  the  village,  to  the  north,  however,  it  is  very 
different.  Galilee  lies  spread  out  like  a  map  at  one's  feet.  The  eye 
wanders  over  the  plain  of  Esdraelon  in  its  broad  western  sweep. 
Three  hours  to  the  east,  it  rests  on  the  round  outline  of  Tabor,  with 
its  woods  of  oaks  and  pistachios,  and,  beyond  it,  on  the  ^welling  mass 
of  Jebel  el  Dahj-,  or  little  Ilernion,  v»hicli  closes  in  the  plain,  at  about 
th«  same  height  as  Tabor.  Eanging  southwards,  the  mountains  of 
Gilboa,  four  or  five  hundred  feet  lower,  shut  in  the  lowlands;  while 
far  bej'ond  them,  across  the  h.idden  course  of  the  Jordan,  rise  the 
mountains  of  Gilead.  Looking  to  the  south,  across  Esdraelon.  the 
hills  of  Samaria  are  seen,  through  the  openings  of  the  wooded  lieights 
of  the  Carmel  range,  reaching  northward  to  join  it.  Turning  slowly 
towards  the  west,  the  whole  lengtii  of  the  Carmel  hills,  running  thirty 
miles  north-west  to  the  coast,  seem,  in  the  pure  ah'  of  these  parts,  as 
if  close  at  hand.  About  twenty  nules  off,  almost  dircjctly  west,  rises 
the  headland  of  Carmel;  its  top  crowned  with  woods  of  oaks  and  tig- 
trees,  its  slopes  varied  with  orcliards,  laurels,  and  olives,  and  its  sea- 
ward face  sinking  abruptly  into  the  Mediterranean  waters.  Nestling 
at  the  northern  base  of  the  hill,  on  the  sea-shore,  the  white  houses  of 
Haifa  arrest  the  eye.  The  blue  waters,  specked  witli  sails,  stretch 
far  away,  bej'ond,  to  the  distant  horizon.  The  whole  Bay  of  Acre  is 
seen,  thovigh  Acre  itself  lies  too  low  to  be  visible.  The  brown  sandy 
shores,  sweepin.g  far  to  the  north,  are  hidden  only  here  and  there,  by 
intervening  hills.  Leaving  the  coast,  and  looking  from  north-west  to 
north,  the  panorama  shows  a  sea  of  hills — the  highlands  of  Galilee,-^ 
broken  by  the  fertile  upland  plain  of  Battauf,  close  at  hand,  with  the 
ruins  of  the  once  famous  Sepphoris,  on  a  solitary  hill  at  its  southern 
edge,  and  beyond,  on  its  northern  slope,  the  cottages  of  Cana  of  Gal- 
ilee. In  the  background,  twenty  miles  away,  tower  the  hills  of  tatVd, 
2,770  feet  above  the  sea,  rising  above  the  ever-heightening  summits  oi 
the  highlands  of  Upper  Galilee.  But  Safed  itself  is  only  midway  in 
the  landscape.  j^Iountains  rise  beyond  mountains,  to  the  north,  till 
they  culminate  more  than  sixty  miles  off,  as  the  crow  flies,  in  the 
highest  peaks  of  Ucrmon,  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level.  As 
the  eye  wanders  round  to  the  point  from  which  it  began  its  survey, 
hills  beyond  hills  still  meet  the  viev/,  stretching  away,  with  rounded 
tops,  towards  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  and  rising  a!];ain,  beyond  A*,  to  & 
greater  height  on  its  eastern  shores. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  113 

In  the  \ovni  of  Nazareth,  then  doubtless  much  larger,  Jesus  spent 
most  of  His  life.  Amidst  the.se  hills,  in  these  streets,  He  was  brouiilil 
up  as  a  child ;  and  ' '  grew, "  as  a  boy,  ' '  in  wi.sdom  and  stature. "  Here, 
for  many  years,  He  laboured  as  a  man  for  His  daily  bread.  This  was 
the  landscape  on  which  He  dailjf^  gazed,  and  it  was  along  these  moun- 
tain paths  He  walked.  He  must  often  have  stood  on  the  hill-top  from 
which  the  whole  country  is  seen,  and  the  little  bay  of  the  great  plain 
below  the  village,  with  its  encircling  heights,  must  have  been  familiar 
to  Him  in  its  least  detail.  If  there  be  a  spot  to  which  a  Christian 
pilgrim  might  rightly  turn,  as  the  most  sacred  i.i  the  history  of  his 
faith,  it  is  Nazareth. 

The  influence  of  such  a  home  on  the  character  of  its  people  must 
have  been  marked.  Less  lovely,  perhaps,  than  the  plain  of  Geunesa- 
reth,  on  the  other  side  of  the  hills  on  the  north-east,  it  was,  yet,  a 
place  fitted,  alike  by  the  dreamy  quiet  of  its  environment  of  heights, 
the  surpassing  view  from  the  hill  above  it,  the  beauty  of  eartli  and 
sky,  and  the  soul-inspiring  purity  of  its  mountain  air,  to  form  true- 
hearted  and  generous  children  of  nature,  quick  in  intellect,  bright  in 
imagination,  and  noble  in  higher  characteristics.  Yet,  with  all  its 
seclusion,  the  position  of  Nazareth  checked  any  narrow  onesidedness. 
The  wonderful  landscape  from  its  hill-top  made  this  irhpossible.  The 
great,  rich,  Sepphoris,  the  capital  of  Galilee,  at  once  a  town  and  a 
fortress,  was  scarcely  three  hours  distant,  Tiberias  was  only  eight,  and 
a  crown  of  populous  villages  rose  on  all  sides,  arovmd.  The  great 
high  road — known  even  in  the  days  of  Isaiah  as  "the  way  of  the 
sea" — ran  across  the  plain  of  El  Battauf,  just  behind  Nazareth,  from 
Damascus  to  Ptolemais.  Another  caravan  road,  from  Damascus  to 
Judea  and  Egypt,  crossed  Esdraelon  at  the  foot  of  the  Nazareth  hill, 
meeting  a  third,  from  the  north,  at  Megiddo,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
plain.  The  Roman  road  from  Syria,  moreover,  after  passing  through 
Berytus,  Sidon,  Tyre,  and  f  tolemais,  on  the  coast,  ran,  by  way  'of 
Sepphoris,  through  Nazareth,  to  Samaria,  Jerusalem,  and  the  south. 
Nazareth  was,  thus,  at  the  crossing-place  of  the  nations,  where  com 
merce  or  military  changes  gave  daily  familiarity  with  all  the  neigh- 
bouring races — tlie  Syrian,  the  Phenician,  the  Arab,  and  the  Roman; 
and  where  there  was  so  much  iutercom-se,  there  must  have  been 
greater  liberality  than  in  other  parts  of  Jewish  territory. 

It  has  been  usual  to  think  of  Nazareth  as  a  rough  and  fierce  place, 
with  a  doubtful  character  even  for  morals.  The  rejection  of  its 
greatest  Son  by  his  fellow-townsmen  has  been  thought  to  show  their 
rude  coarseness ;  but  Jesus  offers  a  milder  explanation — that  a  prophi't 
has  no  honour  in  his  own  country.  Yet,  even  in  rejecting  him,  only 
a  rough  and  coarse  people  would  have  acted  so  rudely.  The  ex- 
clamation of  Nathanael  seems  to  imply  the  doubtful  morality  of  the 
town,  perhaps  from  its  position  in  the  midst  of  constant  heathen 
tratfic  on  the  great  roads;  and  this  appears  to  correspond  with  the 
Other  notices  of  it  in   the  Grospcls.     If  it  were  so,  it  would  only 


116  THE  LIFE   OF   CHRIST. 

hei2:liten  the  wbnder  that  such  a  shoot  should  grow  .from  ground  so 
dry! 

Of  the  first  thirty  years  of  Christ's  life  we  know  nothing,  except 
;he  one  incident  of  Ills  visit  to  Jerusalem,  witli  Joseph  and  Mary, 
when  a  boy  of  twelve  years  old.  It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to  im- 
agine at  least  some  of  the  influences  which  must  have  had  their  part 
in  the  development  of  that  "wisdom"  in  which  He  "grew,"  as  Hia 
childhood  and  boyhood  passed  away. 

"It  must  be  granted,"  says  Ewald,  "that  in  no  ancient  people  ha?f 
family  life  maintained  itself  so  powerfully  as  in  Israel,  during  the 
early  days  of  the  outward  strength  of  the  nation,  or  with  so  little 
weakening  and  deterioration  as  during  the  period  of  its  gradual 
decline."  In  their  patriarch  Isaac  and  his  wife  Rebecca,  they  had  ai? 
abiding  ideal  which  it  seemed  the  highest  felicity  to  copy.  Woman, 
among  the  Jews,  was  never  so  dependent  and  despised  as  among  other 
Eastern  races,  for  the  Law  proclaimed  that  she  was  bone  of  man's 
bone,  and  flesh  of  his  flesh,  and  designed  to  be  a  helpmeet  for  him. 
In  the  picture  of  Eve  as  the  one  wife  of  Adam  polygamy  was  in- 
directly censured,  and  it  was  no  less  so  in  t!ie  command  given  in 
Eden,  that  "a  man  should  leave  his  fatl;er  and  m.other  and  cleave 
unto  his  wife,  and  that  they  should  be  cne  flesh."  Hence  it  was 
never  in  much  favour  among  the  Jews,  and  gradually  gave  p^acc 
to  the  original  law.  Indeed,  it  was  at  any  time  rather  a  feature 
of  royal  or  princely  ostentation  than  a  characteristic  of  ordinary 
life. 

The  Book  of  Proverbs  throws  great  light  on  the  position  of  woman 
in  Israel,  and,  incidentally,  on  her  place  ar.d  occupations  in  the  house- 
hold.     "A  gracious  woman,"  we  are  told,   "retaineth  honour;"  "a 
wise  woman  buildeth  her  house,"  that  is,  establishes  her  family;  and 
"the  price  of  a  virtuous  woman   is  set   far  above  that  of  rubies." 
Instead  of  being  the  playthings  or  slaves  of  man,  women  are  taught 
that  they  may  be  his  helpers  and  noblest  friends.     "The  heart  of  the 
husband  of  the  virtuous  woman,"  says  King  Lemuel, 
"Doth  safely  tru.st  in  her,  so  that  he  shall  not  want  for  gain. 
She  will  do  him  good  and  not  harm  all  the  days  of  her  life. 
She  seeketh  wool,  and  flax,  and  worketh  with  diligent  hands! 
She  is  like  the  merchant  ships;  she  bringeth  her  food  from  afar. 
She  riseth  also  while  it  is  yet  night,  and  giveth  meat  to  her  household, 
And  the  day's  work  to  her  maidens. 
She  considereth  a  field  and  buyeth  it;  with  the  fruit  of  her  hands  she 

planteth  a  vineyard. 
She  girdeth  her  loins  with  strength,  and  maketh  strong  her  arms. 
She  sees  that  her  trading  yields  good  profit :  her  lamp  is  kept  burn- 
ing by  night. 
'She  lays  her  hands  on  the  spindle,  and  her  hands  hold  the  distaff. 
She  stretcheth  out  her  hand  to  the  poor;  yea,  she  reacheth  forth  her 
Iiands  to  the  needy. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  117 

She  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  her  household;  for  all  her  childreu 

are  clothed  with  scarlet  wool. 
She  maketh  herself  rolK's :  her  clothing  is  silk  and  purple. 
Her  husband  is  known  in  the  gates,  wlien  he  sitteth  among  the  elders 

of  the  land. 
She  maketh  line  linen,  and  selleth  it;  and  delivereth  girdles  imto  the 

merchant. 
Strength  and  honour  are  her  clothing:  and  she  smiles  at  days  to  come. 
She  openeth  her  mouth  with  wisdom;  and  in  her  tongue  is  the  law  of 

kindness. 
She  looketh  well  to  the  ordering  of  her  household,  and  eateth  not  the  . 

bread  of  idleness. 
Her  sons  rise  up  and  praise  her;    her  hu,sband  also,  and  he  extols 

her; — 
'  Many  daughters  have  done  virtuously^  but  tliou  excellest  them  all. ' 
Gracefulness  is  deceitful,  and  beauty  is  a  breath,  but  a  woman  that 

fears  Jehovah,  she  shall  be  praised. 
Give  her  the  honour  that  the  fruit  of  her  hands  deserves;  her  worlcs 

are  the  praise  of  all,  in  the  gates." 

No  literature  of  any  ng-i  offers  a  finer  ideal  of  the  Wife  and  Mother 
than  this  Hebrew  poem,"  written  not  less  than  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred years  ago,  when  the  hi.jtor/  of  Greece  was  still  the  era  of  fable, 
and  Rome  was  little  more  than  a  rude  fort  on  the  top  of  the  Palatine 
liill.  That  it  is  a  separate  poem,  inserted  in  this  collection  of  Prov- 
erbs, is  seen  from  its  construction,  each  verse  beginning  witli  the 
successive  letters  of  the  He'.jrew  alphabet,  in  regular  order,  with  the 
design,  no  doubt,  of  helping  llie  im;mory  to  retain  it.  For  hundreds 
of  years  before  Mary's  day  it  had  been  on  the  Ups  of  every  Jewish 
maiden,  for  the  words  of  tlie  sacred  books  were  familiar  to  the  whole 
Jewish  race,  as  no  part  of  any  other  literature,  so  far  as  we  know, 
has  ever  been  to  any  people.  The  picture  of  loving  fidelity,  ceaseless 
industry,  prudence,  management,  charity,  thrift,  wisdom,  self-re- 
spect; of  noble  reveren -e,  rising  from  the  husband  on  earth  to  God 
above,  and  of  motherly  virtue  •;  towards  her  children,  must  have  kin- 
dled high  aspirations  in  mxny  a  Jewish  wife.  It  cannot  be  wrong  to 
believe'that,  in  her  sphere,  Ivlary  realized  this  ideal,  both  in  her  ac- 
tivities and  in  her  character,  ani  that  it  had  its  share  in  the  spiritual 
development  of  her  wondrous  child. 

The  relation  of  the  Jewish  husband  to  his  wife  was  equally  strik- 
ing. If  he  were  her  Isaac,  she  was  his  Rebecca.  "A  good  wife  is  a 
great  gift  of  God,"  says  the  son  of  Sirach,  "to  him  that  fears  God  is 
she  given."  "Joy  to  the  man  who  has  such  a  wife,"  says  he  again, 
"for  the  number  of  his  days  is  doubled."  "Honour  your  wife  that 
you  may  be  rich  in  the  joy  of  your  home,"  says  the  Talmud.  "Is 
your  wife  little?"  says  another  Jewi.sh  proverb,  also  quoted  in  the 
Talmud,  "then  bow  down  to  her  and  speak" — that  is,  do  nothing 
without  her  advice,     "in  eating  and  drinking,"  says  a  Rabbi,  " let  a 


118  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

man  k«ep  within  his  means ;  in  his  own  Cress  let  him  spend  as  his 
means  allow;  but  lot  him  honour  his  wife  and  children  to  the  very 
edge  of  his  power,  for  they  are  dependent  on  him,  but  he  himself  is 
dependent  on  God  whose  word  made  the  world. "  The  humour  that 
marks  the  Jew  in  all  ages  made  a  butt  of  the  man  who,  contraiy  to 
the  bettor  feeling  of  his  people,  ventured  to  take  two  wives.  "Bald 
here,  and  bald  there,"  says  a  Jewish  proverb,  in  allusion  to  one  who 
had  two  wives,  one  young  and  one  old.  The  young  one,  said  Jewish 
wit,  pulled  out  the  white  hairs,  and  the  old  one  the  black,  till  hi* 
head  was  as  smooth  as  an  ivory  ball ! 

The  reverence  of  children  tov,^ards  their  parents  was  carried  to  the 
sublime  in  Hebrew  families.  The  child  found  the  ideal  of  his  obedi- 
ence in  Isaac's  willingly  yielding  liimself  to  death  at  his  father's  com- 
mand. Every  Hebrew  child  heard,  from  its  earliest  j'ears,  how  the 
linger  of  God  Himself  had  wj-itten  on  the  tables  of  stone,  "Honour 
thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that  thy  days  may  be  long  upon  the  land 
which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth  thee;"  and  this  command  they  found 
repeated  again  andagain  in  the  sacred  Law.  Disobedience  to  a  father  or 
mother  was  made  a  public  crime,  which  the  community  might  punish 
with  death.  Unworthy  children  were  l;;id  under  the  most  awful 
threatenings  of  divine  displeasure.  The  cliild  read  how  Joseph, 
"when  he  met  his  father,  fell  on  his  neck  and  wept  a  good  while," 
and  "bowed  liimself  to  the  earth  l-eiore  hi;n,"  and  how  their  great 
lawgiver  "did  obeisance  to  his  father-in-law  and  hissed  him. "  He 
knew  the  curae  that  fell  on  the  son  of  Noah  who  failed  in  respect  to 
his  father,  and  read  that  the  young  were  to  "rise  v.p  before  t]:e 
hoary  head,  and  honour  the  face  of  the  old  man."  The  tender  care 
of  an  aged  parent  was  regarded  by  every  Jev^^  as  a  sacred  duty.  The 
son  of  Siraeh  only  rcpcaicd  the  f.enliment  of  all  Scripture  v.'hen  ho 
said,  "Honour  thy  father  willi  thy  whole  heart,  and  forget  not  the 
sorrows  of  thy  mother.  Kemcmbcr  that  thou  v»'ast  begotten  of  them; 
and  how  canst  thou  recompense  them  the  things  that  they  have  done 
for  thee?"  That  a  fatlicr  and  a  mother's  blessing  was  prized  as  sa- 
cred, and  its  being  Vv'ithheld  regarded  as  the  saddest  loss,  shows  hov^r 
deeply  such  teaching  had  sunk  into  t  he  Jewish  mind. 

Family  life,  resting  thus  on  the  holiest  duty  and  reverence,  has 
been  nowhere,  in  any  age,  more  beautiful  than  it  was,  and  still  is, 
among  the  Jews.  In  the  parents,  moreover,  the  passionate  love  of 
offspring,  characteristic  of  the  race,  doubtless  hallowed  these  lofty 
sanctions.  The  children  of  a  Jewish  houscliold  were  the  centre  round 
which  its  life  and  love  moved.  Full  of  affection  and  sensibility,  the 
heart  of  a  Jew  was  not  content  with  loving  only  those  of  his  own 
generation,  but  yearned  to  extend  itself  to  others  who  would  inherit  the 
future.  A  childless  marriage  was  the  bitterest  trial.  The  Rabbis 
went  even  so  far  as  to  say  that  childless  parents  were  to  be  lamented 
as  one  would  lament  the  dead.  The  purity  of  Jewish  family  life  was 
proverbial  even  in  antiquity.     The  surpassing  morality  of  the  ancieut 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  110 

Scriptures,  and  the  illustrations  of  ideal  virtue  presented  by  such 
mothers  in  Israel  as  Sarah,  Rachel,  Hannah,  and  Susanna,  shed  a 
Uoliness  over  household  relationship  in  Israel  that  was  unknown 
elsewhere.  The  Talmud  hardly  go&s  too  far  when  it  ascribes  to  tlie 
fidelity  of  the  wives  of  the  nation  in  Egypt,  its  first  deliverance,  and 
Its  national  existence,  and  a  modern  Jew  is,  perhaps,  justified  in  be- 
lieving that  the  bond  of  family  love  among  his  people  is  stronger 
than  m  any  other  race.  "  From  the  inexhaustible  spring  of  Jewish 
family  love,"  says  he,  "  rise  the  saviours  of  the  human  race."  "  Tlie 
Jewish  women  alone,"  says  he  justly,  elsewhere,  " have  the  sound 
principle  to  subordinate  all  other  love  to  that  of  the  mother."  Alex- 
ander "Weill  puts  into  the  mouth  of  the  Jewish  mother  the  words, 
"Dare  any  Jewish  mother,  worthy  of  the  name,  let  the  thought 
of  'love'  in  its  ignoble  sense,  ever  cross  her  mind?  It  seems  to  her 
no  better  than  a  vile  apostasy.  A  Jewess  dares  love  only  God,  her 
parents,  her  husband,  and  her  children."  Kompert  ventures  to  re- 
peat the  audacious  Jewish  saying—"  God  could  not  be  everywhere 
and  therefore  He  made  mothers."  "The  mother's  love,"  he  con- 
tinues, "13  the  basis  of  all  family  life  in  Jewish  romances;  its  pas- 
sion, its  mystery.  The  same  type  of  the  Jewish  mother  is  found  in 
all  alike."  It  is  true  in  all  ages,  as  Douglas  Jerrold  put  it,  that  she 
who  rocks  the  cradle  rules  the  world,  the  earliest  years  of  a  child 
are  the  most  receptive.  "It  learns  more  in  the  first  three  or  four 
than  in  all  its  after  life,"  says  Lord  Brougham.  The  character  of 
the  mother,  her  care,  her  love,  her  looks,  her  soul,  repeat  themselves 
in  the  child  while  it  is  yet  in  her  arms  or  at  her  knees. 

It  is  not  too  much,  then,  to  ascribe  supreme  influence  to  Mary,  in 
the  development  of  her  wondrous  qhild.  Wordsworth's  sonnet  is 
only  the  adequate  utterance  of  what  must  have  been  daily  realized 
in  the  cottage  at  Nazareth: — 

"  Mother!  whose  Tirgin  bosom  was  uncrossM 
With  the  least  shade  ov  thought  to  sin  allied; 
Woman !  above  all  women  fjlorified ; 
Our  tainted  Nature's  solitary  boast; 
Purer  than  foam  on  central  ocean  tossM: 
Brighter  than  Eastern  skies  at  daybreak  strewn 
With  fancied  roses,  than  the  unblemish'd  moon, 
Before  her  wane  begins  on  heav'n's  blue  coast:  i 

Thy  Image  falls  to  earth.    Yet  some,  I  ween,  ! 

Not  unf orgiven  the  suppliant  knee  might  bend,  j 

As  to  a  visible  Power,  in  whom  did  blend  i 

All  that  wag  niix'd  and  reconciled  in  Thee  ' 

Of  mother's  love  with  maiden  purity. 
Of  high  with  low,  celestial  with  terrene  1" 

That  both  parents  of  a  Jewish  child  took  an  active  part  in  its  early 
education  is  shown  by  the  instance  of  Susanna,  of  whom  we  are  told 
that  ' '  her  parents  also  were  righteous,  and  taught  their  daughter  ac- 
cording to  the  law  of  Moses,"  and  by  that  of  Timothy,  "who,  from  & 
child,  had  known  the  Holy  Scriptlires ;"  his  grandmother,  Lois,  and 

L  oi  c— 5. 


120  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

his  mother,  Eunice,  having  been,  by  implication,  his  teachers.  But 
it  was  on  the  father,  especially,  that  the  obligation  lay,  to  teach  his 
children,  of  both  sexes,  the  sacred  Law  and  the  other  Scriptures,  the 
knowledge  of  which  constituted  almost  exclusively  the  sum  ol  Jew- 
ish education.  Abraham  had  found  divine  favour  on  the  express 
groxmd  that  he  "would  command  his  children  and  his  household 
after  him,  and  they  should  keep  the  way  of  Jehovah ;"  and  express 
injunctions  required  every  father  to  teach  the  sacred  history  of  his 
nation,  with  the  great  deeds  and  varying  fortunes  of  his  ancestors, 
and  the  words  of  ^he  Law,  "diligently"  to  his  children,  and  to  talk 
of  them  while  sitting  in  the  house,  or  walking  by  the  way,  when  they 
retired  to  rest,  and  when  thej''  rose  for  the  day.  It  was,  indeed,  re- 
quired by  the  Rabbis  that  a  child  should  begin  to  learn  the  Law  by 
heart,  when  live  years  old.  As  soon  as  it  could  speak  it  had  in  the 
same  way  to  learn  the  lessons  and  petitions  of  the  morning  service. 
At  the  frequently  recurring  household  religious  feasts,  special  rites, 
which  should  stir  the  child  to  ask  their  meaning,  formed  a  regular 
part.  The  book  of  Proverbs  abounds  with  proofs  of  the  fidelity 
with  which  these  commands  were  carried  out  by  both  fathers  and 
mothers.  In  a  virtuous  home  no  opportunity  was  lost — at  the  table, 
at  home  or  abroad,  evening  or  morning — of  instilling  reverence  for 
God's  law  into  the  minds  of  the  family,  and  of  teaching  them  its  ex- 
press words  tliroughout,  till  they  knew  them  by  heart.  When  we 
remember  that  the  festivals  made  labour  unla^vA^ul  for  two  months  in 
each  3'ear,  in  the  aggregate,  it  is  evident  that  the  leisure  thus  seciu-ed 
would  give  great  facilities  for  domestic  instruction. 

Such  had  been,  for  ages,  the  rule  in  Israel,  and  it  doubtless  still 
prevailed  in  many  households.  Elementary  schools,  however,  grad- 
ually came  to  be  felt  a  necessity*  for  orphan  children,  and,  in  the  de- 
cline of  manners,  even  for  those  of  many  living  parents.  Whether 
they  had  been  generally  established  in  the  days  of  Christ's  childhood 
has,  nevertheless,  been  qiiestioned.  "If  any  man,"  says  the  Talmud, 
"deserves  that  his  name  should  be  handed  down  to  posterity,  it  is 
Joshua,  the  son  of  Gamaliel.  For,  but  for  him  the  knowledge  of  the 
Law  would  have  perished  in  Israel.  In  early  times  he  who  had  a 
father  was  taught,  but  he  Avho  had  not,  did  not  learn  the  Law.  For 
they  were  commanded  in  the  words  of  the  Law,  '  you ' — doubtless  the 
fathers — 'shall  teach  them.'  At  a  later  date  it  was  ordered  that  school- 
masters should  be  appointed  to  teach  the  youth  of  Jerusalem,  because 
it  is  written,  'The  law  shall  go  forth  from  Zion.'  But  this  plan  did 
not  remedy  the  evil,  for  only  the  child  that  had  a  father  was  sent  to 
school,  Avhile  he  who  had  none  was  not  sent.  It  was  therefore  pro- 
vided that  higher  teachers  should  be  appointed  in  every  district,  and 
that  the  youth  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age  should  attend  their 
schools.  Eut  this  plan  failed,  because  any  scholar  whom  the  master 
chastised  presently  ran  off.  Then,  at  last,  Joshua,  the  son  of  Gama- 
liel, ordained  that  teachers  should  be  appointed,  as  in  every  district, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  121 

BO  in  every  town,  to  whom  llie  boys  from  the  sixtli  or  seventh  year  of 
their  age  should  be  committed. "  "But  such  a  law  must  have  boea  only 
supplementary  to  alreadj-  existing  customs,  and  it  cannot  be  doubted 
that  boj's'  schools  were  already  general  in  the  time  of  Christ. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  Jews  for  education,  which,  in  their  s-^n.se  of 
the  word,  was  the  learning  to  read  "the  Law,"  and  the  committing  it 
to  memorj-,  was  amazing.  "  A  town  in  which  there  is  no  school 
must  perish."  "  Jerusalem  was  destroyed  because  the  education  of 
the  children  was  neglected,"  says  the  Talmud.  Josephus  tells  us  that 
"Moses  commanded  that  the  children  be  taught  to  read,  and  to  wiilk 
in  the  ways  of  the  Law  and  to  know  the  deeds  of  their  fathers,  that 
they  might  imitate  them,  and  that  they  might  neither  transgress  tha 
Law  nor  have  the  excuse  of  ignorance. "  He  repeatedly  boasts  of  the 
universal  zeal  that  prevailed  for  the  education  of  the  young.  "We 
interest  ourselves  more  about  the  education  of  our  children  than 
about  anything  else,  and  hold  the  observance  of  the  lav.-s,  and  the 
rules  of  piety  they  inculcate,  as  the  weightiest  bu:4ness  of  our  whole 
lives."  "  If  you' ask  a  Jew  any  matter  concerning  the  Law,  he  can 
more  readilj' explain  it  than  tell  his  own  name.  Since  we  learn  it  from 
the  tirst  beginning  of  intelligence,  it  is,  as  it  were,  graven  on  our 
souls."  "  Oiu"  legislator  neither  left  practical  enforcement  to  goon 
without  verbal  instruction,  nor  did  he  permit  the  hearing  of  the  Law 
to  proceed  without  its  illustration  in  practice;  but  beginning  his  laAvs 
from  the  earliest  infancy,  with  the  appointment  of  everj'  one's  diet. 
he  left  no  act  of  life,  of  the  very  smallest  consequence,  at  the  pleasure 
and  disposal  of  the  person  himself."  This  passage  throws  light  on. 
the  kind  of  instruction  imparted.  Philo,  a  contemporary  of  Christ, 
bears  similar  testimony.  "Since  the  Jews."  says  he,  "look  on  their 
laws  as  revelations  from  God,  and  are  taught  them  from  their  earliest 
childhood,  they  bear  the  image  of  the  Law  on  tlieir  souls."  "They 
are  taught,"  says  he  elsewhere,  "so  to  speak,  from  their  very  swad- 
dling clothes,  by  their  parents,  masters,  and  teachers,  in  the  holy  laws, 
and  in  the  unwritten  customs,  and  to  believe  in  God,  the  one  Father 
and  Creator  of  the  world."  Josephus  boasts  that  at  fourteen  he  had 
so  thorough  a  knowledge  of  the  Law,  that  the  high  priest-s  and  first 
men  of  the  town  sought  his  opinion.  There  can,  indeed,  be  no  ques- 
tion that  a  boy  was  trained,  from  the  tenderest  years,  with  sedulous 
care,  in  a  knowledge  of  the  moral  and  ceremonial  laws  of  Judaism, 
not  only  as  written  in  Scripture,  but  as  explained,  in  endless  detail, 
by  the  "traditions"  and  rules  of  the  Plabbis.  At  the  age  of  thirteen 
he  became  a  ' '  son  of  the  Law, "  and  was  bound  to  practise  all  its 
moral  and  ritual  requirements. 

The  age  at  which  children  were  to  be  sent  to  school  is  fixed  in  the 
Mischna.  Raf  said  to  Samuel,  the  son  of  Schilath,  a  teacher,  "Do 
not  take  a  boy  to  be  taught  before  he  is  six  years  old,  but  from  that 
year  receive  him,  and  train  him  as  you  do  the  ox,  which,  day  by  day. 
Dears  a  heavier  load."    Even  the  number  of  scholars  a  teacher  might 


123  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

take  is  rigicjly  fixed.  "Rabba  (or  Raf)  has  said,  a  schoolmaster  may 
receive  to  the  number  of  twenty -five  scholars.  If  there  be  fifty,  there 
must  be  two  schoolmasters ;  if  only  forty,  there  must  be  an  assist- 
ant, who  is  to  be  paid,  lialf  by  the  congregation,  half  by  the 
schoolmaster."  The  few  children  who  were  not  sent  to  school, 
from  whatever  cause,  were  called  Am-ha-aretz,  or  boors — it  being 
taken  for  granted  that  they  must  have  lived  in  some  rude  district 
where  schools  were  not  easy  of  access.  Neither  unmarried  men  or 
women  were  allowed  to  be  teachers.  The  Hazan  or  ' '  minister"  of 
the  nearest  synagogue  was,  in  general,  the  master,  and  the  synagogue 
itself,  in  a  great  many  cases,  served  as  the  school-house. 

In  school  the  children,  according  to  their  age,  sat  on  benches,  or  on 
the  ground,  as  they  still  do  in.  the  East,  the  master  sitting  ou  a  raised 
seat. .  The  younger  cliildren  had,  as  text-books,  some  simple  passage 
from  the  Bible,  carefully  written  out — for,  of  course,  there  were  no 
books,  in  our  sense,  then — and  they  seem  to  have  repeated  it  in  a 
sing-song  cadence  till  they  learned  it  by  heart.  In  Eastern  schools, 
at  this  tim.e,  some  of  the  lessons  are  written  by  each  scholar,  with, 
chalk,  on  tablets  of  wood,  like  oxn  slates  in  shape,  and  these  are 
cleaned  after  each  lesson.  Some  centuries  after  Christ,  the  boys, 
having  had  portions  of  the  "Law"  as  their  class-book  till  they  were 
ten  years  old,  bcgau  at  that  age  to  read  the  Mischna,  or  Rabbinical 
comments,  and  at  fifteen  entered  on  the  reading  of  the  Gemara,  or  the 
collected  comments  on  both  the  Law  and  the  Mischna.  In  Christ's 
day,  advanced  education  was,  no  doubt,  much  the  same,  but  it  must 
have  been  given  by  oral  instruction,  for  the  sayings  of  the  Rabbis  were 
not  as  yet  committed  to  writing. 

The  early  years  of  Christ  were,  doubtless,  spent  in  some  such  school, 
after  He  had  passed  from  the  first  lessons  of  Mary,  and  the  instruc- 
tions of  Joseph.  Mysterious  as  it  is  to  us,  we  must  never  forget  that, 
as  a  child.  He  passed  through  the  same  stages  as  other  children.  The 
Apocryphal  Gospels  are  full  of  miracles  attributed  to  these  opening 
years,  describing  the  infant  as  already  indefinitely  beyond  His  age. 
There  is  no  warrant  for  this  in  Scripture.  Nothing  was  out  of  keep- 
ing in  the  life  of  our  Lord.  As  Irenseus  says,  ' '  He  sanctified  childhood 
by  passing  through  it."  Neither  His  words  nor  acts.  His  childish 
pleasiires  nor  HiS  tears,  were  different  from  those  of  His  age.  Evil 
alone  had  no  growth  in  Him:  His  soul  gave  back  to  the  heavens  all 
their  sacred  brightness.  The  ideal  of  humanity  from  His  birth.  He 
never  lost  the  innocence  of  childhood,  but  He  was  none  the  less  com- 
pletely like  other  children  in  all  things  else.  We  are  told  that  "the 
child  grew,  and  waxed  strong  in  spirit;"  that  "the  favour  of  God  was 
upon  Him,"  and  that  "He  kept  ou  increasing  in  wisdom  and  statiu-e, 
and  in  favour  with  God  and  man ;"  and  this  can  only  mean  that,  with 
a  sweet  attractiveness  of  childish  nature.  He  spoke,  and  understood, 
and  thought,  as  simply  as  His  playmates,  in  the  fields,  or  on  the  hill- 
sides, of  Naz,areth.     The  earlier  words  are  the  same  as  are  used  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  12S 

♦ 
John  the  Baptist  in  his  childliood,  and  can  bear  only  the  same  mean- 
ing. Both  grew  in  tlie  shade  of  a  retired  country  life,  in  the  sanc- 
tuary of  home,  apart  from  the  great  world,  imder  the  eyes  of  God, 
and  Avith  Ilis  grace  upon  them.  It  was  only  in  later  years  that  the 
mighty  difference  between  them  was  seen,  when  the-  fresh  leaves  of 
childhood,  much  alike  in  all,  passed  into  flower.  There  was  no  mo- 
ment in  Christ's  life  when  the  higher  light  began  to  reveal  itself  in 
His  soul-  life  and  "grace"  dawned  together,  and  grew  in  a  common 
increase  to  the  end. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

EARLY      BOYHOOD. 

The  r^^ligious  life  of  the  home,  the  Church,  and  the  community 
necessarily  mould,  more  or  less,  the  susceptible  natm-e  of  children, 
and  we  may  be  certain  that  "the  child  Jesus"  was  no  exception,  in 
this  respect,  more  than  in  others,  to  the  general  law.  His. opening 
being  must  have  reflected  all  that  was  good  around  Him,  as  the  flower 
reflects  the  colours  of  the  light. 

Rabbinism  was  then  in  its  full  glory.  The  strong  hand  of  Herod 
the  Great  had  suppressed  all  political  agitation  for  more  than  a  genera- 
tion, with  the  result  of  turning  the  attention  of  the  Rabbis  supremely 
to  religious  questions,  which  alone  were  left  for  their  discussion.  The 
ten  thousand  legal  definitions  and  decisions,  which  are  now  comprised 
in  Jewish  religious  jurisprudence,  were  for  the  most  part  elaborated 
in  those  years,  and  ever}'  devout '  Israelite  made  it  the  labour  of  his 
life  to  observe  them  faithfullj^  as  far  as  possible.  It  must  not,  there- 
fore, shock  us,  accustomed  as  we  are  to  feel  that  religious  acts  lose 
their  value  when  not  free  and  spontaneous,  to  find  minute  prescrip- 
tions laid  down  and  observed  in  Judea,  for  every  detail  of  public  and 
private  life  and  worship.  The  whole  existence  of  a  Jew  was  religious, 
but  it  was  a  religiousness  which,  while  the  right  spirit  might  not  be 
wanting,  was  yiit  elaborately  mechanical  at  every  step. 

The  East  is  essentially  dilferent  in  its  spirit  from  the  "West.  Here, 
the  idea  of  improvement  and  advancement  leads  to  incessant  changes; 
there,  an  intense  conservatism  retains  the  past  with  superstitious  te-. 
nacity.  Orientals  cling,  by  nature,  to  the  old,  merely  as  such.  Novelty  I 
of  any  kind  is  painful  and  annoying.  They  resist  the  least  innova 
tion.  The  customs  of  their  fathers  are  law;  use  and  wont  are  sacred. 
They  are  graver  and  quieter  than  we.  Noisy  amusements  have  littla 
attraction  for  them;  they  seldom  laugh  or  joke.  The  plaj' of  wit, 
dreamy  thoughtfulness,  attractive  narrations  and  inventions,  religious 
ob.servances,  and  the  display  of  religious  festivals,  are  their  sufficing 
delights.  We  must  guard,  therefore,  against  looking  at  Oriental  lif» 
through  Western  ej^es.  • 

A  devout  Jew  began  liis  daily  religious  life  with  his  first  waking 


124  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

• 
moments.  "Every  Israelite,"  says  Maimonides,  "should  Tx  pend> 
trated  at  all  times  by  reverence  for  his  Almighty  Creator.  The  cen- 
tral thought  of  the  godly  and  devout  man  is — 'I  have  sel  the  Lord 
continually  before  me.'  As  if  he  stood  before  a  king  of  flesh  and 
blood,  he  should  never  forget  the  requirements  of  right  conduct  and 
ceremonial  purity."  He  was  taught  that  his  first  thoughts,  as  soon  as 
he  waked,  should  be  directed  to  the  worship  of  God.  Sleep  was  re- 
garded as  a  kind  of  death,  in  which  the  soul  leaves  the  body,  to  return 
to  it  on  its  awaking,  and  hence  the  first  words  of  revived  conscious, 
ness  were  an  acknowledgment  before  "the  living  and  everlasting 
King,  of  His  having  given  back  the  soul  for  another  da3%  in  His  great 
mercy  and  faithfulness."  Thanks  for  new  life  thus  granted  followed 
in  something  like  this  form: — "My  God,  the  soul  which  Thou  hast 
given  me  is  clean.  Thou  hast  created  it,  formed  it,  and  breathed  it 
into  me,  and  Thou  wilt,  take  it  from  me,  and  restore  it  me  again. 
While  this  soul  lives  in  me,  I  thank  Thee,  O  Eternal  One,  my  God. 
and  the  God  of  my  fathers!  Lord  of  all  works!  King  of  all  souls! 
Praised  be  Thou,  O  Eternal,  Thou  who  puttest  the  souls  again  into 
dead  bodies!" 

Having  risen  from  bed,  it  was  not  allowed  to  move  four  steps 
before  washing  the  hands  and  face,  which  the  Rabbis  taught  was 
needed  to  cleanse  one  from  the  defilement  of  sleep,  as  the  image  of 
death.  It  was  unlawful  to  touch  the  face,  or  any  other  part  of  the 
body,  till  this  was  done,  nor  could  it  he  done  except  in  the  form  pre- 
scribed. Lifting  the  ewer,  after  dressing,  with  the  right  hand,  it 
must  be  passed  into  the  left,  and  clear  cold  water,  Rabbinically  clean, 
must  be  poured  thrice  over  the  right  hand,  the  fingers  of  which  must 
be  open,  and  must  point  to  the  ground.  The  left  hand  must  then  be 
washed  in  the  same  way,  with  water  poured  on  it  from  the  right,  and 
then  the  face  must  be  washed  thi-ee  times.  The  palms  of  the  hands 
must  then  be  jomed,  with  .the  thumbs  and  fingers  cutstietched,  and 
the  words  must  be  uttered — "Lift  up  your  hands  to  the  sanctuary, 
and  praise  the  Lord!"  Then  followed  the  prayer,  "  Blessed  art  Thou, 
O  Lord,  our  God !  King  of  the  universe!  Thou  who  hast  sanctified 
us  through  Thy  commandments,  and  hast  required  us  to  wash  the 
hands.  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Eternal,  our  God,  King  of  the  universe: 
who  hast  formed  man  in  wisdom,  and  hast  made  in  him  many  vessels. 
If  but  one  of  these  stood  open,  or  was  stopped,  man  could  not  live 
and  remain  before  Thee.  This  is  evident,  and  confessed  before  the 
throne  of  Thy  majesty.  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Eternal  One,  maintainer 
of  all  flesh,  who  in  Thy  Creation  doest  wonders!" 

"With  some  such  forms  and  words,  the  morning  began  in  Joseph's 
house  in  Nazareth.  But  this  was  only  the  preparation  for  morning 
prayers.  It  was  not  lawful  to  do  any  work,  or  to  eat  any  food,  till 
these  had  been  repeated,  either  at  home,  or  more  properly,  in  the 
synagogue,  where  they  formed  the  daily  morning  service.  I  shall 
dascribe  them  when  I  come  to  speak  of  the  synagogue  worship. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  125 

The  religiousness  of  the  first  moments  of  the  day  was  only  in  keep- 
ing with  the  whole  life  of  a  devout  Jew  like  Joseph.  I  have  men- 
tioned llie  morning  first  because  our  day  begins  then,  but  that  of  the 
Jew  began  in  the  evening.  From  the  beginning  of  eacli  day — that  is, 
from  tlie  appearance  of  the  first  star— to  its  close,  and  from  the  first 
day  of  the  week  till  the  Sabbath;  from  the  beginning  of  each  month 
to  its  feasts  and  half -feasts;  from  each  New  Year's  Day  to  the  next; 
and  from  one  Sabbath  year— that  is,  each  seventh  year— till  another, 
the  attention  of  every  Jew  was  fixed  unintermittedly  on  the  sacred 
usages  which  returned  eitlier  daily,  weekly,  or  at  set  times,  and  kept 
his  religion  continually  in  his  mind,  not  only  by  symbolical  rites,  but 
by  prescribed  words.  There  was  little  leisure  for  the  lighter  pleasures 
of  life,  and  little  taste  for  them.  Lengthened  prayers  in  set  forms 
had  to  be  repeated  three  times  each  day,  and  also  at  all  feasts,  half- 
feasts,  and  fast  days;  each  kind  of  day  having  its  special  prayers.  In 
every  week  there  was  a  preparation  day  for  the  Sabbath,  and  there 
were  similar  preparation  days  for  each  feast  in  the  different  months; 
public  worship  was  held  twice  weekly,  each  Monday  and  Thursday, 
and  on  feast  days  and  holy  days.  Three  pilgrimages  to  Jerusalem 
were  required  yearly,  and  others  were  often  undertaken.  A  whole 
week  was  occupied  by  the  Feast  of  Unleavened  Bread,  and  by  that  of 
Tabernacles,  and  by  the  Feast  of  the  Dedication.  Every  Jew  was, 
moreover,  occupied  to  a  large  extent,  through  his  connection  with  the 
Temple,  by  tithes,  sacrifices,  and  vows.  He  visited  the  Holy  Place  as 
often  as  possible,  for  prayer,  aad  to  offer  special  gifts.  He  had  to  pay 
the  most  minute  attention,  continually,  to  permitted  and  forbidden, 
food  and  clothing,  and  to  the  strict  observance  of  all  laws  respecting 
the  accessories  of  his  public  and  private  worship,  his  rolls  of  the  Law, 
his  phylacteries,  the  blowing  of  trumpets,  the  gathering  of  palm  twigs 
at  the  right  times,  and  much  mere.  The  endless  rules  respecting  the 
cleanness  and  uncleanness  of  persons  and  things,  demanded  tlie  great- 
est care  every  hour.  Both  men  and  women,  as  such,  had  many  details 
to  observe.  Then,  there  were  the  ever-recunlng  usages,  festivities,  or 
events  of  family  life — circumcisions,  betrothals,  marriages,  divorces, 
deaths,  and  mourning;  the  laws  of  the  Sabbath  year,  recurring  peri- 
odically, and  many  other  diversified  occurrences,  which  had  each  its 
prolixity  of  religious  form,  not  to  be  overlooked.  Besides  all,  extra- 
ordinary solemnities  were  appointed  on  special  occasions,  and  these, 
again,  made  grave  demands  on  the  thoughtful  care  of  the  whole  popu- 
lation. No  wonder  that  the  Law  was  almost  the  one  thing  in  a  Jew's 
mind,  nor  that  a  child  brought  up  in  such  an  atmosphere  should,  iu 
most  cases,  be  blindly  conservative  and  narrow. 

Opportunity  will  be  taken  hereafter  to  illustrate  what  life  under 
the  Law  really  was,  but  even  without  the  statement  of  details,  it  is 
evident  that  a  system  which  spread  its  close  meshes  over  the  w^hole  of 
life,  must  have  been  a  heavy  burden  on  the  conscientious,  and  a  fruit- 
ful source  of  hypocrisy  and  dead  formality  to  the  mass.     The  hedgt 


126  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

invented  by  Rabbinism  was  a  imiquo  expansion  of  a  few  written  pre- 
cepts to  infinite  detail.  Artificial  interpretations  of  Scripture,  often 
contrary  to  the  sense,  and  even  to  the  letter  of  the  Law,  were  invented 
as  occasion  required,  and  then  enforced  as  of  more  authority  than  the 
Law  itself.  The  Rabbi  could  "bind  and  loose;"  no  case  escaped  his 
casuistry :  religion  was  turned  into  a  lifelong  slavery,  so  burdensome, 
that  even  the  Talmud  itself  speaks  of  "the  vexatious  wony  of  the 
Pharisees."  Ethics  and  theology  were  refined  into  an  elaborate  sys- 
tem of  jurisprudence,  till  even  where  the  requirements  were  rigli^ 
their  morality  was  poisoned  in  its  principles,  and  deadened  the  fresh 
pulses  of  spiritual  life. 

Still  there  were  many  in  Israel  who  retained  more  or  less  of  the 
primitive  godliness  of  the  nation.  If  Rabbinism,  as  a  system,  had 
fallen  from  its  earlier  and  nobler  idea  of  binding  the  nation  perma- 
nently to  the  true  faith ;  if  it  had  substituted  teaching  for  a  change  of 
heart;  legality  for  spontaneous  fidelity;  endless  prescriptions  for  the 
life-giving  spirit,  there  were  not  *a  few,  alike  among  the  Rabbis  and 
the  people,  to  whom  the  external  was  not  all.  There  may  have  been 
a  Rabbi  at  Nazareth  as  self-righteous  as  Nechimza  Ben  Hakana,  who, 
when  he  left  his  school,  was  wont  to  pray — "I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord, 
my  God,  that  Thou  hast  given  me  my  portion  among  those  who  fre- 
quent the  House  of  Instruction,  and  not  among  tliose  who  are  busy  at 
the  street  corners,  for  I  rise  early,  and  they  rise  early;  I  apply  myself 
early  to  the  Law,  and  they  to  vain  things;  I  work,  and  they  work;  I 
work  and  receive  mj'  reward,  they  work  and  receive  none;  I  run,  and 
they  run;  I  run  after  eternal  life,  and  they  to  the  pit."  But  there 
may  have  been,  also,  another,  like  the  Rabbi  of  Jamnia,  who  told  his 
scholars,  "  I  am  a  creature  of  God,  and  my  fellov/man  is  no  less  so. 
I  have  my  calling  in  the  town,  he,  his,  in  the  field.  I  go  early  to  my 
work,  and  he  to  his.  As  he  is  not  made  proud  by  his  labour,  I  am 
not  made  proud  by  mine.  If  you  think  that  I  am  busied  with  great 
matters  and  he  with  small,  remember  that  true  work,  whether  great 
or  small,  leads  to  the  same  end." 

The  child  Jesus,  must  have  often  heard  in  the  liouse  of  such  a  man 
as  Joseph,  and  in  those  of  his  neighbours  of  like  mind  with  him, 
wliom  he  visited,  a  healthj^  intelligent  religiousness,  beautiful  in  any 
age.  The  popular  proverbs  and  sayings  which  have  come  down  to 
us  may  easily  bring  back  many  an  evening  scene  in  Nazareth,  Avhen 
friends  or  neighbours  of  Joseph's  circle  met  for  an  hour's  quiet  gos- 
sip, when  their  day's  toil  was  over.  "Quite  true,  neighbour,"  we 
may  fancy  one  of  such  a  group  saying,  ' '  he  who  knows  the  Law  and 
has  no  fear  of  God,  is  like  the  ruler  of  the  synagogue  who  has  only 
the  key  of  the  inner  door,  but  not  of  the.  outer."  "  Yes,  Zecharyah, 
a  God-fearing  Rabbi  is  like  a  good  player  who  has  his  harp  with  him, 
but  a  godless  Rabbi  is  like  one  who  has  nothing  on  which  to  make 
music."     "You  speak  truly,  Menahem;  a  godly  man  is  the  glorj-  of 

own,  its  reward,  and  its  ornament ;  if  he  leave  it,  its  glory,  it*  re- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  127 

ward,  and  its  ornament,  leave  it  with  him."  "My  father  used  to 
tell  me,"  chimes  in  Hananvah  Ben  Flizkiyah,  "that  there  are  four 
who  never  have  the  face  of  God  lifted  upon  them— the  scoffer,  the 
liar  the  hvpocrite,  and  the  slanderer."  "Rabbi  Nathan."  says  the 
fifth,  "is  right,  I  think;  I  have  heard  him  say  that  the  man  who 
stands  firm  "in  temptation,  and  the  hour  of  wiiose  death  is  like  that 
of  his  birth,  is  the  only  man  to  be  envied." 

Good  counsels  to  the  young  were  not  wanting.  The  Kazan  who 
taught  the  Nazareth  school  In  the  synagogue,  may  have  told  hia 
scholars— "  Get  close  to  the  seller  of  perfumes  if  you  want  to  bo 
fragTant."  He  may  have  given  the  groups  of  little  ones  at  his  feef 
words  of  wisdom  such  as  tiiese— that '"  grapes  on  vines  are  beautiful, 
and  in  their  right  place;  but  grapes  among  thorns  are  neither."  "A 
Nazarite  should  go  round  about,  rather  than  come  near  a  vineyard." 
"A  friend  who,  as  often  as  he  meets  you,  tells  you,  in  secret,  your 
faults,  is  better  than  one  who,  whenever  he  meets  you,  gives  you  a 
gold  piece."  "If  yo\i  see  an  humble  man,  you  may  almost  take  for 
granted  that  he  fears  God,  but  a  proud  man  is  no  better  than  an 
idolater."  "Make  the  best  of  your  childhood;  youth  is  a  crown  of 
roses;  old  age  of  thorns.  Yet  do  not  fear  death,  it  is  only  a  kiss,  if 
you  fear  God."  "Truth  is  the  .seal  of  God."  "Trust  in  the  mercy 
of  God,  even  if  the  sharp  sword  be  at  your  throat;  He  forsakes 
none  of  His  creatures  to  give  them  up  to  destruction."  "Take  a 
lesson  from  Jose  Ben  Joezer,  who  was  the  first  Jew  ever  crucified. 
He  died  for  his  faith  in  the  evil  time  of  the  Syrian  kings.  As  he 
was  being  led  to  death,  his  sister's  son,  Alkim,  tried  to  make  him  be- 
lieve that  God  showed  more  favour  to  transgressors  of  the  Law  than 
to  the  eodly.  He  could  have  saved  Jose's  life,  if  the  martyr  had 
yielded^o  him.  But  Jo.se  only  answered,  '  If  God  prepares  such  a 
fate  as  mine  for  the  godly,  what  will  become  of  the  wicked?'— and 
passed  on  to  the  cross."  "The  humble  man  is  he  who  is  as  reverent 
before  God  as  if  he  saw  Him  with  his  eyes." 

A  wise  teacher  may  have  spoken  thus  to  the  children  in  the  school, 
but  wi.se  counsels  would  not  be  wanting  at  home.  Like  all  Orientals, 
Joseph  was,  doubtless,  given  to  speak  in  proverbs  and  parables. 
"One  sheep  follows  another,"  he  might  have  said.  "As  is  the 
mother,  so  is  the  daughter."  "A  man  without  friends  is  like  the 
left  hand  without  the  "right."  "The  road  has  ears,  and  so  has  the 
wall."  "It  is  no  matter  whether  a  man  have  much  or  little,  if  hi* 
heart  be  set  on  heaven."  "A  good  life  is  better  than  high  birth." 
"The  bread  and  the  rod  came  from  heaven  together."  "Seeking 
wisdom  when  you  are  old  is  like  writing  on  water;  seeking  it  when 
vou  are  young  is  like  graving  on  stone."  "Every  word  vou  speak, 
good  or  bad,  light  or  serious,  is  written  in  a  book."  "Fire  cannot 
keep  company  with  flax  without  kindling  it."  "In  this  world  a  man 
follows  his  own  will;  in  the  next  comes  the  judgment."  "With  the 
tame  measure  with  which  a  man  measures  to  others  it  will  be  mea* 


128  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIS!'. 

ured  to  him  again."  "Patience,  and  silence  in  strife,  are  the  sign 
of  a  noble  mind."  "He  who  makes  the  pleasures  of  this  world  his 
portion,  loses  those  of  the  world  to  come ;  but  he  who  seeks  those  of 
heaven,  receives,  also,  those  of  earth."  "He  who  humbles  himself 
will  be  exalted  by  God ;  but  he  who  exalts  himself,  him  will  God 
humble."  "Whatever  God  does  is  right."  "Speech  is  silver; 
silence  is  worth  twice  as  much."  "Sin  hardens  the  heart  of  man." 
"It  is  a  shame  for  a  plant  to  speak  ill  of  him  who  planted  it." 
"  Two  bits  of  dry  Avood  set  a  moi.st  one  on  fire."  All  these  are  Jew- 
ish sayings,  which  Jesus  may  well  have  heard  in  His  childhood. 

Nazareth  would,  no  doubt,  have  its  finer  spirits  wlio,  from  time  to 
lime,  shed  the  light  of  their  higher  nature  over  family  gatherings, 
And  none  of  this  could  be  lost  on  such  a  child  as  Jesus.  On  some 
dorious  night,  when  the  moon  was  walking  in  brightness,  a  mind 
Tike  this  may  have  told  the  children  round  him  some  such  fine  He- 
brew apologue  as  follows : — 

' '  The  Eternal  sent  forth  His  creating  voice,  saying,  '  Let  two 
lights  shine  in  the  firmament,  as  kings  of  the  earth,  and  dividers  of 
the  revolving  year. ' 

"He  spake,  and  it  was  done.  The  sun  rose  as  the  first  Light.  As 
a  bridegroom  comes  forth  in  the  morning  from  his  chamber;  as  a 
hero  rejoices  on  his  triumphal  march,  so  rose  he,  clothed  in  the 
splendour  of  God.  A  crown  of  all  hues  encircled  his  head;  the  earth 
rejoiced,  the  plants  sent  up  their  odours  to  him,  and  the  flowers  put 
on  their  best  array. 

"The  other  Light  looked  on  with  envy,  as  it  saw  that  it  coidd  not 
outvie  the  Glorious  One  in  splendour.  'What  need  is  there,'  it 
asked,  murmuring  to  itself,  '  of  two  kings  on  one  throne  ?  Why  was 
I  the  second  instead  of  the  first? ' 

"Forthwith  its  brightness  faded,  chased  away  by  its  inward  cha- 
grin. It  flew  from  it  high  through  the  air,  and  became  the  Host  of 
Stars. 

' '  The  Moon  stood  pale  as  the  dead,  ashamed  before  all  the  heav- 
enly ones,  and  wept — 'Have  pity  on  me.  Father  of  all  creatures, 
have  pity.' 

"Then  the  angel  of  God  stood  before  the  Sad  One,  and  told  her 
the  decree  of  the  Highest.  '  Because  thou  has  envied  the  light  of 
the  Sun,  unhappy  one,  henceforth  thou  wilt  only  shine  by  his  liglit, 
and  when  yonder  earth  comes  between  thee  and  him  thou  wilt  stand 
darkened,  in  part,  or  entirely,  as  now. 

' '  '  Yet,  Child  of  Error,  weep  not.  The  Merciful  One  has  for- 
given thy  sin,  and  turned  it  to  good  for  thee.  "Go,"  said  He, 
"speak  comfortably  to  the  Sorrowful  One;  she  will  be,  at  least,  a 
queen,  in  her  brightness.  The  tears  of  her  sorrow  will  be  a  balm  to 
quicken  all  living  things,  and  renew  the  strength  which  the  beams  of 
tie  Sun  have  made  faint. "  ' 

"Th«  Moon  went  away  comforted,  and,  lo,  there  streamed  round 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  129 

her  that  brightness  in  which  she  still  shines;  she  set  forth  on  that 
peaceful  path  in  which  she  still  moves,  as  Queen  of  the  Night  and 
leader  of  the  stars.  Lamenting  her  sin,  and  pitjing  the  tears  of  men, 
she  seeks  whom  she  can  revive,  and  looks  for  any  one  she  can  cheer." 

Such,  no  doubt,  would  be  some  of  the  characteristics  of  Nazareth 
life.  Every  one  would  know  every  one;  industry  and  idleness; 
worth  and  vice;  pleasure  and  sadness;  would  be  around  the  growing 
Child.  The  oxen  ploughing  the  little  valley  below  the  town  and  the 
great  plain  outside,  would  often  arrest  his  eyes;  the  asses  and  mules, 
and  camels  laden  with  goods  or  produce,  would  pass  then,  as  now, 
up  the  mountain  track  to  the  narrow  Nazareth  streets:  the  different 
trades  of  the  village  would  be  busy,  as  they  are  still.  The  wise  and 
the  simple:  the  clown  and  the  scholar:  the  poor  and  the  rich:  the 
soiled  workman  and  the  proud  squire :  helpless  infancy,  and  as  help- 
less age ;  the  school,  the  play -ground,  the  market,  the  court,  the 
synagogue,  and  the  cemetery,  would  each  in  turn  be  prominent  for 
the  time.  But  it  would  be  under  Joseph's  roof,  as  in  a  silken  nest, 
with  the  counsels  of  Joseph,  and  the  gentle  and  lofty  devoutness  of 
jyiary,  that  the  young  soul,  destined  one  day  to  be  so  great,  would 
learn  its  richest  lessons  of  childhood. 

At  a  very  early  age,  Jesus  would  be  taken  to  the  synagogue  with 
Joseph  and  Mary,  and  the  other  children  of  the  Nazareth  family  cir- 
cle, for  even  then  that  institution  had  become  the  banner  of  Jewish 
nationality,  the  centre  of  national  life,  and  the  a?gis  of  the  Jewish 
faith,  whose  services  no  Israelite  wouj^i  think  of  neglecting. 

The  importance  of  the  Synagogue  dates  not  later  than  the  age  of 
the  iVIaccabees.  It  rose  from  the  institution,  by  Ezra,  of  periodical 
readings  of  the  Law  in  public.  Its  earliest  history  is  not  kno-wn,  for 
we  can  hardly  trust  the  Rabbinical  traditions,  that  tliere  were  hun- 
dreds in  Jerusalem  under  the  second  Temple.  But  the  germ  of  the 
Synagogue  doubtless  existed  in  Babylon.  The  exiles  could  no  longer 
offer  their  sacrifices,  for  this  could  be  done  only  in  the  Temple  at 
Jerusalem.  Hence  thej^  naturally  betook  themselves  to  prayer,  and 
lifted  their  hands,  in  their  loneliness,  to  God,  at  the  times  when  their 
sacrifices  were  wont  to  be  consumed.  Instead  .of  these  they  pre- 
sented their  prayers,  and  prophets  like  Ezckiel,  on  the  Sabbath, 
s^;poke  to  them  of  their  duty.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  Law  itself  had 
been  well-nigh  unknown  during  the  exile,  from  the  fact  of  Ezra 
summoning  the  people  to  hear  it,  as  something  which  they  had  trans- 
gressed, from  ignorance  of  its  requirements.  To  him,  apparently, 
belongs  the  signal  honour  of  establishing  the  custom  of  constant  pub- 
lic reading  of  the  sacred  books  before  the  congregations  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  of  taking  care  that,  as  Hebrew  was  no  longer  understood, 
interpreters  should  be  provided,  to  translate  the  Scripture  lessons,  at 
the  public  services,  into  the  spoken  dialect.  Established,  first,  in 
Jerusalem,  synagogues  soon  spread  over  the  land,  and  even  beyond 
it,  wherever  Jews  had  settled.      They  gradually  became  the  gi-eat 


130  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

characteristic  of  the  nation,  for,  though  the  services  of  the  Temple 
were  yet  cherished,  the  Synagogue,  by  its  local  convenience,  its 
supreme  influence  in  fixing  Jewish  religious  opinion,  and  its  natural 
importance  as  the  centre  of  each  community,  and  the  basis  of  their 
social  life,  earned  with  it  the  seeds  of  the  destruction  of  the  strictly 
local  Temple  service.  The  priest,  henceforth,  was  of  less  import- 
ance than  the  lay  Rabbi,  for  while  the  one  touched  life  at  only  a  few 
points,  the  other  directed  its  every  movement.  In  Christ's  day  there 
were  synagogues  everywhere.  In  Jerusalem,  alone,  there  gradually 
rose,  according  to  the  Talmud,  no  fewer  than  480.  Tiberias  had 
thirteen,  Damascus  ten,  and  other  cities  and  towns  in  proportion  to 
their  population.  But  the  Mother  Synagogue  in  the  Temple  still  re- 
mained, as  it  were,  the  model  after  which  all  other  synagogues  were 
organized. 

Wherever  ten  Jews  wei'c  settled,  it  was  incumbent  on  them  to 
form  themselves  into  a  congregation,  and  have  synagogue  service. 
Open  structures  on  the  banks  of  rivers,  or  on  the  sea-shore  were 
preferred,  where  the  Jewish  population  was  small,  from  their  con- 
venience for  the  necessary  purifications ;  but,  wherever  it  was  possi- 
ble, a  synagogue  was  erected  by  the  free  contributions  of  the  people. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  a  rich  man  built  one  at  his  own  expense.  The 
ruins  of  those  in  Galilee,  Christ's  own  country,  enable  us  to  learn 
many  particulars  respecting  this  locality  at  least.  In  selecting  sites, 
the  builders  by  no  means  always  ohose  prominent  positions.  If,  in 
some  cases,  the  Rabbinical  Requirements  were  observed  that  the 
synagogue  should  be  raised  on  the  highest  part  of  the  town,  and  its 
entrance  be  on  the  western  side,  they  were,  seemingly,  more  fre- 
quently neglected.  The  ruins  of  the  old  synagogues  in  the  district 
on  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  and  north  of  it,  are  sometimes  in  the  lower 
part  of  the  town,  and  at  others  have  had  a  site  excavated  for  them  in 
the  rocky  side  of  a  hill.  Thek  entrances  are  almost  always  at  Ike 
southern  end,  an  arrangement  hardly  to  have  been  expected,  as  it 
required  every  Jew,  on  entering,  to  turn  his  back  to  Jerusalem. 

The  building  w^as  always  rectangular,  with  its  longest  dimension 
in  a  nearly  south  and  north  direction,  and  its  interior  divided  into 
five  aisles,  by  four  rows  of  columns,  unless  it  was  very  small,  when 
two  rows  of  columns  were  used,  making  only  three  aisles.  The 
walls  were  well  and  solidly  built  of  native  limestone:  the  stones 
"  chiselled"  into  each  other,  without  mortar,  and,  while  finely  dressed 
outside,  left  rough  on  the  inner  side,  for  plastering.  The  entrances 
were  three  in  number ;  one  large  doorway,  opening  into  the  central 
aisle,  and  a  smaller  one  on  each  side,  though  sometimes,  in  small 
synagogues,  there  was  only  one  entrance.  Folding  doors,  with 
socket  hinges,  closed  by  bars  on  the  inside,  gave  them  security. 
Over  the  doors  was  more  ornament  that  we  might  have  expected — 
sculptures  of  the  golden  candlestick — or  of  the  pot  of  manna — or  of 
the  paschal  lamb — or  the  "sine.     The  floors  were  paved  with  slabs  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  I" 

white  limctone,  and  ^}'^-"--S^^::':lT%^^^Z^r^Z>^^l 

these  supports  for  strength  f^?.^{vwUh  earth  which  was  the  fash-   j 
bear  up  a  flat  roof,  covered  ^^^av  ilv  with  ear  h,^v^  dwelliags, 

ion  in  private  houses  also,  f  "^J^f"' }^^^^,flett  of  the  sun.  Th« 
as  best  adapted  for  kefpmgou    the  intense  nea  j^^^„^, 

ruins  are  too  imperfect  to  show  the  ^f^j^^^^  ^J.^i^^,^  b^t  as  those 
The  synagogueswere  ^P^^'weSwtLMoin^^^^^  i^ reality, 

of  the  afternoon  and  evening  vv  ere  al^  Sly  Jew  to  go  to  each  service, 
only  two.     It  was  the  duty  of  ^^ery  goclly  J  ew  lo  ^  ,,  ^^^ 

for'so  sacred  was  daily  ^"end^^^e^tl^i^^^  tlthen  '  The  two  market 
^-ho  practised  it  saved  Israe  ^"^/^  ^•^^g^'^^^try  people  came  into 
days,  Monday  and  ThWaj%  wh^^^^^^^^  ^^.^^^  t,,, 

'^Si.X^S^'CS^    Flit  days,  and  fasts,  were  also 

the  model  of  the  Tabernacle  or  the  Tempk±seo  ^^^^^^^^ 

some,  a  sunken  ^^f  ^^''tVc  smce  iSmediater?"^^  -^^  ^^'  '^'^ 
court  of  the  sanctuary.     The  space  immeuuiui^^^  enclosed  plat- 

congreption      A  itt  e  be       d  the  -^^f  ^^^J.^^J ^,^,„,,ponded  to  the 

the  sacred  books  and  ^^^^^^Jf  S^J^  Pf ^^  ^iii .  the  recess  the  equivalent 
end  was  a  recess,  before  ^f^f  .^^^f  tV/^Ag  i^efore  that  mysterious 
of  the  Holy  of  Holies;  the  ^ell   of    he  one   Deio  ^^^^^^^  ^^^^^^ 

the  Dedication,  each  December,  when  the   03  «*  ^^^^^^/^^  ^j^^.^^.^  Mac- 
kiudling  of  tie  lamps  in  the  JemP^^^  f  ^^^^^^^^^^^  lamps  hung 

cabffius,  was  celebrated  ^«y  ^/g^^^^^^^^t^^'f  S  Sabbath  even- 

up  and  down  the  synagogue  to  ill^^^Xn^nnr  of  the  dav  as  was  done 


133  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

and  in  snail  synagogues,  the  women,  separated  by  a  lattice,  sat  with 
tiieir  backs  to  the  men.  "Where  space  allowed,  however,  a  flat  gallery 
■was  built  for  them,  but,  in  any  case,  they  were  not  visi1)le  to  the  other 
sex.  Trumpets  for  proclaiming  the  new  moon,  and  for  publishing 
sentences  of  excommunication,  formed  part  of  the  furniture,  but  were 
kept  in  the  house  of  the  Hazan.  In  the  porch  was  a  tablet  with 
prayers  for  the  reigning  prince,  and  another  with  the  names  of  any 
who  had  been  excommunicated,  while  below  them  were  boxes  to  re- 
ceive the  alms  of  the  congregation,  as  they  entered,  for  the  poor. 

The  greatest  reverence  was  paid  by  every  Jew  to  his  synagogue.  It 
could  not  be  built  near  a  public  bath,  or  a  wash-house,  or  a  tannery, 
and  if  it  w^ere  taken  down  no  one  would  on  any  account  cross  the 
ground  on  which  it  had  stood. 

The  chief  authorities  of  the  Synagogue  were  a  council  of  elders,  of 
whom  one  acted  as  head,  though  only  the  first  among  equals.  They 
pronounced  excommunications,  delivered  sentences  on  offenders  of 
various  kinds,  managed  the  charities  of  the  congregation,  and  attended 
to  the  wants  of  strangers.  They  were  a  local  counterpart  of  the 
"elders  of  the  people,"  who,  through  the  whole  history  of  Israel, 
formed  a  kind  of  national  senate,  and  of  those  humbler  "elders"  who 
constituted  the  ruling  body  over  towns  and  districts,  as  they  formerly 
had  also  done  over  the  different  tilbes.  It  marks  the  simple  and 
healthy  basis  of  society  in  Israel,  that  the  one  idea  of  the  family  and 
household,  niled  by  its  head,  thus  lay  at  its  root,  as  is  indeed  implied 
in  the  very  name — House  of  Israel — by  which  the  nation,  as  a  whole, 
was  known.  The  head  iiiler  or  elder  of  the  Synagogue  was  formally 
consecrated  by  the  laying  on  of  hands. 

The  inferior  offices  were  held  by  various  officials.  The  Hazan,  or 
"minister,"  had  the  charge  of  the  building,  of  cleaning  the  lamps, 
opening  and  closing  the  doors,  and  doing  any  other  necessary  servile 
work,  like  a  modern  sexton,  besides  acting  as  messenger  to  the  rulers. 
But  he,  also,  in  many  cases,  led  the  prayers  and  chants.  It  was  his 
part  to  hand  the  roll  of  the  Law  to  the  Reader  for  the  time,  pointing 
out  the  proper  lesson  of  the  day.  The  Reader,  as  representative  of 
the  congregation,  had  to  blow  the  ti'umpet  at  the  new  moon,  and  to 
strew  ashes  on  his  head  on  fast  days.  The  alms  of  the  congi-egation 
•were  collected  and  distributed  by  special  officers,  of  whom  tw^o  were 
required  to  act  together  in  the  "receiving:  three  in  the  distribution. 
Tliere  seems  to  have  been  no  functionary  for  reading  the  prayers, 
which  was  done  in  the  name  of  the  congregation,  and  by  its  authority, 
by  any  one  empowered  for  the  time.  Any  member  of  the  congrega- 
tion, unless  he  were  a  minor,  was  qualified  to  do  so.  As  a  rule,  how- 
ever, it  is  likely  that  the  Hazan  generally  led  the  chanting,  and  read 
the  ordinary  lessons.  A  curious  feature  in  the  organization  was,  that 
in  each  synagogue,  ten  men,  known  as  Batlanim,  were  paid  to  attend 
every  service  from  its  opening  to  its  close,  that  there  might  never  be 
fewer  present  than  the  Rabbis  required  to  constitute  a  lawful  serTice. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  138 

There  seems  to  have  been  only  one  synagogue  in  Nazareth,  so  that, 
EM  all  the  Jews  in  the  town  doubtless  attended  it,  a  large  proportion  of 
t'le  population  must  have  been  other  than  Israelites,  or  the  town  itself 
ymst  have  been  small,  to  judge  from  the  size  of  other  synagogues  of 
•  »alilee,  whose  ruins  have  been  discovered.  The  congregation  would, 
a  manj'  respects,  be  very  different  from  Western  notions.  The  men 
mme  in  tlie  long,  flowing,  and,  to  us,  feminine-looking  dress  of  the 
East;  their  heads  covered  with  turbans  of  various  colours — some 
nmple,  otiiers  costly — or  with  the  plain  kefhyeh,  a  kercbief  of  cotton, 
linen,  or  silk,  of  various  colours,  folded  so  that  three  of  the  corners 
hung  over  the  back  and  shoulders,  leaving  the  face  exposed,  and 
loosely  held  round  the  head  by  a  cord — as  is  still  the  Arab  custom ; 
their  clothing,  only  a  long  white  or  striped  t\inic,  of  linen  or  cotton, 
with  sleeves,  next  the  bodj^ — bound  at  the  loins  by  a  sash  or  girdle, — 
and  a  loose  abba  or  cloak  thrown  over  it ;  their  bare  feet  shod  with 
sandals.  Over  the  abba  some  would  wear  a  wide  scarf  of  white  wool, 
thin  and  light;  with  bars  of  red,  purple,  and  blue;  but  with  many, 
this  scarf,  enlarged  to  an  abba,  would  be  the  onlj^  outer  garment.  A 
few  rich  men  might,  perhaps,  wear  one  of  silk,  adorned  with  silver 
or  gold.  This  was  the  Tallith,  an  indispensable  part  of  the  clothing 
of  a  Jew.  From  its  four  corners  hung  four  tassels  of  eight  threads 
apiece,  of  hyacinth-blue,  of  wool  alone,  woven  and  made  up  with 
superstitious  care,  as  a  half  religious  art,  by  a  Jew  only.  These  were 
the  Zizith,  or  fringes,  worn  in  fulfilment  of  an  express  commandment 
of  Moses,  that  the  sight  of  them  might  make  the  wearer  "remember 
all  the  commandments  of  the  Lord,  and  do  them."  So  sacred,  indeed, 
were  they,  that  a  smaller  Tallith,  as  well,  duly  provided  with  them, 
was  worn  underneath  the  clothing  by  every  Jew,  from  his  earliest 
years,  and  he  had  been  taught,  even  in  childhood,  never  to  put  it  on 
without  repeating  the  jjrayer — "Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God, 
King  of  the  Universe,  who  hast  sanctified  us  with  Thj"  command- 
ments, and  given  us  the  commandment  of  the  fringes."  The  outer 
Tallith,  indeed,  was  only  worn  because  the  fringes  of  this  one  were 
covered  up,  and  could  not  be  kissed,  as' the  Rabbis  required,  from 
time  to  time,  during  one  of  the  synagogue  pra5-ers.  The  i-ight  use  of 
the  lessons  of  the  fringes  a  Jew  believed  equivalent  to  keeping  the  whole 
Law,  for  the  Rabbis  told  him  that,  as  the  letters  of  the  name  Zizith, 
used  as  figures,  made  up  the  number  GOO,  they  and  the  five  knots  and 
^ight  threads,  are  equal  to  tb.e  whole  613  precepts  of  the  Law. 

The  Jewisn  mothers  and  daughters  of  Nazareth,  as  they  made  their 
way  to  the  synagogue,  were  not  less  Oriental  and  strange.  They  v,-ere 
always  veiled  in  white  at  public  worship,  and  not  unfrequently  at 
other  times.  Their  flowing  mantles  showed  as  great  variety  of  colour 
as  female  dress  does  now,  but  they  were  much  the  same  in  shape  as 
they  had  been  for  centuries.  Like  many  of  the  men,  they  wore  tur- 
bans, but  they  showed  a  contrast  to  the  other  sex  in  their  ornaments. 
On  week  days  they  wore  nose  rings,  but  they  were  not  allowed  to 


134  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

iv^eai'  these  on  the  Sabbath,  though  they  indulged  in  earrings,  and 
metal  armlets,  and  necklaces  and  leg  rings,  which  tinkled  as  their 
■wearers  walked.  Their  feet,  like  those  of  the  men,  were  shod  with 
Bandals.  The  males  of  a  family  might  go  to  the  .synagogue  any  way 
they  chose,  but  the  women  went  onlj^  by  back  streets,  to  avoid  the 
gaze  of  men.  All,  alike,  were  required  to  greet  no  one,  and  to  make 
no  reverence,  whoever  passed,  nor  to  loiter  by  the  way,  lest  it  should 
distract  their  minds  from  thinking  upon  God.  At  the  threshold  ail 
laid  aside  their  sandals,  for  it  was  unbecoming  to  enter  even  one's  own 
house  with  shod  feet,  far  less  the  house  of  God;  but,  for  the  same 
reason,  all  kept  their  heads  covered  during  the  whole  service.  Every 
man,  on  entering,  prepared  to  put  on  his  Tephillin  or  phylacteries, 
which  must  be  worn  every  day  during  morning  prayer.  They  con- 
sisted of  l^Yo  small  parchment  boxes,  about  an  inch  square,  one  divided 
into  four  parchment  compartments,  the  other  left  undivided.  On  the 
two  sides  was  stamped  the  letter  ^,  as  pait  of  the  word  Shaddai — one 
of  the  names  of  the  Almighty.  Four  slips  of  parchment,  each  about 
an  inch  wide  and  eight  inches  long,  inscribed  with  the  verses — Deut. 
vi.  4—9;  Deut.  ix.  13—21;  Exod.  xiii.  2—10;  and  Exod.  xiii.  11—16, 
were  placed  in  the  different  compartments  of  the  one,  a  parchment 
lid  enclosing  the  whole,  with  long  leather  thongs  attached,  to  bind  it 
on  the  forehead.  The  second  box  was  exactly  the  same,  except  that 
its  interior  was  not  divided,  and  the  verses  of  Scriptru'e  enclosed  were 
written,  in  foiu*  columns,  on  one  piece  of  parchment. 

The  former  of  these  phylacteries,  or  amulets,  was  bound  on  the 
forehead  exactly  between  the  eyes,  before  morning  prayer  began;  the 
other  on  the  left  arm,  opposite  the  heart,  its  thongs  being  wound 
seven  times  round  the  arm  and  thrice  round  the  middle  finger.  Their 
wearer  was  now  ready  to  talce  part  in  the  services.  As  in  the  case  of 
the  Tallith,  the  Tephillin  were  put  on  with  words  of  prayer  in  the 
prevailing  language  of  the  country. 

The  worship  of  the  synagogue  was  limited  to  prayer  and  reading 
the  Law  and  the  Prophets,  for  though  a  Rabbi  or  other  person,  if 
present,  might  be  asked  to  speak,  this  was  an  addition  to  the  pre- 
scribed forms.  The  service  began  with  silent  prayer  by  all  present, 
the  congregation  standing  during  this  as  during  all  the  prayers.  Then 
the  Reader,  wearing  his  Tallith,  having  entered  the  raised  enclosure 
in  the  middle  of  the  synagogue,  recited  a  prayer  of  adoration  from 
the  desk — "Blessed  be  Thou  by  whose  word  the  world  was  created; 
blessed  be  Thou  for  ever!  Blessed  be  Thou  who  hast  made  all  out.  of 
nothing;  blessed  be  He  who  orders  and  confirms;  blessed  be  He  who 
has  pity  on  the  earth;  blessed  be  He  who  has  pity  on  His  creatures; 
blessed  be  He  vvho  richly  rewards  His  saints;  blessed  be  He  who  lives 
for  ever,  and  is  for  ever  the  same ;  blessed  be  He,  the  Saviour  and 
Redeemer'.  Blessed  be  Thy  name!  Blessed  be  Thou,  O  Eternal! 
Our  God!  King  of  the  Universe!  All-Merciful  God  and  Father!  Thy 
people  utter  Thy  praise  with  their  lips:  Thy  godly  servants  proclaim 


^  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  185 

Thy  jrlory  and  honour.  We  wo\ilcl  praise  Thee,  Eternal  Lord  God. 
-with  the  psalms  of  Thy  servant  David ;  we  would  laud  and  magnify 
Thee  with  songs  of  thanksgiving  and  praise.  We  do  liomage  to  Th" 
name,  our  King,  our  God,^  the  only  One,  He  who  liveth  for  ever, 
Lord,  Avhose  name  is  glorious  for  ever  and  ever!  Blessed  be  Thou,  O 
Eternal!  Lord,  blessed  be  Thou  in  songs  of  praise!"  To  this,  as  to 
all  prayers,  the  congregation  answered.  Amen. 

Readings  from  different  parts  of  the  Scripture  then  followed,  in  part 
a  collection  of  separate  verses,  in  part  connected  extracts,  ending  with 
the  last  six  Psalms,  this  introductory  portion  of  the  service  closing 
with  another  short  but  exalted  prayer.  A  few  verses  more  from 
Scripture  followed,  and  then  came  the  Song  of  Moses  at  the  Passage 
of  the  Red  Sea,  and  another  short  prayer. 

Presently  the  Reader  summoned  the  congregation  to  join  in  a  short 
responsive  utterance  of  praise  known  as  the  Kadish.  "Praise  the 
Lord,"  said  he,  "who  is  worthy  to  be  praised,"  and  to  this  the 
people,  bowing,  responded,  "Praised  be  the  Lord,  who  is  ever  and 
eternally  worthy  of  praise !"  and  so,  through  several  antiphonies. 

It  was  obligator}^  on  every  Jew  to  repeat  certain  verses  twice  every 
day,  morning  and  evening.  These  were  now  read.  They  were 
known  by  the  name  of  S'chma,  or  "Hear,"  from  their  beginning 
with  the  words,  "Hear,  O  Israel,  the  Eternal,  our  God,  is  one  Eternal 
God."  Two  prayers  preceded  them,  the  one,  heard  with  joy  and  yet 
with  trembling,  exalting  God  for  His  Majesty  in  the  heavens,  amidst 
he  armies  of  the  angels.  It  was  believed  to  be  listened  to  by  all 
I  eaven.  God  Himself  and  the  angels  responding,  at  its  close — "  Happy 
I  le  people  in  such  a  case;  happy. the  people  whose  God  is  Jehovah!" 
The  other  thanked  God  for  His  love  to  Israel,  and  asked  enlighten- 
ment in  His  holy  law.  Another  short  prayer  was  now  read,  thank- 
ing Him  f(^r  the  might}^  works  He  had  done  for  their  fathers,  espe- 
cially in  delivering  them,  from  Egj'pt,  and  closing  with  supplication 
for  delivery  as  a  nation  from  their  evil  state.  The  closing  words 
chanted  by  the  Reader  were  striking — "  Rock  of  Isi-ael!  up!  to  the 
help  of  Israel:  save,  for  Thy  promise  sake,  Judah  and  Israel!  Save 
us,  Eternal  God,  Eternal  God  of  Hosts!  whose  name  is  the  Holy  One 
of  Israel.  Blessed  be  Thou,  O  Eternal,  who  of  old  didst  redeem 
Israel!" 

During  all  these  prayers  the  congregation  stood,  -Rnth  their  faces 
towards  the  shrine  of  the  Law.  Only  the  Reader  spoke:  the  con 
p-egation  simplj'  responded  "  Amen,"  except  at  the  Kadish. 

Kow  commenced  the  second  part  of  the  service — the  repeating  of 
the  "prayers  known  as  the  eighteen  Benedictions,"  or  simply  a.i 
"  Tlie  Prayer."  It  was  originally  drawn  up  by  the  men  of  the  Great 
Syruigogue,  but  finally  arranged  in  its  present  form,  with  one  or  two 
a  ;  ^itional  prayers,  about  the  year  100  after  Christ.  The  whole  were 
tpoken  by  the  entire  congregation  softly,  and  then  aloud  by  tho 
Lcacl::r,  and  this  was  repeated  at  the  evening  service,  it  being  required 


188  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  ^ 

of  every  Israelite  that  he  should  repeat  them  all,  for  himself,  three 
times  every  day,  just  as  he  was  required  to  repeat  the  S'chma  twice 
daily.  During  this  series  of  prayers  the  whole  congregation  stood, 
immovable,  with  their  faces  towards  the  shrine,  and  their  feet  close 
together,  in  an  attitude  of  fixed  devotion.  At  the  beginning  and 
close  of  the  first  and  sixteenth  Benedictions  all  bent  the  knee,  and 
bowed  their  heads  to  the  earth.  As  in  the  case  of  the  S'chma,  these 
prayers  were  read  without  the  change  or  addition  of  a  word.  After 
the  congregation  had  recited  them  the  Reader,  still  standing  in  the 
raised  enclosure,  took  three  steps  backwards,  then  three  forwards: 
stood  quite  still,  and  commenced,  "Lord,  open  Thou  our  lips,  that 
our  mouth  may  show  forth  Thy  praise !"  "I  will  call  upon  the  name 
of  the  Lord;  ascribe  ye  greatness  unto  our  God!"  The  first  three 
prayers  of  the  eighteen  contained  ascriptions  of  praise,  the  last  three 
thanksgivings,  and  the  twelve  between,  supplications  for  the  nation 
and  for  individuals.  As  the  Reader  closed,  he  recited  the  words — 
"We,  here  below,  would  hallow  Thy  name,  as  it  is  hallowed  in 
heaven,  as  is  written  in  the  prophets — '  One  cried  to  another,  and 

said .'"    The  congregation  then  responded,  "Holy,  holy,  holy 

is  the  Lord  of  Hosts:  the  whole  earth  is  full  of  His  glory!"  Then 
the  Reader  began  again :  ' '  They  who  stand  before  Him  say,  '  Blessed ;' " 
and  the  congregation  answered,  "Blessed  be  the  glory  of  the  Lord 
from  His  place."  The  Reader,  once  more,  began:  "In  Thy  holy 
Scripture  it  is  written:"  and  the  congregation  answered,  "The  Lord 
shall  reign  for  ever,  even  Thy  God,  O  Ziou,  unto  all  generations. 
Hallelujah!" 

On  Mondays  and  Thursdays,  and  on  Sabbaths,  the  Law  was  now- 
read.  For  the  Sabbaths,  the  five  Books  of  Moses  were  divided  into 
fifty  sections,  of  seven  lessons  each,  and  a  complete  section  was 
repeated  each  Sabbath,  so  that  the  Law  was  read  through  in  a  year. 
At  the  end  of  each  lesson,  and  at  its  beginning,  a  collect  was  read, 
and  between  each,  the  Expositor — a  member  of  the  congregation  who 
had  been  invited  for  the  purpose,  and  who  stood  in  the  desk  beside 
the  Reader  while  the  lesson  was  being  read — delivered  a  short  address 
from  it.  A  priest,  if  present,  had  the  first  invitation,  then  a  Levite, 
and  any  one  who  seemed  to  know  the  Law  came  after.  The  roll  of 
the  Prophets  was  handed  to  him  by  the  Reader  after  the  closing 
collect  of  the  lesson.  At  each  service  there  was  thus  a  series  of  short 
comments.  One  Expositor  gave  a  general  addres.s  on  the  Law 
embodied  in  the  lesson :  another  an  exhortation  based  on  it,  and  a 
third  expounded  the  allegorical  mj^steries  it  shadowed  forth.  Each 
was,  however,  expected  to  illustrate  the  three  cardinal  points  of 
Jewish  piety — the  love  of  God,  of  virtue,  and  of  one's  neighbourj 
this  last  duty  being  additionally  enforced  by  a  collection  in  the  boxes 
at  the  door  "  for  the  land  of  Israel." 

Very  few  relics  of  these  synagogue  addresses  survive,  but  we  are 
able  even  from  these,  as  preserved  in  the  Talmud,  to  realize  their 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  '         137 

general  characteristics.  Short,  and  in  great  measure  made  up  of 
proverbs,  natural  imagery,  and  parables,  they  were  very  different 
from  our  sermons.  One  example  will  suffice.  An  ancient  address 
from  the  same,  chapter  of  Isaiah  from  which  Jesus  took  His  text 
in  the  synagogue  of  Nazareth,  runs  thus — the  special  words  com- 
mented on  being,  "  He  hath  clothed  me  with  the  garments  of  sal- 
vation :" — 

"  There  are  seven  garments,"  says  the  speaker,  "which  the  Holy 
One,  blessed  be  His  name,  has  put  on  since  the  world  began,  or  wiU 
put  on  before  the  hour  when  He  will  visit  with  His  ^^Tath  the  godless 
Edom."  When  He  created  the  world  He  clothed  Himself  in  honour 
and  glory,  for  it  saj's:  'Thou  art  clothed  with  honour  and  glory.' 
When  He  showed  Himself  at  the  Red  Sea  He  clothed  Himself  in 
majesty,  for  it  says:  '  The  Lord  reigneth.  He  is  clothed  Avith  majesty.' 
When  He  gave  the  Law  He  clothed  Himself  with  might,  for  it 
«ays:  'Jehovah  is  clothed  with  might,  wherewith  He  hath  girded 
Himself."  As  often  as  He  forgave  Israel  its  sins  He  clothed  Him- 
self in  white,  for  it  sa5's:  'His  garment  was  white  as  snow.' 
When  He  punishes  the  nations  of  the  world  He  puts  on  the  gar- 
ments of  vengeance,  for  it  says:  'He  put  on  the  garments  of 
vengeance  for  clothing  and  was  clad  with  zeal  as  a  cloak. '  He  Avill 
put  on  the  sixth  robe  when  the  Messiah  is  revealed.  Then  will  He 
clothe  Himself  in  righteousness,  for  it  says:  '  For  He  put  on  righteous- 
ness as  a  breastplate,  and  an  helmet  of  salvation  on  His  head.'  He 
will  put  on  the  seventh  robe  when  He  punishes  Edom.  Then  will 
He  clothe  Himself  in  Adom  (red),  for  it  says:  'Wherefore  art  Thou 
red  in  Thine  apparel  ?  '  But  the  robes  with  which  He  will  clothe  the 
]\Iessiah  will  shine  from  one  end  of  the  world  to  the  other,  for  it  says: 
'Asa  bridegroom  who  is  crowned  with  his  turban,  like  a  priest.' 
And  the  sons  of  Israel  Vvill  rejoice  in  His  light,  and  will  say, 
'  Blessed  be  the  hour  when  the  j\Iessiah  was  born,  blessed  the  wonib 
which  bore  Him,  blessed  the  eyes  that  were  counted  worthy  to  see 
Him.  For  the  opening  of  His  lips  is  blessing  and  peace,  His  cpeech 
is  rest  to  the  soul,  the  thoughts  of  His  heart  conlidence  and  joy,  the 
speech  of  His  lips  pardon  and  forgiveness.  His  prayer  like  the  sweet- 
smelling  savour  of  a  sacrifice.  His  supplications  holiness  and  puritj-.' 
O  how  blessed  is  Israel  for  whom  such  a  lot  is  reserved,  for  it  says: 
'  How  great  is  Thy  goodness  which  Thou  hast  laid  up  for  them  that 
fear  Thee. ' " 

On  Mondays  and  Thursdays  the  first  of  the  seven  lessons  for  the 
next  Sunday  was  read,  but  it  was  divided  into  three  portions,  before 
each  of  which  one  of  the  congregation  was  called  up  to  the  desk. 

A  few  prayers  more  from  tiie  Reader,  and  the  service  vras  ended, 
with  a  parting  benediction  delivered  by  a  priest  with  uplifted  hands, 
if  one  were  present,  if  not,  by  the  Reader.  The  prayers  were  repeated 
in  the  common  dialect  of  Palestine  as  a  rule,  but  in  Greek  towns,  such 
lis  Csesarea,  they  were  also  recited  in  Greek.     The  Hebrew  or  Chal- 


138  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dee  of  the  Law  or  the  Prophets  was   translated  into  the  spoken 
language  by  an  interpreter,  who  stood  by  tlie  side  of  tlie  Reader. 

Such  was  the  morning  service.  In  the  afternoon  the  congregation 
met  once  more;  lieard  a  shorter  service,  and  remained,  frequently, 
listening  to  addresses,  till  lamplight  in  the  evening.  The  "Amen" 
of  the  congregation,  from  lime  to  time,  was  the  only  interruption 
sanctioned,  but  among  Orientals  it  would  have  been  hopeless  to 
enforce  silence.  Ever  and  anon  a  hearer  volunteered  assistance  if 
the  speaker  hesitated,  or  corrected  a  mistake  if  he  supposed  one 
made,  and  the  whole  congregation,  at  times,  signified  aloud  their 
agreement,  shouted  a  contradiction,  or  even  ordered  the  speaker  to 
be  silent. 

AVhen  to  the  many  prayers  of  the  synagogue  service  we  add  those 
required  in  private  life,  the  "vain  repetitions"  against  which  Christ 
cautioned  His  hearers  on  the  Mount  may  be  understood.  Besides 
the  five  daily  repetitions  of  the  S'chma  and  the  Benedictions,  every 
Jew  gave  thanks  before  and  after  every  act  of  eating  or  drinking, 
before,  and,  often,  after,  each  of  the  countless  external  rites  and  ex- 
ercises reqviired  of  him;  and  there  were,  besides,  special  prayers 
for  new  moons,  new  years,  feasts,  half-feasts,  and  fasts,  and 
riany  for  special  incidents  of  private  or  family  life.  Prayer,  txJways 
prescribed  in  exact  words,  was  in  fact  multiplied  till  it  was  in  danger 
of  becoming  too  often  formal  and  mechanical — a  mere  outward  act, 
of  superstitious  importance  in  itself,  apart  from  the  spirit  in  which  it 
was  offered. 

Fuch  a  circle  of  synagogue  service,  constantly  repeated,  we  must 
conceive  the  child  Jesus  to  have  frequented  from  His  earliest  years, 
day  by  day,  and  week  by  week. 

The  influence  of  an  institution  in  which  the  Law  was  read, 
throughout,  every  year,  on  the  Sabbath,  and,  in  part,  twice  each 
week,  with  extra  readings  on  special  high  days ;  in  which  the  Proph- 
ets and  Psalms  were  constantly  brought  before  the  congregation,  and 
in  vv'hich  multiplied  prayers,  always  the  same,  impressed  on  the 
mind  every  emotion  and  thought  of  the  national  religion,  in  language 
often  grand  and  solemn  in  the  extreme — must  have  been  great.  The 
[ynagoguc  was,  in  fact,  the  seed-bed  of  Judaism :  its  inspiring  soul 
and  its  abiding  nurture.  It  was  in  it  that  Jesus  was  first  drawn  into 
love  and  sympathy,  as  a  child,  for  His  people,  and  that  He  heard  the  . 
rights,  duties,  and  prospects,  of  the  suffering  people  of  God,  and 
di-ank  in  a  deep  knowledge  of  the  Law  and  the  Prophets,  by  which, 
as  St.  Luke  tells  us,  "He  kept  on  growing  in  wisdom."  The  les- 
£ons  He  learned  in  it  can  be  traced  through  the  whole  Gospels. 
The  addresses  He  heard  were  no  doubt,  for  the  most  part,  lifeless 
r.abbinical  refinements,  with  a  Pharisaic  colouring,  which  His  pure 
find  sinless  soul,  filled  with  the  love  of  His  heavenly  Father,  instinc- 
tively prized  at  their  true  value.  His  words  in  after  life  often  show 
liiat  Hfi  had  been  accustomed  to  see  Pharisees  and  Scribes  in  the  syu- 


THE  LIFE  OP  CIIPJST.  133 

as»ogii'^,  who  made  the  Mondaj's  and  Thursdays,  on  vrhich  service 
was  held,  their  days  of  fasting;  who  j)aradcd  a  show  of  long  prayers 
o;  cf  liheral  alms;  and  eagerly  pressed  forward  1o  the  front  seat3, 
whore  ihey  would  be  most  iu  honour,  and  would  he  most  likely  to  be 
called  up  to  speak.  As  lie  grew  older  He  woidd  meet,  in  turn,  in 
the  syn  i;ogue,  every  shade  of  the  religion  of  the  day, — the  strictness 
of  the  school  of  Shammai,  and  the  mildness  of  that  of  Hillel;  Jewish 
bigotry,  and  Galikean  freedom  and  tolerance;  the  latitudinarianism 
of  the  Sodducec,  or  the  puritanical  strictness  of  the  Essene.  The 
great  doctrines  of  ceremonial  jnirity,  of  the  righteousness  of  works, 
of  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  of  the  coming  redemption  of  Israel, 
would  sound  in  His  ears  Sabbath  by  Sabbath,  giving  Him  much  to 
retain  and  still  more  to  reject.  la  the  synagogue  He  came  in  contact 
with  the  religious  life  of  His  race,  iu  its  manifold  aspects.  We  see, 
in  His  public  life,  how  the  crowds  that  gathered  round  Ilim,  as  the 
new  Rabbi  of  Israel,  entered  into  conversation  with  Him  on  the  sub- 
jects of  His  discourse,  or  commented  on  ihcm  afterwards,  and  He 
had,  no  doubt,  done  much  the  same  with  the  teachers  He  heard  in 
His  earlier  years.  The  Rabbis  whom  He  met  iu  the  synagogues,  in 
the  markets,  or  at  meals,  were  accustomed  to  exchange  question  and 
answer  with  all,  and  must  often  have  had  to  reply  to  His  searching 
questions,  and  deep  insight  into  Scriptui'c.  Nor  would  the  longing 
of  the  people  at  large,  for  the  vengeance  of  God  on  the  oppressors  of 
the  nation  escape  His  notice.  As  a  man  in  all  things  like  other  men, 
except  in  His  sinlessness — the  synagogue  with  its  services,  and  the 
free  expression  of  thought,  both  iu  public  imd  private,  which  it 
favoured,  must  have  been  one  of  the  chief  agencies  in  developing  His 
human  uatm-e. 


CHAPER  XIV. 

SOCIAL   INFLUENCES. 

Among  the  influefices  amidst  which  the  child  Jesus  grew  up  at 
Nazareth,  the  Synagogue,  with  its  constantly  recurring  services,  was, 
no  doubt,  one  of  the  most  important.  It  was  a  characteristic  of 
Jewish  life,  however,  that  its  religion  was  interwoven  ^^^th  the 
whole  tissue  of  daily  events,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave. 

The  Jewish  ecclesiastical  calendar,  with  its  cycle  of  feasts,  half, 
feasts  and  fasts,  must  have  had  a  great  effect  in  colouring  the  general 
mind,  and  perpetuating  the  system  and  sentiments  which  they  illus- 
trated. There  were  four  different  reckonings  of  the  Hebrew  year^ 
that  which  commenced  with  the  first  day  of  Nisan,  and  was  known 
as  "  the  year  of  kings  and  feasts;"  a  second,  which  dated  from  the 
first  of  Elul — that  is,  from  the  full  moon  of  August — from  which  the 
year  was  calculated  for  the  tithing  of  cattle;  a  third,  from  the  first 
day  oi  Tisri — that  is,  from  thi  new  moon  of  September — from  which 


140  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  years  from  the  creation  of  the  world  were  reckoned ;  and  a  fourth, 
from  the  first  day  of  the  eleventh  month,  Schebet — from  which  the 
age  of  trees  was  counted,  for  the  paj^ment  of  tithes,  and  for  noting 
tlae  time  when  it  became  lawful  to  eat  the  fruit.  • 

The  stir  made  to  catch  the  lirst  glimpse  of  the  new  moon  would  be 
a  gi-eat  event  each  month,  even  in  a  retired  place  like  Nazareth. 
Jesus  would  hear,  how,  on  the  last  day  of  each  month,  men  were 
posted  on  all  the  heights  round  Jerusalem  to  watch  for  it;  how 
they  hastened,  at  the  utmost  speed,  to  the  Temple,  with  the  news, 
even  if  it  were  Sabbath,  and  how  the  sacred  trumpet  sounded  to 
announce  it,  and  special  sacrifices  were  offered.  The  appearance  of 
the  new  moon  had  in  all  ages  been  a  great  day  in  Israel,  as  it  also 
was  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  '  The  Rabbis  affirmed  that 
God  Himself  had  spoken  of  it  to  Moses,  and  told  him  how  to  observe 
it.  All  over  the  land  it  was  celebrated,  monthly,  by  special  religious 
solemnities,  and  by  universal  rejoicing;  in  some  months  more  than  in 
others;  every  one  in  Jerusalem,  who  could,  repairing  to  the  Temple, 
and  all,  elsewhere,  making  it  a  point  to  attend  the  synagogue  on  that 
da3^  In  the  fondly  remembered  times  of  the  past,  the  day  of  the 
new  moon  had  been  that  on  which,  especially,  the  people  flocked  to 
the  prophets  to  receive  instruction,  and  on  which  their  ancestors,  at 
some  periods,  had  been  wont  to  worship,  from  their  roofs,  the  return- 
ing light,  as  that  of  the  Queen  of  Heaven. 

Many  things  would  impress  this  event  on  the  Nazareth  children. 
They  doubtless  noticed  how  all  the  men  of  the  village  watched  from 
their  doors,  each  month,  for  the  new  light,  and  they  had  often  heard 
their  fathers,  with  covered  head,  repeat  the  prayer  still  used  by  every 
pious  Jew  at  first  seeing  it — "  Blessed  be  Thou,  Lord,  our  God!  who, 
through  Thy  Word,  didst  create  the  heavens,  and  their  whole  host, 
by  the  breath  of  Thy  mouth.  He  appointed  them  a  law  and  time 
that  they  should  not  go  back  from  their  places.  Joyfully  and  gladly 
they  fulfil  the  will  of  their  Creator,  whose  working  and  whose  works 
are  truth.  He  spoke  to  the  moon,  and  commanded  her  that  she 
should  renew  herself  in  glory  and  splendour,  for  those  whom  He  has 
carried  from  their  mother's  breast,  for  they,  too,  will  be  one  day  re- 
newed like  her,  and  glorify  their  Creator  after  the  honour  of  His 
kingdom.  Blessed  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  who  renewest  the  moons.  Nor 
would  the  simple  household  fea.st  that  followed  be  unnoticed,  with 
its  invited  guests,  nor  the  Sabbath  rest  of  all  from  their  daily  work, 
for  it  must  have  been  a  welcome  monthly  holiday  to  the  school  chil- 
dren of  Nazareth. 

The  great  festival  of  the  Hebrew  year — the  Passover  and  the  feast 
of  Unleavened  Bread — began  on  the  15th  day  of  Nisan,  the  first 
month,  and  lasted  till  the  22nd.  It  was  one  of  the  three  yearly  feasts 
which  every  Israelite,  if  he  could,  attended  in  Jerusalem  Like  cir- 
cumcision, which,  indeed,  was  hardly  thought  so  sacred,  its  due 
observance  was  esteemed  a  vital  necessity,  on  no  account  to  be  neg- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  141 

lected  in  any  year.  It  was  the  annual  sacrament  of  the  whole  Jew- 
ish race.  The  Passover  lamb  was  the  one  offering  which  all  pre- 
sented spontaneously.  It  not  only  commemorated  a  national  deliv- 
erance— the  "  pa.ssing  over"  of  Israel  by  the  destroying  angel,  but 
was  believed  to  secure  the  same  mercy  for  themselves  hereafter. 
Every  one  regarded  it  as  a  debt  he  owed,  and  must  by  all  means  pay, 
if  he  would  be  counted  worthy  of  a  part  in  the  congregation  of 
Israel.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  household  sacrifice,  wliich  each  family  of- 
fered on  its  own  behalf,  that  its  transgressions  through  the  year  might 
be  "passed  over."  Even  till  the  later  ages  of  Jewish  history  the 
father  of  each  household  himself  killed  the  male  lamb  or  goat  required, 
and  sprinkled  the  blood  on  the  lintel  and  doorj^osts,  as  an  expiatioa 
for  the  family  as  a  whole,  and  for  any  who  might  have  joined  them 
in  keeping  the  feast. 

Pious  Israelites  were  careful  to  accustom  their  children,  from  the 
earliest  years,  to  the  requirements  of  their  religion,  and  hence  often 
brought  tliem  with  them  to  Jerusalem  at  the  great  feasts.  Indeed, 
even  the  liberal  school  of  Hillel  made  it  binding  to  do  so  as  soon  as  a 
child  was  able,  with  the  help  of  its  father's  hand,  to  climb  the  flight 
of  steps  into  the  Temple  courts. 

The  Passover  itself  was  eaten  only  by  males,  but  the  week  of  the 
feast  was  a  time  of  universal  rejoicing,  so  that  husbands  were  wont  to 
take  their  wives,  as  well  as  their  sons,  with  them. 

Joseph  and  Mary  went  to  Jerusalem,  every  year,  to  the  Passover, 
and  took  Jesus  with  them,  for  the  tirst  time,  when  He  was  twelve 
years  old.  Like  His  cousin  John,  He  had  grown  in  mind  and  body, 
and  showed  a  sweet  religious  spirit.  The  journey  must  have  been 
the  revelation  of  a  new  world  to  Him — a  world,  beyond  the  hills  of 
Samaria,  which  had  hitherto  seemed  the  limit  of  the  earth,  as  He 
looked  away  to  them  from  the  hill-top  behind  Nazareth. 

Only  a  Jew  could  realize  the  feelings  such  a  visit  must  have  raised 
even  in  a  child.  Jerusalem,  to  the  Israelite,  was  more,  if  possible, 
than  Mecca  is  to  the  Mahommedan.  The  whole  "laud  of  Israel,"  was 
"holy,"  since  it,  only,  could  offer  to  God  the  first-fruits,  or  the  first- 
born, or  the  "perpetual"  .shewbread.  Its  walled  towns  were  still 
"holier."  No  leper  was  allowed  in  them,  and  a  corpse  carried  out  to 
burial  could  not  be  brought  into  a  town  again.  But  Jerusalem,  th3 
sacred  city,  the  seat  of  tlie  Temple,  liad  a  sanctity  all  its  own.  By 
Rabbinical  laws,  which,  however,  were,  doubtless,  often  neglected, 
even  holy  offerings,  of  tlie  lower  kinds,  and  second  tithes,  might  be 
eaten  in  it.  The  dead  must  be  carried  out  before  sunset  of  the  day 
of  death.  No  houses  could  be  let  for  lodgings,  and  no  sepulchres, 
except  those  of  the  house  of  David,  and  of  Huldah,  the  proph- 
etess, had  been  tolerated.  No  impurity  was  suffered,  lest  creeping 
things  should  detile  the  holy  city;  nor  could  scaffolds  be  set  up  against 
the  walls,  for  a  similar  fear  of  defilement.  Smoke  from  household 
fires  was  forbidden;  poultry  were  unlawful,  because  they  scratched 


143  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

up  the  soil,  and  might  defile  passing  offerings ;  no  leper  could  enter 
the  gates ;  gardens  were  prohibited,  because  the  decaying  leaves  and 
the  raanure  would  make  an  offensive  smell.  Superstition  had  in- 
vented the  most  amazing  fancies,  as  proofs  of  the  passing  holiness  of 
the  city  in  its  whole  extent,  and  these  were,  doubtless,  universally  and 
implicitly  believed.  It  was  maintained  that  no  serpent  or  scorpion 
ever  harmed  any  one  in  Jerusalem ;  that  no  fly  was  ever  seen  in  the 
place  for  slaughtering  the  sacrifices ;  that  no  rain  ever  put  out  the  fire 
of  the  altar,  and  that  no  wind  ever  blew  aside  the  pillar  of  smoke  over 
the  altar.  But  the  hospitality  of  the  holy  city  was  less  open  to  ques- 
tion; for  it  was  a  common  boast  that  no  one  had  ever  failed  to  find 
friendly  entertainment,  or  a  hearth  on  which  to  roast  his  passover. 
However  churlish  to  all  besides,  the  hospitality  of  the  citizens  to  their 
own  nation  was  unbounded. 

But  if  the  city  were  holy,  it  was  mainly  so  because  of  the  far  greater 
holiness  of  the  sanctuary  within  its  bounds.  The  Temple  mountain 
held  the  fourth  place  in  local  holiness.  The  ceremonially  unclean 
could  not  enter  it.  The  space  between  the  court  of  the  heathen  and 
the  inner  courts — the  Zwinger,  or  Chel — ranked  next;  none  but 
Israelites  could  enter  it,  and  not  even  they,  if  defiled  by  a  dead  body. 
The  women's  court  came  next.  No  unclean  person,  even  after  bath- 
ing, could  enter  it  till  sunset.  The  Forecourt  of  the  Israelites  was  still 
holier.  No  one  could  go  into  it  who  needed  expiation  to  be  made  for 
him.  Even  the  clean  must  bathe  before  entering,  and  any  unclean 
person  intruding,  through  oversight,  must  atone  for  his  error  by  a 
trespass-offering.  The  Forecourt  of  the  Priests  was  yet  more  sacred. 
None  but  the  priests  or  Levites  could  cross  its  threshold,  except  on 
special  occasions,  specified  by  the  Law.  The  space  between  the  altar 
and  the  Temple  had  a  still  greater  sanctity,  for,  into  it,  no  priest  with 
any  bodily  defect,  or  with  his  hair  in  disorder,  or  with  a  torn  robe,  or 
who  had  tasted  wine,  could  enter.  The  Temple  itself  stood  apart,  in 
the  tenth  and  highest  degree  of  sanctity.  Before  entering  it,  every 
priest  had  to  wash  both  hands  and  feet.  In  Ibis  revered  centre,  how- 
ever, there  was  one  spot  more  awful  than  all  the  rest— the  Holy  of 
Holies,  which  the  high  priest  alone  could  enter,  and  he  only  once  a 
year,  on  the  great  Day  of  Atonement,  in  the  performance  of  the  rites 
of  the  day,  which  required  his  entering  it  four  times. 

Such  a  country  and  city  could  not  fail  to  be  tlie  objects  of  abiding 
and  passionate  sentiment.  Affection  for  their  native  land  led  to  the 
unique  historical  phenomenon  of  the  return  of  the  exiles  from  Baby- 
lon. Many  psalms  of  the  period  still  record  how  the  captives  wept 
by  the  rivers  of  Baliylon  when  they  remembered  Zion,  and  hung  their 
harps  on  the  willows  of  their  banks;  and  the  same  intense  longing  for 
Palestine  is  -illustrated  even  yet,  by  the  fond  fancy  of  the  Targum 
that  the  bodies  of  the  righteous  Jews  who  die  in  foreign  lands,  make 
their  way,  under  ground,  to  the  Mount  of  Olives,  to  share  in  the  res- 
urrection of  the  just,  of  which  it  is  to  l>e  the  scene.     The  wailing  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  143 

the  Jews  of  Jerusalem  over  their  ruined  Temple,  as  they  lean  against 
the  few  stones  of  it  which  yet  remain,  shows  the  same  feeling,  and  it 
is  shared  by  all  the  race  so  strongly,  that  some  earth  from  the  land  of 
their  fathers  is  sprinkled  on  the  grave  of  every  Jew  that  dies  away 
from  it,  to  make  him  rest  in  peace. 

Love  of  theii  mother-land,  however,  was  not  especially  that  which 
linked  the  Jews  of  all  countries  in  Christ's  day  into  a  great  brother- 
liood,  and  attracted  them  continually  to  Jerusalem,  for  they  were 
voluntarily  settled,  far  and  wide,  in  foreign  lands.  Nor  was  it  their 
longing  for  freedom  and  independence,  for  they  were  contented  sub- 
jects of  all  forms  of  government.  Their  eyes  were  everywhere  turned 
to  the  Temple,  and  thej  found  in  it  the  centre  of  their  national  unity. 
Their  heavenly  and  earthly  fatherland  seemed  to  meet  in  its  sacred  en- 
■closure.  From  all  the  earth,  wherever  a  Jew  lived,  rose  the  same  cry  as 
that  of  the  exiles  at  the  sources  of  the  Jordan.  "  As  the  hart  panteth 
after  the  water-brooks,  so  panteth  my  soul  after  Thee,  O  God.  My  soul 
Jhirsteth  for  God,  for  the  living  God :  when  shall  I  come  and  appear 
before  God?  I  pour  out  my  soul  in  me  when  I  remember  these  things — 
how  I  went  witli  the  pilgrim  bands,  and  marched  up  with  them  to  the 
house  of  God,  with  the  voice  of  joy  and  praise ;  with  the  festive  crowd !" 
To  the  Jews  of  every  land  it  was  the  crown  and  glory  of  their  religious 
system.  In  their  scattered  synagogues  and  houses  of  prayer  they 
looked  towiirds  it  at  every  service.  Fheir  gifts  and  offerings  flowed 
to  it  in  a  golden  stream,  partlv  to  satisfy  the  requirements  of  the 
Law,  but  even  more  to  gratify  their  religious  devotion.  Every  Jew 
over  twenty  throughout  the  world  gave  his  didrachma  yearly — in 
payment  of  the  firsl-fmits  required  by  the  Law — to  maintain  the 
Temple  and  its  sacrifices.  Constant  voluntary  gifts,  besides,  often  of 
great  value,  streamed  into  the  holy  treasury.  Tithes,  also,  were 
claimed  by  the  Rabbis  from  all  Jews  abroad  as  well  as  at  home,  and 
were  doubtless  given  by  the  devout.  "In  almost  every  town,"  says 
Philo,  "there  is  a  chest  for  the  sacred  money,  and  into  this  the  dues 
are  put.  At  fixed  times  it  is  entrusted  to  the  foremost  men  to  carry 
it  to  Jerusalem.  The  noblest  are  chosen  from  every  town  to  take  up 
the  Hope  of  all  Jews,  untouched,  for  on  this  payment  of  legal  dues 
rests  the  hope  of  tlie  devout."  Egypt,  though  it'had  a  Temple  of  its 
own  at  Leontopolis,  .sent  this  yearly  tribute  regularly;  it  came  con- 
Itantly  from  Rome  and  all  the  West ;  from  Lesser  Asia  and  all  Syria. 
But  it  flowed  in  the  richest  stream  from  Babylonia  and  the  countries 
beyond  the  Euphrates,  from  which  it  was  brought  up  under  the  pro- 
jection of  thousands,  who  volunteered  to  escort  it  to  Jerusalem,  and 
protect  it  from  plunder  by  the  Parthians  on  the  way. 

Thus  Jerusalem  and  the  Temple  were  the  grand  religious  centre  of 
all  Israel,  to  the  remotest  limits  of  its  wanderings.  The  Sanctuary 
lived  in  every  heart.  To  maintain  it  inviolate  was  the  one  common 
anxiety.  Foreign  rulers  might  hold  sway  over  Palestine,  and  even 
over  Jerusalem,  and  so  long  as  the  Temple  was  left  untouched,  sub- 


144  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

mission  was  paid  them,  as  the  will  of  fate.  If,  however,  the  haugh^ 
ness  or  greed  of  the  enemy  violated,  or  even  only  threatened,  the 
Sanctuary,  there  ran  through  the  whole  Jewish  world  a  feeling  of  in- 
dignation that  roused  them  at  once,  and  at  the  cry  that  the  Temple 
was  in  danger,  weapons  were  grasped  and  solemn  prayers  rose,  and 
one  deep  resolve  pervaded  all — to  shed  the  last  drop  of  their  blood, 
on  the  battle-field  or  at  the  Altar,  for  Jerusalem  and  the  Sanctuary. 

It  must  have  been  a  wonderful  sight  to  the  child  Jesus  to  visit  the 
Holy  City  at  the  season  of  the  Passover.  The  multitudes  who 
flocked  to  the  feast  from  all  countries  were  countless..  "  Many  thou- 
sands," says  Philo,  "  from  many  thousand  towns  and  cities,  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  Temple  at  every  feast ;  some  by  land,  others  by  sea, 
from  the  east  and  the  west,  the  north  and  the  south.  Even  at  Pente- 
cost, which  attracted  a  much  smaller  number,  vast  crowds  of  Jews 
and  proselytes  were  present  from  every  part  of  the  Roman  empire, 
which  was  nearly  equivalent  to  the  then  known  world.  Josephus 
reckoned  the  numbers  attending  a  single  Passover  at  2,700,000,  in- 
clusive of  the  population  of  the  city.  Every  house  in  the  narrow 
limits  of  Jerusalem  was  crowded  with  pilgrims,  and  the  whole  land- 
scape round  covered  with  the  tents  or  booths,  of  mat,  and  wicker- 
work,  and  interwoven  leaves,  extemporized  to  serve  as  shelter — like 
the  similar  structures  of  the  Easter  pilgrims  still — for  those  who 
could  not  be  accommodated  in  any  house.  The  routes  by  which  they 
travelled  to  the  Holy  City  from  all  lands  must  have  been  like  those 
to  Mecca,  at  certain  seasons,  even  now :  countless  vessels  laden  with 
living  freights  of  pilgrims:  all  the  main  lines  of  road  thronged  with 
huge  caravans:  every  port  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  every  city  and 
town  on  the  highways  leading  to  the  great  centre,  thronged  as  with 
the  passage  of  armies.  The  vast  "dispersion" — Jewish  by  birth, 
sentiment,  or  adoption — converged  more  and  more  densely  on  the  one 
point, — Jerusalem.  Parthians,  Medes,  Elamites,  and  Mesopotamians, 
in  the  costume  of  the  far  East,  with  their  long  trains  of  camels  and 
mules;  crowds  from  every  province  of  Lesser  Asia — Cappadocia, 
Pontus,  Phrygia,  and  Pamphylia,  each  band  with  the  distinctive 
characteristics  of  its  own  district;  swarthy  multitudes,  in  long  cara- 
vans, or  afoot,— after  a  sea  voyage  to  Joppa  or  Ca?sarea— from  Egypt, 
the  headquarters  of  the  foreign  Jews,  and  from  Libya  and  Cyrene; 
pilgrims  even  from  imperial  Rome ;  men  from  the  slopes  of  Cretan 
Ida,  and  from  the  far-otf  cities  and  towns  of  sandy  Arabia,  met  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Temple.  The  whole  world,  in  a  sense,  was  gathered 
to  one  spot,  and  this,  itself,  to  a  mind  sucli  as  that  of  the  boy  Jesus, 
must  have  been  rich  in  the  most  varied  influence  and  knowledge. 

The  appearance  of  the  city  would  make  an  impression  never  to  be 
forgotten.  If  there  were  no  gardens  in  Jerusalem,  there  was  a  girdle 
of  them  reaching,  from  its  very  walls,  down  the  valleys,  and  up  the 
opposite  hill-sides;  one  of  them  so  famous  that  the  figs  from  it  were 
sold  for  three  or  four  assarii  each.     The  garden  walls  and  ditches 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  145 

netted  over  all  the  approaches  to  the  city,  on  each  side.  On  the  hills 
around  rose  the  mansions  of  the  rich  citizens,  and  at  the  bend  where 
the  valleys  of  Kidron  and  Hinnom  met,  beside  the  Pool  of  Siloam, 
the  eye  regaled  itself  with  the  wide  and  rich  verdure  of  the  royal 
gardens. 

As  Joseph,  and  Mary  with  her  Son,  came  in  sight  of  the  city  from 
the  north,  they  would  be  on  ground  as  high  as  Mount  Zion:  and 
rising,  to  the  north-^-est  of  the  city,  even  a  few  feet  higher,  while,  on 
the  west,  Zion  rose,  on  an  average,  about  100  feet  above  the  hills 
across  the  valley  of  Hinnom;  and,  on  the  east,  the  Mount  of  Olives 
overtopped  the  highest  part  of  the  city  by  100  feet,  and  the  Temple 
hill  by  no  less  than  300.  Except  on  the  north,  however,  the  high 
ground  was  divided  from  Jerusalem  by  deep  valleys,  which  could  be 
reached  from  witliin  the  city  only  by  steep  streets  and  roads.  The 
pilgrims  encamped  in  the  valleys  of  Kidron  or  Hinnom  saw  the 
buildings  and  towers  of  Mount  Zion  more  than  500  feet  above  them; 
and  those  whose  tents  were  pitched  not  far  from  the  same  place,  at 
Joab's  Well,  were  nearly  600  feet  below  the  houses  of  the  upper  citJ^ 
The  court  of  the  Priests  looked  over  to  the  Pool  of  Siloam,  370  feet 
below;  and  from  Mount  Zion  it  needed  a  descent  of  264  feet  to  reach 
the  Garden  of  Gethsemane,  in  the  Valley  of  the  Kidron. 

Jerusalem  was  thus,  pre-eminently,  a  mountain  city,  surrounded  on 
all  sides  by  hills,  and  with  hills,  famous  and  sacred  beyond  all  others, 
as  its  own  site.  The  road  from  Nazareth  entered  the  new  lower 
town,  by  the  Damascus  gate,  and  passed  through  the  most  stirring 
TDusiness  street — in  the  bottom  of  the  Valley  of  the  Cheesemakers,  or 
the  Tyropceon:  a  deep  and  narrov/  hollow  between  Mounts  Zion  and 
Moriah,  then  crowded  with  the  narrow  lanes  which  serve  for  streets 
in  Eastern  cities.  In  the  new  town,  imder  the  shadow  of  the  two 
hills,  were  the  shops  of  the  braziers;  the  clothes'  bazaar,  and  the 
square  where  the  authorities  received  announcements  of  the  new  moon, 
and  gave  the  public  feasts  that  followed,  monthly.  In  the  Tyropoeon, 
the  streets  ran,  in  terraces,  up  the  steep  sides  of  the  hill,  side  lanes 
climbing  here  and  there,  to  the  top,  past  the  bazaar  of  the  butchers, 
and  that  of  the  wool-dealers,  to  the  upper  street,  where  Ismael  Ben 
Camithi,  the  high  priest  at  the  time,  having  gone  out  on  the  great 
Day  of  Atonement,  to  speak  with  a  heathen,  a  Heck  of  spittle  fell  on 
his  clothes,  from  the  lips  of  the  uncircumcised,  and  defiled  him,  so 
that  he  could  not  perform  the  services  of  the  day,  and  had  to  get  his 
brother  to  take  his  place. 

On  the  west  of  the  Tyropceon.  on  the  top  of  Mount  Zion,  rose  the 
old,  or  upper  city,  known  also  as  the  City  of  David.  In  it  were  the 
shops  of  the  goldsmiths,  and  the  houses  of  the  priests  who  lived  in 
Jerusalem.  The  Wall  of  David  ran  along  its  north  side,  opening 
through  the  gate  Gennath,  to  Alo-a,  or  the  lower  town.  High  above 
this  wall,  which  was  over  fifty  feet  in  height,  rose  the  three  famous 
castles — Hippikus,  Phasaelus,  and  Marianme — built    by  Herod  the 


146  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Great,  and  then  fresh  from  the  builder's  hands.  Of  these,  Hippikus, 
stern  and  massive,  towered  120  feet  above  the  wall,  at  its  north-west 
corner :  a  great  square  of  huge  stones,  in  successive  stories,  the  upper 
one  surmounted  by  battlements  and  turrets.  Close  by,  and  in  a  line 
with  it.  rose  Phasaelus,  the  splendid  memorial  to  Herod's  brother 
Phasael,  who  had  beaten  out  his  brains  against  the  walls  of  Ms  dun- 
geon when  a  prisoner  of  the  Parthians.  It,  also,  was  square,  for  sixty 
feet  of  its  height  above  the  wall,  but  from  tunidst  the  breast-works 
and  bulwarks  of  this  lower  fortress,  rose  a  second  tower  about  seventy 
feet  higher,  with  magnificent  battlements  and  turrets.  Within,  this 
ujaper  tower  was  like  a  palace,  and  it  was,  doubtless,  intended  as  a 
refuge  for  the  king,  in  case  of  necessity.  Mariamne,  the  smallest  of 
the  three  castles,  was  about  thirty  feet  square,  and  about  seventy-five 
in  height,  but  its  upper  half  was  more  highly  finished  than  that  of  either 
of  the  others,  as  if  to  quiet  its  builder's  conscience  for  the  murder  of 
her  whose  name  it  bore.  All  tliree  fortresses,  towering  thus  grandly 
aloft,  above  the  high  wall, — which  itself  rose  along  the  crest  of  a  high 
hill, — were  of  white  marble:  each  .stone  thirty  feet  long,  fifteen 
in  breadth,  and  from  seven  to  eight  in  thicliness ;  and  all  squared  •:o 
exactly  that  their  joinings  could  hardly  be  seen.  "  Each  tower,"  to 
use  the  words  of  Josephus,  "  looked  like  a  great  natural  rock  which 
had  been  cut  by  the  workman  into  shape,  like  the  rock-hewn  build- 
ings of  Edom." 

Under  the  protection  of  these  splendid  structures  rose  the  new 
palace  of  Herod,  about  the  centre  of  tlic  northern  half  of  Mount 
Zion,  a  great  part  of  which  Avas  enclosed  within  its  park  walls,  them- 
selves a  second  line  of  defence,  forty-five  feet  in  height,  with  strong 
towers  rising,  at  equal  distances,  from  their  broad  tops.  The  palace 
itself  was  indescribably  magnLlicent.  Spacious  rooms,  with  elaborately 
carved  walls  and  ceilings,  many  of  them  crusted  with  precious  stones, 
displayed  Oriental  splendour  to  hundreds  of  guests  at  a  time.  Gold 
land  silver  shone  on  every  side.  Round  this  sumptuous  abode,  por- 
ticoes with  curious  pillars  of  costly  stone,  tflertd  shady  retreats. 
Groves  aad  gardens  stretched  on  every  side,  intermiDgled  with  pools 
and  artificial  rivers,  bordered  by  long,  delightful  walks,  frequented, 
through  the  day,  by  all  who  could  endure  the  desecration  of  Jerusa- 
lem by  the  countless  statues  which  adorned  them. 

The  theatre  built  by  Herod,  to  the  horrta-  of  the  nation,  was  also, 
apparently,  in  this  part  of  the  city ;  and  outside,  at  a  little  distance, 
was  the  amphitheatre,  an  object  of  still  greater  popular  aversion 
from  its  gladiatorial  shows,  in  which  men  condemned  to  death  fcugliv 
with  wild  beasts.  Inscriptions  in  honour  of  Augustus,  and  trophies 
of  the  nations  Herod  had  conquered  in  his  wars,  adorned  the  exterior 
of  the  theatre;  and  the  games  in  the  circus,  though  shunned  by  the 
Jews,  were  celebrated  with  the  gi-eatest  pomp,  strangers  from  all  the 
neighbouring  countries  being  invited  to  them.  The  trophies  round 
the  theatre  especially  excited  indignation,  being  supposed  to  cover 


THE  LIFE  OF  CJIRIST.  147 

images,  and  hence  being  looked  upon  as  heathen  idols.  So  great,  in- 
deed, had  the  excitement  become,  in  Herod's  lifetime,  that,  for  pol- 
icy, he  had  caused  tlie  armour  to  be  taken  from  some  of  them,  in 
presence  of  the  leading  men,  to  show  that  there  was  nothing  but 
shapeless  wood  beneath.  Yet  even  this  did  not  calm  the  people,  and 
no  Jew  passed  the  hated  building  without  the  bitterest  feelings  at  its 
presence  in  the  holy  city. 

On  the  eastern  crest  of  Zion  stood  the  old  palace  of  the  Asmonean 
kings,  and,  north  of  it,  an  open  space  surrounded  by  a  lofty  covered 
colonnade,  known  as  the  Xystus.  A  bridge  spanned  the  Tyropceon 
Valley  to  the  south-west  corner  of  the  Temple  enclosure,  and  near 
the  Xystus  rose  a  hall,  known  as  the  Hall  of  the  King's  Council. 
The  main  streets  ran  north  and  south — some  along  the  brow  of  tha 
hill,  others  lower  down,  but  parallel,  following  the  course  of  tl»e  val- 
ley, with  side  lanes  or  narrow  streets  connecting  them.  They  had 
raised  pavements,  either  because  of  the  slope  of  the  ground,  or  to 
allow  passers-by  to  avoid  contact  with  persons  or  things  ceremonially 
unclean.  The  upper  city  waa mainly  devoted  to  dwelling-houses  of 
the  better  kind ;  but  in  the  lower  city,  bazaars,  or  street-like  markets 
were  then,  as  now,  a  prominent  feature,  each  devoted  to  a  special 
branch  of  commerce. . 

Looking  out  at  the  Gennath  gate  on  the  north  of  Zion,  the  Almond 
pool,  near  at  hand,  refreshed,  the  eye.  Beyond  it,  across  a  little  val- 
ley, slightly  to  the  north-west,  near  the  Joppa  road,  was  Psephinos, 
another  of  the  castles  by  which  the  city  was  at  once  defended  and 
overawed.  It  rose  in  an  octagon,  high  into  the  clear  blue,  showing 
from  its  battlements  the  whole  sweep  of  the  country,  from  the  sea- 
coast  to  beyond  the  Dead  Sea,  and  from  the  far  north,  away  towards 
Edom,  on  the  south.  In  Christ's  day  it  stood  outside  the  city,  by 
itself,  but  soon  after  His  death  it  was  IncludecJ  in  the  line  of  waU 
built  by  Herod  Agrippa. 

The  northern  part  of  the  lower  towTi,  known  as  Akra,  was  mainly 
interesting  for  the  bustle  of  restless  city  life  of  every  colour  which  it 
presented.  The  wood  bazaar,  the  city  council-house,  and  public 
records  office,  were  in  it.  Nor  was  it  destitute  of  attractions,  for  the 
double  pool  of  Bethesda  lay  at  its  north-east  corner.  The  Temple 
and  its  courts  occupied  nearly  the  whole  of  Mount  Moriah,  the  sec- 
ond hill  on  which  the  city  was  built,  the  only  other  building  on  it 
contrasting  strangely  in  appearance  and  character.  It  was  the  great 
fortress  Antonia,  at  the  north-west  corner,  on  an  isolated  rock,  sep- 
arated by  a  cleft  from  Mount  Moriah,  and  cased  with  stone  where 
exposed,  so  that  no  foe  could  scale  it.  The  castle  occupied,  with  its 
enclosures,  nearly  a  third  of  the  great  Temple  plateau,  and  was  built 
originally  by  John  Hyrcanus,  but  had  been  rebuilt  by  Herod  with 
great  magnificence,  with  baths,  fountains,  galleries,  piazza,  and  great 
rooms,  to  fit  it  for  a  residence  for  princely  guests.  It  served  now  aa 
the  quarters  of  the  Roman  garrison,  sent  from  Csesarea  at  the  time  of 


148  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  great  feasts,  to  keep  peace  in  the  city.  In  Christ's  day  the  ro'Bcs 
of  the  high  priest  were  kept  in  it  by  the  Romans,  to  prevent  a  sedi- 
tious use  of  them.  Covered  ways  led  from  the  castle  to  the  Temple 
area,  to  allow  the  soldiery  free  access  in  case  of  tumult  or  disturbance. 

Such  was  the  city  to  which  Jesus  now  came  for  the  tirst  time.  As 
He  was  led  through  its  crowded  streets,  and  saw  its  famoiis  palaces, 
and  towers,  and  marts,  and  above  all,  the  Temple,  what  strange 
thoughts  must  have  risen  in  the  opening  mind  of  the  wondrous  boy. 

The  panorama  spread  before  Him  from  the  city,  at  its  difEercnt 
points,  was  no  less  filled  with  interest.  From  the  Temple  He  looked 
eastward  to  Mount  Olivet,  then  crowned  by  two  great  cedars,  under 
Death  which  were  booths  for  the  sale  of  all  things  needed  for  cere- 
monial purifications,  including  the  doves  for  the  various  cflferings. 
He  would  no  doubt  hear  how,  m  former  times,  beacon  fires  had  been 
kindled  on  the  hill-top  at  each  new  moon,  and  how  mountain  after 
mountain,  catching  the  sight,  spread  the  news  in  an  hour  over  the 
whole  land.  Some  one  would,  doubtless,  also,  tell  Him  that  it  was 
the  hated  Samaritans  who  had  I  rought  the  custom  to  an  end,  by 
holding  up  lights  at  wrong  times,  and  thus  misleading  Israel. 

The  Valley  of  the  Kidron,  below,  would  be  equally  interesting.  It 
was  to  it  the  pilgrims  came  down  at  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  to  cut 
the  long  boughs  of  willow  which  they  carried  in  procession  to  the 
Temple,  and  laid  bending  over  the  altar.  On  the  eve  of  the  first  day 
of  the  feast,  Jesus  would  see  men  sent  by  the  Temple  aulhorities — a 
gi-eat  crowd  following — to  cut  the  sheaf  of  first-fruits.  Perhaps  He 
saw  the  three  reapers,  with  basket  and  sickle,  step  to  spots  previously 
marked  out,  asking,  as  they  stood  beside  the  new  barley,  "Has  the 
sun  set  yet?  Is  this  the  right  sickle?  Is  this  the  right  basket?"  "and, 
if  it  were  Sabbath,  "Is  this  the  Sabbath?" — to  be  followed  by  another 
question,  thrice  repeated,  ''Shall  I  cut?"  which  was  answered  with 
what  seems,  now,  childish  formality,  tut  then  thrilled  all  hearts, 
"Cut."  Religious  bitterness  lay  behind  all  this  minute  triviality,  for 
did  not  the  hated  aristocratic  Sadducees  maintain  that  the  first  sheaf 
should  be  cut  only  on  the  first  week-day  cf  the  feast,  which  would 
have  affected  the  date  of  Pentecost,  fifty  days  later?  The  Child 
from  Nazareth  would  follow,  when  the  sheaf,  thus  reaped,  was  car- 
ried, amidst  great  rejoicings,  to  the  forecourt  of  the  Temple,  and  pre- 
sented by  the  priest  as  a  heave-offering,  then  threshed,  winnowed, 
■.  and  cleansed,  dried  over  a  sacred  fire,  and  forthwith  ground  into 
flour,  the  finest  of  which  was  the  new-harvest  "meat-offering"  be- 
fore God.  He  knew  that  till  this  had  been  presented  at  th-e  altar,  no 
field  could  be  cut,  except  to  get  fodder  for  cattle,  or  for  other  neces- 
sary ends. 

Looking  into  the  Valley  of  Hinnom  from  the  southern  end  of  the 
Temple,  with  its  magnificent  Royal  porch.  His  eyes  mxist  have  turned 
from  the  sight  one  spot  in  it  offered,  the  fires  kept  up,  night  and  day, 
to  bum  all  tha  garbage  and  offal  of  the  temple,  and  the  refuse  of  t^e 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHKIST.  149 

city — the  symbol  of  the  unquenchable  flames  of  the  Pit.  It  was  ia 
this  valley  that  children  had  been  burned  alive  to  Moloch  in  the  old 
idolatrous  times,  and  the  remembrance  of  this,  with  the  foulness  of 
the  part  where  the  perpetual  fires  now  burned,  had  made  Gehenna — 
tlie  name  of  the  valley — the  word  used  afterwards  even  by  Jesus 
Himself,  for  the  place  of  the  lo.^t. 

Between  Ilinnom  and  Kidrou,  where  the  two  valleys  met  at  the 
south-east  of  the  city.  His  eyes,  looking  down  from  the  Temple 
Mount,  would  rest  on  the  contrasted  sweetness  of  the  softly-flowing 
waters  of  Siloam,  which  bubbled  up  noiselessly  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
and  after  filling  a  double  pool,  glided  on  to  the  south,  till  they  lost 
themselves  in  the  king's  gardens. 

City  and  people:  the  past  and  the  present,  must  have  filled  the 
whole  being  of  the  Child  with  awe  and  wonder,  for  He  now  stood,  for 
the  first  time,  under  the  shadow  of  His  Father's  Temple,  and  the 
murmur  of  countless  languages  that  filled  the  air,  was,  in  very  truth, 
homage  to  that  Father  from  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  PASSOVER  VISIT  TO   JERUSALEM. 

The  vast  multitudes  coming  to  the  Passover  arranged  to  reach 
Jerusalem,  at  the  latest,  on  the  14th  of  Nisan,  the  day  on  the  evening 
of  which  tlie  feast  was  celebi'ated.  In  the  city,  however,  there  had  ^ 
been  a  great  stir  for  some  da^'s  already,  in  anticipation  of  the  solem- 
nity. So  far  back  as  from  the  15th  of  the  preceding  month,  all 
the  bridges  and  roads,  far  and  near,  had  been  begun  to  be  repaired. 
All  graves  near  the  lines  of  travel,  or  round  Jerusalem,  had  bceu 
cither  fenced  in,  or  'the  head-stones  had  been  whitewa.shed,  that 
they  might  be  seen  from  a  distance,  and  thus  warn  off  the  pilgrims, 
whom  they  might  otherwise  have  defileci,  and  made  unfit  for  the  feast. 
The  fields,  throughout  the  whole  country,  had  been  anxiously  gone 
over,  to  .see  if  they  were  unclean  bj'  any  plants  growing  together  ia 
them,  winch  the  Law  forbade  being  allowed  to  do  t^o.  On  the  Sabbath 
inunediately  ]ireceJing  the  14th — the  Great  Sabbath — special  services 
had  been  held  in  all  the  .synagogues  and  in  the  Temple  itself,  and  the 
Kabbis  had  discoursed  to  the  people  on  the  laws  and  meaning  of  the 
festival.  The  lambs,  or  he  goats,  had  been  selected,  in  earlier  times, 
on  the  lOlh,  from  the  vast  flocks  driven  to  the  citj''  at  this  season,  to 
supply  the  Passover  demand.  But  this  was  impossible  now,  as  the 
pilgrims  arrived,  mostly,  after  that  day.  Only  male  lambs,  or  he 
goats,  of  a  year  old,  and  without  blemish,  could  be  used,  and  they 
were  selected  with  the  most  scrupiflous  care  by  the  head  of  each  com- 
pany of  relatives  or  neighbours,  who  proposed  to  eat  the  feast  together. 

The  iourteeath  day,  which  began  at  sunset  of  Ihe  18th,  was  ako  ths 


150  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

first  day  of  the  feast  erf  "Unleavened  Bread,"  and  was  hence  known 
as  the  "  preparation  day. "  No  particle  of  leaven  could  be  left  in  any 
house.  The  head  of  each  family,  as  the  evening  closed,  began  the 
household  purification  with  the  prayer — "  Blessed  art  Thou,  O  Lord, 
our  God,  King  of  the  universe,  who  hast  sanctified  us  with  Thy  com- 
mandments, and  requirest  us  to  remove  the  leaven,"  and  then  pro- 
ceeded, in  rigorous  silence,  to  search  every  room,  gathering  every 
crumb  that  could  be  found,  and  finally  tying  all  up  till  the  following 
morning.  A  further  search,  which  must  end  before  noon,  was  then 
made  for  any  liquid  or  solid  product  of  fermented  grain,  and  for  all 
dishes  or  vessels  that  had  held  it.  All  were  taken  out  of  the  house, 
and  the  crumbs  and  dough  carefully  burned,  M'ith  a  repetition  of  pre- 
scribed prayers.  The  house  itself  was  then  cleansed  in  every  part, 
and  no  one  could  enter  the  unpurified  hoiase  of  a  heathen,  henceforth, 
during  the  feast,  without  being  defiled.  Nothing  leavened  could  be 
eaten  or  permitted  in  the  house  during  the  next  seven  days, — for 
defilement,  bringing  with  it  unfitness  to  eat  the  Passover,  would  follow 
in  either  case. 

This  piu'ification  of  the  house,  however,  was  by  no  means  all. 
Vessels  of  any  idnd,  to  be  used  at  the  feast,  were  cleansed  with  pre- 
scribed rites,  in  a  settled  mode.  Metal  dishes,  &c.,  after  ]jeing  scour- 
ed, must  be  first  dipped  in  boiling  water — in  a  pot  used  for  no  other 
purpose — and  then  into  cold.  Iron  vessels  must  be  made  red-hot; 
then  washed  in  the  same. way.  Iron  mortars,  for  crushing  grain  for 
baldng,  were  filled  with  red  coals,  till  a  thread,  tied  outside,  was 
burned  through.  Wooden  vessels,  after  being  wetted,  were  rubbed 
with  a  red-hot  stone.  No  clay  dish  could  be  vised  at  all  if  not  quite 
new,  and  it  had  to  be  first  dipped  thrice  in  running  water,  and  con- 
Eecrated  by  a  special  prayer.  Personal  purity  was  as  strictly  enforced. 
Every  one  had  to  cut  his  hair  and  nails,  and  to,  take  a  bath. 

The  baking  of  the  unleavened  bread  was  accompanied  with  equally 
formal  care.  On  the  evening  of  the  13th,  "before  the  stars  ap- 
peared, "  the  head  of  each  hoilsehold  went  out  and  drew  water  for  the 
purpose,  uttering  (he  Avords  as  he  did  so,  "  This  is  the  Avater  for  the 
unleavened  bread,"  and  covering  the  vessel  that  contained  it,  for  fear 
of  any  defilement.  In  grinding  the  flour,  the  most  anxious  care  was 
observed  to  keep  all  leaven  from  coming  near  the  woman  at  the  mill, 
and  to  take  no  grain  that  Avas  at  all  damp,  lest  it  might  have  begun  to 
ferment.  After  baking,  one  loaf,  to  be  taken  to  the  priest  at  the 
Temple,  was  laid  aside,  with  another  i^rescribcd  praj'cr. 

The  afternoon  of  the  14th  Avas  a  time  of  the  intensest  bustle,  for  the 
lam's  hern  trumpets  Avould  presently  announce,  from  the  Temple,  the 
beginning  of  the  feast.  At  the  soimd,  every  one  took  his  lamb  to  the 
Temple,  the  court  walls  of  which  Avere  gaily  hung  with  many-coloured 
carpets  and  tapestries,  in  honour  of  the  day.  The  countless  victims 
must  be  first  examined  by  the  priests,  to  see  if  they  Avere  wittiout 
blemish,  then  slaughtered  and  prepared  for  roasting,  in  the  foreeourta 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  151 

of  the  Temple,  by  the  heads  of  the  different  households,  or  hy  men 
deputed  by  them,  or  by  the  Levites  in  attendance,  with  indescribable 
haste  and  confusion,  for  there  was  more  than  work  enough  for  all,  to 
kill,  almost  at  the  same  time,  the  256,000  lambs  sometimes  required. 
The  exact  time  for  killing  the  victuns  was  "  between  the  evenings," 
from  sunset  of  the  14th  till  the  stars  appeared,  though  they  might  be 
killed  in  the  three  last  hours  of  the  day. 

As  soon  as  the  courts  were  full,  thegates  where  shut  on  the  multitude 
within,  each  holding  his  lamb.  Three  blasts  of  trumpets  then  an- 
nounced the  beginning  of  the  heavy  task.  Long  rows  of  priests,  with 
gold  and  silver  bowls,  stood  ranged  between  the  altar  and  the  victims, 
to  catch  the  blood,  and  pass  in  on  from  one  to  the  other,  till  the  last 
poured  it  on  the  altar,  from  which  it  ran  off,  through  pipes  beneath, 
When  the  lamb  had  been  drained  of  blood,  the  head  of  the  family  to 
which  it  belonged  took  it  to  the  liooks  on  the  walls  and  pillars  round, 
where  it  was  opened  and  skinned.  The  tail,  which,  in  the  sheep  of 
Palestine,  often  weighs  many  pounds,  and  the  fat,  were  handed  to  the 
nearest  priest,  and  passed  on  till  they  reached  the  altar,  (o  be  burned 
as  an  offering  to  God.  The  lamb  was  killed  witliout  llie  usual  laying 
of  the  hands  on  its  head.  It  was  now  ready  to  be  carried  away,  and 
was  borne  off  by  the  family  head  in  its  skin,  which  was  afterwards  to 
be  given  to  the  host  in  whose  house  the  feast  might  bo  held. 

Not  fewer  than  ten,  but  as  many  as  twenty,  might  sit  down  at  a 
company.  Women  were  allowed  to  join  their  households,  Ihougli  it 
was  not  required  that  they  should  eat  the  Passover  ;  and  lads  from 
fourteen,  and  even  slaves  and  foreigners,  if  circumcised,  sat  down 
with  the  rest.  Everything  was  hurried,  for  the  lambs  were  required 
to  be  killed,  roasted  and  eaten,  between  three  in  the  afternoon  and 
nine  or  twelve  at  night.  They  were,  properlj^,  to  be  eaten  in  the 
courts  of  the  Temple,  but  this,  after  a  time,  having  become  impossible, 
they  might  be  eaten  anywhere  within  the  Rabbinical  limits  of  the  city. 
Thousands  of  fires,  in  special  ovens,  prepared  them  ;  for  they  must 
be  roasted  only,  not  boiled,  or  cooked  except  in  this  way.  It  was 
trussed  with  spits  of  pomegranate  wood,  inserted  in  the  form  of  a 
cross,  and  the  whole  creature  roasted  entire.  None  of  the  flesh  was 
allowed  to  remain  till  morning,  any  fragments  left  being  forthwith 
burned,  that  they  might  not  be  defiled.  The  very  tlioss  and  attitude 
of  all  who  took  part  had  been  originally  prescribed,  but  these  details 
were  now  out  of  Hse. 

The  feast  itself  must  have  impressed  a  child  like  Jesus  no  less  than 
the  preparations.  Not  a  bone  of  the  lamb  must  be  broken,  under  a 
penalty  of  forty  stripes,  nor  must  any  part  of  it  t6uch  the  oven  ;  and 
if  any  fat  dropped  back  on  it,  the  part  on  whjch  it  dropped  was  cut 
off.  The  company  having  assembled,  after  the  lamps  were  lighted, 
arranged  themselves  in  due  order,  cm  couches,  round  the  tables,  re- 
clining on  their  left  side.  A  cup  of  red  wine,  mixed  with  water,  wa.s 
filled  for  every  one,  and  drunk,  after  a  touching  benediction,  by  the 

L  of  c— 6. 


159  THE  LIFE  OF  CKRIST. 

head  man  of  the  group.  A  basin  of  water  and  a  to-vrcl  vrcre  then 
brought  in,  tliat  each  might  wash  his  hands,  and  then  another  bless- 
ing was  pronounced. 

A  table  was  then  carried  into  the  open  space  between  the  couches, 
and  bitter  herbs,  and  imleavcncd  bread,  v/ith  a  dish — made  of  dates, 
raisins,  and  other  fruits,  mixed  with  vinegar  to  the  consistency  of 
lime,  in  commemoration  of  the  mortar  with  which  their  fathers  Avorked 
in  Egypt, — set  on  it,  along  with  the  paschal  lamb.  The  head  man 
then  took  some  of  the  bitter  herbs,  dipped  them  in  the  dish,  and, 
after  giving  thanks  to  God  for  creating  the  fruits  of  the  earth,  ate  a 
small  piece,  and  gave  one  to  each  of  the  company.  A  second  cup  cf 
wine  and  water  was  then  poured  out,  and  the  son  of  the  house,  or  the 
youngest  boy  present,  asked  the  meaning  cf  the  feast.  The  questions 
to  be  put  had  beeu  minutely  iixed  by  the  Eabbis,  and  were  as  for- 
mally and  minutely  answered  in  appointed  words,  the  whole  story  cf 
the  deliverance  from  Egypt  being  thus  repeated,  year  after  year,  at 
every  Passover  table,  in  the  very  same  terms,  throughout  all  Jsrael. 

The  first  part  of  the  great  Hallelujah — Psalms  cxiii.  andcxiv. — was 
now  chanted,  and  was  followed  by  a  prayer,  beginning,  "Blessed  art 
Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  King  of  the  universe,  who  hast  redeemed  us 
and  our  forefathers  from  Egypt."  A  third  cup  was  now  poured  out, 
and  then  came  the  grace  after  meals.  A  fourth  and  last  cup  followed, 
and  then  Psalms  cxv.,  cxvi.,  cxvii.,  and  cxviii.,  which  formed  the  rest 
of  the  Hallelujah,  and  another  prayer,  closed  the  feast. 

At  midnight  the  gates  of  the  Temple  v.ere  once  more  opened,  and 
the  people,  who  seldom  slept  that  night,  j  oured  through  them,-,in  their 
holiday  dress,  with  thank-offerings,  in  obedience  to  the  command  that 
none  should  appear  1  efore  the  Lord  empty.  Of  these  gifts  the 
priests  took  their  riglitful  share,  and  gave  back  the  rest  to  the 
officers,  wlio  had  it  cooked  for  them  in  the  Court  of  the  Women,  and 
sat  down  to  a  second  feast  in  the  Temple  cloisters,  or  in  some  part  of 
the  town,  within  the  limits  of  which  alone  it  was  lawful  to  eat  such 
food. 

The  whole  week  was  full  of  interest.  The  15th  was  kept  like  a 
Babbath.  It  was  one  of  the  six  days  of  the  year  on  which  the  Law 
prohibited  all  servile  work.  Only  what  was  necessary  for  daily  life 
might  be  done.  It  was  a  day  for  rest,  and  for  the  presentation  of 
freewill  offerings  in  the  Temple. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  that  the  first-fruits  of  the  harvest  were 
brought  from  the  Kidron  valley  to  the  Temple,  to  be  waved  before 
God  in  solemn  acknowledgment  of  His  bounty  in  giving  the  kindly 
fruits  of  the  eartli. .  This  incident  Jesus,  doubtless,  saw.  He  would 
notice,  besides,  how  Ihe  sheaf  had  no  sooner  been  offered  than  the 
streets  were  filled  with  sellers  of  bread  made  of  new  barley,  parched 
ears  of  the  young  crop,  and  early  growths  and  fruits  of  all  kinds, 
which  had  been  kept  back  till  then. 

from  the  17th  to  the  20th  the  days  were  only  half  holy,  and  many 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  158 

of  the  people  had  already  begun  to  leave  Jerusalem.  Crowds  still 
remained,  however,  to  enjoy  the  great  holiday  time  of  the  year,  and 
the  days  and  even  the  nights,  with  their  bright  moon,  went  merrily  by. 
1  The' last  day,  the  21st,'^like  the  lirst,  was  kept  as  a  Sabbath.  'Only 
'  necessary  woriv.  w-as  permitted,  and  it  closed  with  a  rehearsal  of  the 
Passover  supper,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  could  not  come  up  on  the 
first  great  day  of  the  feast. 

But  amidst  all  the  sights  and  wonders  of  the  week  one  specially 
interested  Jesus.  His  heart  was  already  set  supremely  on  "Tliz 
Father's  house,"  the  Temple.  Can- we  doubt  that,  with  the  early 
habits  of  the  East,  He  found  time  to  watch  its  daily  service  through- 
out? 

This  began,  in  reality,  the  night  before.  The  priests  required  for 
the  services  of  the  next  day,  or  to  watch  through  the  night,  assembled 
in  the  evening  in  the  gi-eat  Fire  Chamber.  The  kej's  of  the  Temple, 
and  of  the  inner  forecourts,  were  then  handed  them  by  their  brethren, 
whom  they  relieved,  and  hidden  below  the  marble  floor.  The  Lcvitcs 
on  watch  through  the  night,  or  to  serve  next  day,  also  received  the 
keys  of  the  outer  forecourts  from  their  brethren  whose  duties  were 
over.  Besides  these,  twenty-four  representatives  of  tlie  people,  on 
duty, — men  delegated  by  the  nation  to  represent  it, — at  the  daily 
sacrifices,  were  also  present. 

As  the  morning  service  began  very  early,  everything  was  put  in 
train  beforehand.  Ninety-three  vessels  and  in.struments  needed  for 
it  were  received  from  the  retiring  Levites,  and  can-ied  to  a  silver 
table  on  the  south  of  the  Great  Altar,  to  be  readj'.  The  gates  of  the 
Temple  building  itself,  and  of  the  inner  forecourts,  were  locked  up 
for  the  night,  the  key  once  more  put  in  its  place,  the  priest  who  had 
charge  of  it  kissing  the  marble  slab  as  he  replaced  it,  and  lying  down 
to  sleep  over  it  through  the  night.  The  gates  of  the  outer  forecourts 
were  now  also  shut,  and  the  watches  of  priests  and  Levites  set  for 
the  night.  But  the  Temple  was  too  sacred  to  be  entrusted  to  them 
alone;  the  Representatives  slept  in  it  on  behalf  of  the  people;  and 
some  ecclesiastical  dignitaries,  deputed  by  the  authorities,  and  one  of 
the  higher  priests,  who  Avas  to  preside  over  the  lots  for  daily  offices 
next  morning. 

Towards  dawn,  the  captain  of  the  watch  and  some  priests  rose, 
took  the  keys,  and  passing  into  the  inner  forecom-t,  preceded  by  torch- 
bearers,  divided  into  two  bands,  which  went  round  the  Temple  courts, 
to  see  that  all  was  safe,  and  every  vessel  in  its  right  place. 

Meanwhile,  the  other  priests  had  risen,  bathed,  and  put  on  their 
white  robes.  The  duties  of  each  for  the  day  were  fixed  by  lot  each 
morning,  to  prevent  the  unseemly  quarrels,  resulting  even  in  blood- 
shed, which  had  formerly  risen.  Assembling  in  a  special  chamber, 
all  stood  in  a  circle,  and  the  lot  was  taken  by  counting  a  given  mmi- 
ber  from  any  part  of  the  ring,  the  choice  remaining  with  him  whose 
place  made  up  the  figure.     JMeanwhile,  the  Levites  and  Eepresenta- 


154  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

tives  Tvaited  the  summons  to  gather.  The  priests  for  the  day  now 
once  more  washed  their  hands  and  feet  in  a  brazen  laver,  which,  itself, 
had  been  kept  all  night  in  water,  for  fear  of  its  being  defiled.  The 
feet  were  left  bare  while  the  priests  were  on  duty. 

All  the  gates  were  presently  opened  by  the  Levites.  and  the  priests 
blew  thrice  on  their  trumpets  to  announce  to  the  whole  city  that  the 
worship  of  the  day  would  soon  begin.  The  Great  Altar  was  forth- 
with cleansed  by  priests  to  whose  lot  tliis  duty  had  fallen.  The  sing- 
ers and  musicians  of  the  day,  and  the  priests  to  blow  the  trumpets 
at  the  morning  sacrifice,  were  set  apart;  the  instruments  brought; 

ithe  night-watchers  dismissed,  and  then  the  day's  service  had  begun. 
All  this  took  place  by  torchlight,  before  dawn. 

The  morning  sacrifice  could  not  be  slain  before  the  distinct  appear- 
ance of  the  morning  light.  A  watcher,  therefore,  standing  on  the 
roof  of  the  Temple,  looked  out  for  the  first  glimpse  of  Hebron,  far 
■off,  on  the  hills,  as  the  sign  of  morning  having  come.  When  it  was 
Trisible,  the  summons  was  given — "Priests,  to  yoiir  ministr3''  Le- 
vites, to  your  places!  Israelites,  take  your  stations ['  The  priests 
then  once  more  washed  their  feet  and  hands,  and  the  service  finally 
tegan.      4» 

Entering  first  the  Temple,  and  then  the  Holy  Place,  with  lowly 
reverence,  a  priest  now,  after  prayer,  cleansed  the  altar  of  incense, 
gathered  the  ashes  in  his  hands,  and  went  out  slowly,  backwards. 
Another,  meanwhile,  had  laid  wood  on  the  Great  Altar,  and  a  third 
brought  a  year-old  lamb,  selected  four  days  before,  from  the  pen  in 
the  Temple,  to  the  north  side  of  the  altar.  The  Representatives  hav- 
ing laid  their  hiin  Js  on  its  head,  it  was  slaughtered  with  the  head  to 
the  west  fide  of  the  Temple,  and  the  blood  caught  in  a  bowl,  and 
stirred  continually  to  prevent  its  curdling  and  becoming  unfit  for 
sprinkling. 

The  incence  oifering  was  now  kindled.  At  the  tmkh'ng  of  a  bell, 
the  people  in  the  inner  forecourt  began  to  pray,  and  the  priests  w^hose 
lot  it  was  entered  the  Holy  Place.  The  first  brought  out  the  censer 
last  used,  praying  and  walking  backward  as  he  retired.  The  blood 
of  the  lamb  was  sprinlded  on  the  foiu:  sides  of  the  Great  Altar  as 
soon  as  he  reappeared. 

•A  second  priest  having  now  extinguished  five  of  the  seven  lamps  of 
the  golden  candlestick  in  the  Holy  Place,  a  third  took  in  a  glowing 
censer  and  laid  it  on  the  altar,  prayed,  and  retired  backwards.  A 
fourth  now  went  in,  handed  the  censer  to  an  assistant  who  followed, 
shook  incense  on  the  coals,  prayed,  and  retired.  The  two  remaining 
lights  were  then  extinguished,  and  the  oHering  ended. 

The  skin  was  now  stripped  from  the  slain  lamb,  the  bowels  taken 
out  and  washed,  the  body  cut  in  pieces,  laid  on  a  marble  table,  and 
salted.  The  food  cr  meat-offering  of  meal,  mixed  with  oil,  and 
strewed  with  incense,  was  then  prepared,  and  a  fixed  measure  of  wine 
poured  into  a  costly  cup  for  the  Jrink-offering.     It  was  now  sunrise. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  ,155 

As  the  sun  rose,  the  nine  pieces  of  the  sacrifice  "were  lifted  by  nine 
priests,  and  canued  to  the  Great  Altar,  in  order — laid  on  it  and  con- 
sumed— the  other  priests  and  the  people  repeating  morning  prayer. 
The  meat-oflferin^  ^vas  then  laid  on  the  altar,  salt  and  incense  added, 
and  then  a  handful  of  it  ^vas  thrown  on  the  altar  fire,  the  rest  falling 
to  the  priest  as  his  perquisite.  Twelve  cakes,  the  bread-offering  of 
the  high  priest,  were  next  burned,  after  being  strewn  with  salt.  Every, 
detail  had  occupied  a  separate  priest,  and  now  another  poured  the 
wine  of  the  drink-oiferiug  into  a  silver  funnel  in  the  altar,  througU 
which  it  ran  into  a  conduit  underneath. 

The  morning  sacrifice  was  now  over.  Forthwith  two  priests 
sounded  their  trumpets  nine  times,  and  twelve  Levites,  standing  on  a 
raised  platform  in  the  Court  of  the  Priests,  recited  the  psalms  of  the 
day  to  the  music  of  their  instruments,  and  then  came  the  ancient 
priestly  benediction — "Tlie  Lord  bless  thee  and  keep  thee:  the  Lord 
make  His  face  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious  unto  thee:  the  Lord 
lift  up  His  countenance  upon  thee,  and  grant  thee  peace." 

Yoluntary  offerings,  and  those  required  on  special  grounds,  occu- 
pied the  priests,  for  a  time,  after  the  morning  sacrifice.  At  three  in 
the  afternoon  the  evening  sacrifice  and  incense  offering  presented  the 
same  details,  the  victim  being  left  on  the  altar  to  burn  away  through 
the  night.  At  sunset  the  S'chma  was  read  again,  and  the  evening 
prayer-offered;  the  seven  lamps  in  the  Holy  Place  again  kindled  and 
left  to  burn  tdl  morning,  and  all  the  vessels  cleaned  by  the  Levites, 
and  made  ready  for  next  day. 

This  daily  service  was  no  doubt  watched  by  the  child  Jesus,  who 
now,  for  the  first  time,  saw  the  priests  in  His  "Father's  house  at  their 
ministrations.     But  the  city  itself  would  be  sure  to  arrest  His  notice. 

At  early  dawn  He  would  hear  the  trumpets  of  the  Roman  gan-ison 
in  Antonia,  and  see  the  booths  open  shortly  after,  on  the  Mount  of 
Olives.  Three  trumpet  blasts  from  the  Te'mple  had  already  waked 
the  slumbering  citizens  and  pilgrims,  and  the  first  beams  of  the  sun 
had  announced  the  hour  of  morning  prayer.  The  streets  had  already 
filled  in  the  twilight,  for  the  Oriental,  in  all  ages,  has  been  an  early 
riser.  Sheep  and  cattle  dealers,  and  money-changers,  were  hurrying 
to  the  Court  of  the  Heathen.  Worshippers  were  thronging  across 
the  Xystus  bridge  from  the  Upper  City  to  the  Temple,  and  through, 
the  Market  gate,  from  the  Lower  Town,  along  all  the  streets.  The> 
countless  synagogues  were  open  for  morning  service.  Men  wearing 
the  Greek  dress,  and  speaking  Greek,  had  gathered  in  some,  and 
other  nationalities  in  others. 

With  the  first  sight  of  the  risen  sun  every  one  bowed  his  head  in 
prayer,  wherever  at  the  moment  he  might  "be.  Yonder  a  Pharisee, 
who  has  purposely  let  the  hour  overtake  him,  in  the  street,  suddenly 
stops,  and  ties  his  Tephillin,  broader  and  larger  than  common,  on  his 
forehead  and  arm.  The  olive-gatherer,  with  his  basket,  prays  wl^rt 
he  is,  in  the  tree.     Pilgrims  and  citizens  are  alike  bent  in  prayer. 


158  THE  LIFH  OZJ'  CHRIST. 

It  was  an  uneasy  lime  ■when  Jesus  first  visited  Jerusalem.  Arche- 
laus  had  been  banished  two  years  before,  and  the  liateful  race  of  tho 
Edomites  no  longer  reigned  in  the  palace  on  Zion,  but  the  hopes 
built  on  the  change  to  direct  government  by  a  Roman  Procurator  had 
not  been  fulfilled.  Judea  was  now  only  a  part  of  a  Roman  province, 
and  the  first  act  of  the  direct  imperial  rule  had  been  to  make  a  census 
.of  the  whole  country  for  heathen  taxes.  Galilee  and  Judea,  alike, 
had  been  in  Avild  insurrection,  which  had  been  quenched  in  blood. 
i\Ien  spoke  with  bated  breath,  but  were  j'.t  cne  in  deadly  hatred  t ' 
the  foreigner,  and  in  the  yearning  hope  that  the  ]\Iessiah  might  soon 
appear  to  drive  him  out. 

The  great  bazaar  in  the  Lower  Kew  Town  was  early  full  of  bustle. 
It  was  a  long  street,  crowded  with  stalls,  booths,  and  shops.  Fine 
bread  of  the  wheat  of  Ephraim  was  sold  after  the  second  day  of  the 
feast.  Cakes  of  figs  and  raisins;  fish  of  diiferent  kinds  from  the 
Sea  of  Tiberias;  wood-work  of  all  kinds,  filled  the  open  stalls.  Dibs 
— the  syrup  of  grapes — had  many  sellers,  and  there  were  bootlis  for 
Egyptian  lentiles,  and  even  for  cinnamon  and  pepper.  Mechanics  plied 
their  trades  in  the  streets,  too  busy  to  rise  even  when  a  great  Rabbi 
passed.  In  the  side  streets  trades  of  every  kind  filled  the  roadway. 
Potters  were  busy  in  their  sheds;  fruiterers  offered  choice  Jerusalem 
figs  from  gardens  made  rich  with  the  blood  of  the  sacrifices ;  flax- 
beaters  pounded  their  flax  in  the  streets.  The  numbers  of  passing 
priests  showed  that  Jerusalem  was  the  Iloly  City.  Levites,  with 
their  peculiar  head-dress,  and  an  outside  pocket  containing  a  snuill 
roll  of  the  Law;  Pharisees,  with  broad  phylacteries  and  great  fringes; 
Essenes  in  white,  with  the  air  of  old  prophets;  gorgeous  officials  of 
the  governor's  court,  at  present  in  the  city — pilgrims  in  the  costume 
of  every  land,  and  speaking  a  babel  of  languages — passed  and  re- 
passed in  endless  variety. 

The  people  of  Jerusalem  might  well  value  the  feasts,  for  they  lived 
by  the  vast  numbers  of  pilgrims.  The  money  spent  by  individual.^, 
though  little  compared  tothe  wealth  which  flowed  yearlj'  into  the 
Temple  treasury,  from  the  whole  Dispersion,  was  great  in  the  aggre- 
gate. Their  gifts  in  money  to  the  Temple  might  in  part  remain 
there;  but  they  needed  doves,  lambs,  and  oxen  for  sacrifices,  wood 
for  the  altar,  and  liked  to  carry  home  memorials  of  Jerusalem.  The 
countless  priestsiind  Levites,  and  officials  connected  with  the  Temple, 
caused  a  great  circulation  of  money,  and  the  building  itself,  and  the 
reqviirements  of  its  worship,  involved  constant  expenditure.  We 
need  not,  therefore,  wonder  that  Jerusalem  was  wildly  fanatical  in 
its  zeal  for  the  Holy  Place.  It  was  bound  to  it  not  less  by  self- 
interest  than  by  religious  bigotry. 

Jerusalem,  though  by  no  means  large,  was  the  headquarters  of  the 
great  religious  institutions,  as  the  capital  of  the  theocracy.  Count- 
less scribes,  rulers,  presbyters,  scholars,  readers,  and  servants  were 
connected  with  its  schools  and  synagogues.     It  was  the  seat  of  all 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  157 

the  famous  teachers  of  the  Law,  the  focus  of  controversy,  the  aui- 
versity  town  of  the  Rabbis,  the  battle-ground  of  rehgious  parties,— 
the  capital  of  the  Jewish  nation,  in  short,  in  a  measure  only  possible 
from  its  having  in  its  midst  the  one  Temple  of  the  race,  it  was  the 
Delphi  and  Olympia  of  Israel,  and  how  much  more!  Such  a  city,  at 
such  a  time,  must  have  made  lasting  impressions  on  the  boy  Jesus. 
But  His  heart  was  set  supremel}^  on  higher  things  than  the  merely 
outward  and  earthly.  From  His  earliest  years  His  mother's  faith  in 
the  mysterious  words  spoken  by  saints  and  angels  respecting  Him, 
even  before  His  birth,  must  have  shown  itself  in  a  thoussmd  ways 
in  her  intercourse  with  Him,  and  have  kindled  mysterious  thoughts 
in  His  boyish  mind.  We  cannot  conceive  the  relations  of  His 
divine  nature  to  the  human,  but  it  must  be  safe  to  follow  the  Gospels 
in  their  picture  of  Him  as  maturing  year  by  year,  from  the  simplicity 
of  the  child  to  the  wisdom  and  strength  of  riper  years. 

Physical  and  intellectual  ripeness  come  early  in  the  East.  David, 
Herod,  Ilyrcanus,  and  Josephus  showed,  even  in  boyhood,  traits 
which  in  more  backward  climates  mark  much  later  years.  Josephus 
tells  us  that  numbers  of  Jewish  boys  put  to  torture  in  Egypt,  under 
Vespasian,  after  the  fall  of  Masada,  bore  unflinchingly  the  utmost 
that  could  be  inflicted  on  them,  rather  than  own  Coesar  as  their  lord, 
and  even  in  our  own  day  children  in  Palestine  are  so  early  matured 
that  marriages  of  boys  of  thirteen  and  girls  of  eleven  are  not  unknown. 
Philo,  in  Christ's  da,y,  notes  different  ages  strangely  enough  to  our 
ideas.  "  At  seven,  "he  says,  "  a  man  is  a  logician  and  grammarian; 
at  fourteen  mature,  because  able  to  be  the  father  of  a  being  like  him- 
self; while,  at  twenty-one,  growth  and  bloom  are  over."  "  A  son  of 
five  years,"  says  Juda  Pen  Tema,  "is  to  read  the  Scriptures  aloud 
(that  is,  in  school),  one  of  ten  to  give  himself  to  the  Mischna,  of  thir- 
teen to  the  Commandments,  of  flfteen  to  the  Talmud,  of  eighteen 
to  marriage." 

The  Rabbis,  perhaps  from  the  tradition  that  Moses  left  his  father's 
house  when  twelve  years  old,  that  Samuel  had  begun  to  prophesy 
when  he  had  flnished  his  twelfth  year,  and  that  Solomon  had  delivered 
fome  of  his  famous  judgments  when  as  young,  had  already  in  Christ's 
day  fixed  that  age  as  the  close  of  boyhood  and  the  opening  of  a 
manlier  life.  "  After  the  completion  of  the  twelfth  j^ear, "  says  the 
Talmud,  "  a  boy  is  to  be  considered  a  youth,  and  is  to  keep  the  fast 
on  the  Day  of  Atonement.  Till  he  is  thirteen  his  religious  duties 
are  to  be  performed  for  him  by  his  father,  but  on  liis  thirteenth  birth- 
day the  parent  is  no  longer  answerable  for  his  son's  sins." 

Jesus,  who  had  endedllis  twelfth  year  when  taken  up  to  the  Pas.9- 
over,  was  thus  already  a  "  Son  of  the  Law,"  and,  as  such,  required 
to  perform  all  religious  duties.  The  Tephillin  or  phylacteries  had, 
doubtless,  as  was  usual,  been  jiut  on  Him  publicly  in  the  synagogue 
of  Nazareth,  to  mark  the  transition  from  boyhood,  to  remind  Him 
thai  He  was  henceforth  to  wear  them,  to  keep  the  fasts,  to  follow  tbs 


158  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

laws  of  the  Rabbis,  and  to  think  seriously  of  His  future  calling  in  life. 
He  would  be  much  freer,  therefore,  to  go  where  He  liked,  without 
supervision,  than  a  boy  of  the  same  age  with  us,  and  hence  all 
Jerusalem,  with  its  thousand  wonders,  lay  before  Him,  to  study  as 
He  chose. 

The  week  of  the  feast  ended,  Joseph  and  Mary  turned  their  faces 
towards  home.  The  confusion  and  bustle  arountl  must  have  been  in- 
describable. Any  one  who  has  seen  the  motley  crowds  of  Easter 
pilgrims  returning  from  the  Jordan  at  the  present  day  may  have  some 
faint  idea  of  the  scene.  The  start  is  always  made  at  night,  to  escape 
the  great  heat  of  the  day,  and  in  the  darkness,  lighted  only  by  torches, 
it  needs  care  not  to  be  trampled  under  foot.  At  narrow  or  dilBcult 
parts  of  the  road  the  noise  and  confusion  are  bewildering — women  in 
terror  of  being  trampled  down  by  a  long  tile  of  camels,  tied  one  be- 
hind another;  parents  calling  for  lost  children;  friends  shouting  for 
friends;  muleteers  and  ass  drivers  beating  and  cursing  their  beasts; 
the  whole  wedged  into  a  moving  mass,  all  alike  excited. 

As  the  distance  from  Jerusalem  increased,  and  different  divisions 
branched  off  to  different  roads,  danger  would  cease,  and  the  scene 
become  more  picturesque.  Veiled  women  and  venerable  men  would 
pass,  mounted  on  camels,  mules,  or  perhaps  horses;  younger  men 
walking  alongside,  staff'  in  hand;  children  playing  at  the  side  of  the 
path  as  the  cavalcade  slowly  advanced ;  and  the  journey  ever  and  anon 
beguiled  with  tabret  and  pipe.  Only  when  the  pilgrims  had  thus  got 
away  from  the  first  crowd,  would  it  be  possible  for  each  group  to 
know  if  all  its  members  were  safe. 

Among  many  others,  some  one  of  whose  family  had  for  the  time 
been  separated  from  them  in  the  confusion,  were  Joseph  and  Mary. 
On  reaching  their  first  night's  encampment  they  discovered  that  the 
boy  Jesus  was  not  in  the  caravan.  He  had  likely  been  missed  earlier, 
but  He  might  be  Avith  friends  in  some  other  part  of  the  caravan. 
After  seeking  diligently  for  Him,  however,  without  success,  they  were 
greatly  alarmed.  Amidst  such  vast  multitudes,  He  might  be  lost  to 
them  for  ever. 

Nothing  was  left  but  to  return  to  Jerusalem,  which  they  re-entered 
on  the  evening  of  the  second  day.  But  they  could  learn  nothing  of 
Him  till  the  day  after,  when,  at  last,  thej'^  found  Him  in  one  of  the 
schools  of  the  Rabbis,  held  in  the  Temple  courts. 

These  schools  were  a  characteristic  of  the  times.  They  were  open, 
and  any  one  entering  might  answer  or  propose  a  question.  The  Rabbi 
eat  on  a  high  seat;  his  scholars  on  the  ground,  at  his  feet,  in  half- 
circles  :  their  one  study  the  Law,  with  its  Rabbinical  comments. 

In  the  school  in  which  Jesus  was  found,  a  number  of  Rabbis  were 
present,  perhaps  because  it  was  the  Passover  season.  The  gentle 
Hillel — the  Looser — was  perhaps  still  alive,  and  may  possibly  have 
been  among  them.  The  harsh  and  strict  Shammai — the  Binder — his 
old  rival,  had  been  long  dead.     Hillel's  son,  Rabban  Simeon,  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  159 

even  his  greater  grandson,  Gamaliel,  the  future  teacher  of  St.  Paul, 
may  have  been  of  the  number,  though  Gamaliel  would,  then,  like 
Jei5us,  be  only  a  boy.  Hanau,  or  Annas,  son  of  Seth,  had  been  just 
appointed  high  priest,  but  did  not  likely  see  Him,  as  a  boy,  whom  he 
was  afterwards  to  crucify.  Apart  from  the  bitter  hostility  between 
the  priests  and  the  Rabbis,  he  would  be  too  busy  with  his  monopoly 
of  doves  for  the  Temple,  to  care  for  the  discussions  of  the  schools, 
for  he  owned  the  shops  for  doves  on  Mount  Olivet,  and  sold  them  for 
a  piece  of  gold,  though  the  Law  had  chosen  them  as  offerings  suited 
for  the  poorest  from  Iheir  commonness  and  cheapness. 

Among  the  famous  men,  then,  apparently,  living  in  Jerusalem,  was 
Rabbi  Jochanan  Ben  Zacchai,  afterwards  repiitcd  a  prophet,  from  his 
once  crying  out — when  the  Temple  gate  opened  of  itself — "Temple, 
Temple,  why  do  you  frighten  us?  We  know  that  thou  wilt  shortly 
be  destroyed,  for'it  says — '  Open,  Lebanon,  thy  gates,  and  let  fire  de- 
vour thy  cedars.'"  Jonathan  Ben  Uzziel,  the  Targumist,  revered  by 
his  nation;  Rabbi  Ben  Buta,  who,  though  of  Shammai's  school,  was 
almost  as  mild  as  Hillel,  and,  like  him,  had  a  great  reputation  for 
Rabbinical  sanctity;  now  blind  these  many  years,  for  Herod  had 
put  out  his  eyes;  Dosithai  of  Jethma,  a  zealous  opponent  of  Herod; 
Zadok,  who  had  taken  part  in  the  rising  of  Judas  the  Gaulonite; 
Boethus,  father  of  one  of  Herod's  wives — the  second  Marianme — once 
high  priest,  and  now  the  head  of  the  courtly  Herodian  and  Roman 
party ;  Nicodemus,  who  afterwards  came  to  Jesus  by  night,  and  the 
rich  Joseph  of  Arimathea, — in  a  grave  given  by  whom  Jesus  was 
afterwards  to  lie,  were  all  apparently,  then  alive.  But  we  can  only 
conjecture  in  wliose  presence  Jesus  sat,  for  dates  are  sadly  wanting. 
One  picture  alone  survives  in  Scripture,  of  Hebrew  boyhood  in  its 
noblest  beauty — that  of  David,  with  liis  lustrous  ej'es,  auburn  hair, 
and  lovely  features.  It  is  no  great  stretch  of  fancj^  to  believe  that 
He  who  was  at  once  David's  heir  and  his  lord — the  Son  of  David  in 
a  sense  higher  than  man  had  dreamed — realized  the  name  not  less  in 
His  personal  beauty  than  in  other  respects.  The  passion  of  His  soul 
— to  learn  more  of  His  Father's  business — had  led  Him  naturally  to 
the  famed  schools  in  His  Father's  house,  where  the  wisest  and  most 
learned  of  His  nation  made  the  holy  books,  in  which  that  Father's 
will  was  revealed,  their  lifelong  study.  The  mystery  of  His  own 
nature  and  of  His  relations  to  His  Father  in  Heaven  was  dawning  on 
Him  more  and  more.  His  mother's  words,  from  time  to  time,  had 
daily  a  deeper  and  more  wondrous  significance,  and  His  sinless  .spirit 
lived  more  and  more  in  communion  with  unseen  and  eternal  realities. 
He  had  naturally,  therefore,  sought  those  who  could  open  for  Him 
the  fountains  of  Heavenly  wTsdom  for  which  His  whole  being  panted, 
and  was  the  keenest  listener,  and  the  most  eager  in  His  questions,  of 
all  the  group  seated  at  their  feet.  The  days  would  come  when  no 
further  growth  was  possible,  and  then  He  would  sit  in  the  courts  of 
tb«  same  Temple,  as  a  teacher  who  reeded  no  human  help.     As  yet; 


160  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

however,  He  couid  not  honour  His  Father  more  than  by  seeking,  as  a 
child,  to  know  His  holy  Word  from  its  accredited  expounders.  En- 
thusiasm so  pure  and  lofty  in  one  so  j'oung,  lighting  up  the  beauty  of 
such  ej'es  and  features,  may  well  have  filled  the  heart  of  the  gi'avest 
Rabbi  with  wonder  and  delight. 

In  this  school  of  the  Rabbis  Mary  and  Joseph  found  Him,  sitting 
on  the  ground,  with  others,  at  the  feet  of  the  half -circle  of  "doctors," 
His  whole  soul  so  absorbed  in  the  Law  and  the  Prophets  that  He  had 
forgotten  all  other  thoughts :  His  family  circle — the  flight  of  time.  It 
was  no  wonder  to  find  Ilim  in  such  a  place,  for  as  "a  Son  of  the  Law" 
it  was  only  what  a  Jew  expected,  but  it  might  well  amaze  them  that 
He  had  been  so  engrossed  with  such  matters  as  to  be  still  there,  after 
the  feast  was  over,  and  not  only  Mary  and  Joseph,  but  the  great  throng 
of  pilgrims,  had  left  for  home.  As  befitted  her  higher  relationship, 
and  with  the  greater  zeal  natural  to  a  mother's  love  in  such  a  case, 
she,  not  Joseph,  spoke.  "Son,"  said  she,  "why  hast  Thou  thu3 
dealt  with  us?  Behold,  Thy  father  and  I  have  sought  Thee  sorrow- 
ing." It  seemed  so  strange  that  one  so  gentle,  docile,  and  loving,  who 
had  never  given  them  an  anxious  thought  by  any  childish  froward- 
ness,  should  cause  them  such  pain  and  alarm.  The  answer,  gentle 
and  lofty,  must  have  fallen  on  Mary's  heart  as  a  soft  rebuke,  though 
she  could  not  understand  its  fulness  cf  meaning:  "How  is  it  that  yc 
sought  me?  There  was  no  place  where  I  could  so  surely  be  as  in  my 
Father's  house — there  were  no  matters  v.hich  could  so  rightfully  fill 
my  thoughts  as  His?"  Her  son  was  cutgroAving  His  childhood:  the 
light  of  a  higher  world  was  breaking  in  on  His  soul;  the  claims  of  the 
home  of  Nazareth  fading  before  others  infinitely  greater  and  holier. 

A  sinless  childhord  had  made  the  past  a  long  dream  of  peace  and 
love  in  the  home  at  Nazareth,  and  this  onlj""  deepened  as  the  sim])licity 
of  early  years  passed  into  the  ripeness  of  a  perfect  manhood.  Though 
He  must  have  felt  the  growing  distance  between  Himself  and  Joseph, 
or  even  Mary :  their  A\eakness  and  His  OAvn  strength :  their  simplicity  and 
His  own  wisdom;,  their  trail  himianity,  touched  by  daily  sin,  and  His 
own  pure  and  sinless  nature,  He  remained  subject  to  them,  as  if  only 
like  others.  If  ever  there  was  a  son  Avho  might  have  been  expected 
to  claim  independence  it  was  He,  and  j'et,  to  sanctifj'  and  enforce 
filial  obedience  for  ever.  He  lived  on,  under  their  humble  roof,  exem- 
plary in  the  implicit  and  far-reaching  obedience  of  a  Jewish  youth  to 
his  parents. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

EARLY  YEARS. 

For  nearly  eighteen  years  after  tlie  Passover  visit  to  Jerusalem,  a 
'leep  obscurity  rests  over  the  life  of  Jesus.  Like  His  cousin  John,  or 
tlie  shepherd  Moses,  or  the  youtliful  David,  He  came  before  tlie 
world  at  last,  only  after  a  long  and  humble  seclusion.  The  quiet 
vjdley  and  hills  of  Nazareth  saw  Him  gradually  ripen  into  youth  and 
manhood — as  son,  brothc,  citizen,  neighbour,  friend — like  others. 
There  was  no  sudden  or  miraculous  disclo.suve  of  His  Divine  great- 
ness. Like  the  graivi  in  the  fields  beneath  ills  early  home,  Hi.s 
growth  was  imperceptible.  The  white,  llat-roofed  houses  of  to-day 
are,  doubtless,  much  the  sam3  as  those  amidst  v.liich  He  plaj^ed  as  a 
child,  and  lived  as  a  man;  vines  shading  the  v.'ails;  doves  sunning 
themselves  on  the  flat  roofs;  the  arrangements,  within,  as  simple,  as 
they  are  uaprotending,  without.  A  few  mats  on  the  floor,  a  built  seat 
running  aloi-ig  the  wall,  spread  with  some  modest  cushions,  and  the 
bright  quilts  on  which  the  inmates  sleep  at  night,  and  serving  by  day 
as  .shelf  for  the  few  dishes  in  common  use;  a  painted  chest  in  the  cor- 
ner; some  large  clay  water  jars,  their  mouths  lillcd,  perhaps,  with 
sweet  herl)3,  to  keep  the  contents  cool  and  fresh;  t!ie  onl}-  light  that 
entering  by  the  open  door;  a  low,  round,  painted,  wooden  stool, 
brought,  at  meals,  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  to  hold' the  tray  and 
dish,  round  wliicli  the  hou.sehold  sit,  with  crossed  knees,  on  mats — 
supply  the  picture  of  a  house  at  Nazareth  of  the  humbler  type.  It 
may  be  that  differences  in  details  were  found  in  early  times,  for  many 
of  the  houses  of  ancient  Chorazin  are  j'et  tolerably  perfect,  and  show 
some  variations  from  present  dwellings.  Generally  square,  they 
ranged  downwards  in  size,  from  about  30  feet  each  way,  and  had  one 
or  two  columns  in  the  centre,  to  support  the  fiat  roof.  The  walls, 
which  are  still,  in  some  cases,  six  feet  high,  and  about  two  feet  thick, 
were  built  of  masonry  or  of  loose  blocks  of  basalt,  Chorazin  being  on 
ttie  volcanic  edge  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  and  not,  like  Nazareth,  on 
limestone  hills.  A  low  doorway  opened  in  the  centre  of  one  of  the 
Avails,  and  each  house  had  windows  a  foot  high  and  about  six  inches 
broad.  But,  like  the  houses  of  to-day,  most  had  only  one  chamber, 
though  some  were  divided  into  four. 

In  the  shelter  of  some  such  home,  in  one  of  the  narrow,  stony 
streets  of  Nazareth,  Jesus  grew  up.  On  the  hill-sides,  in  the  little 
crossways  between  the  houses,  in  the  rude  gardens,  in  the  lields  below 
the  town,  lieside  the  bounteous  fountain  on  the  hill-side,  near  the 
road — from  which  the  village  mothers  and  daughters  still  bear  the 
water  for  their  households — He  was  a  child  among  other  children. 
Am  He  grew,  year  by  year,  His  great  eyes  would  shine  with  a  spirit- 


162  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ual  brightness,  and  His  mind  would  be  tilled  with  strange  loneliness 
that  would  separate  Him  from  most.  He  must,  inevitably,  have,  early, 
seemed  as  if  raised  above  everything  earthly,  and  no  impure  word  or 
thought  would  appear  befitting  in  His  presence.  As  a  growing  lad, 
He  would  already  feel  the  isolation  which,  in  His  later  years,  became 
so  extreme,  for  how  could  sinlessness  be  at  home  with  sin  and  weak- 
ness? He  would  seek  the  society  of  the  elders  rather  than  of  the 
young,  and,  while  devoted  to  Joseph,  would  be  altogether  so  to  His' 
mother.  The  habits  of  His  later  life  let  us  imagine  that,  even  in  His 
youth.  He  often  withdrew  to  the  loneliest  retreats  in  the  mountains 
and  valleys  round,  and  we  may  fancy  that  Mary,  knowing  His  ways, 
would  cease,  after  a  time,  to  wonder  where  He  was.  One  height,  we 
may  be  sure,  was  often  visited :  the  mountain-top  above  the  village, 
from  which  His  eye  could  wander  over  the  wondrous  landscape. 

The  Passover,  though  the  greatest  religious  solemnity  of  the  year, 
was  only  one  in  a  continually  recm-ring  series.  Four  times  each  year, 
in  July,  October,  Januaiy,  and  March,  different  events  in  the  national 
history  would  be  more  or  less  strictly  observed  in  the  Jewish  commu- 
nity at  Nazareth.  Special  fasts  were,  moreover,  ordered,  from  time 
to  time,  in  seasons  of  public  danger  or  distress.  These  days,  set  apart 
for  repentance  and  prayer,  excited  a  general  and  deep  religious  feel- 
ing. At  all  times  striking,  they  sometimes,  in  exceptional  cases,  were 
singularly  impressive.  On  special  public  humiliations  all  the  people 
covered  themselves  with  sackcloth,  and  strewed  ashes  on  their  heads, 
as  they  stood  ])efore  the  Reader's  desk,  brought  from  the  synagogue 
into  some  open  place,  and  similarly  draped  in  mourning.  Jesus  must 
have  seen  this,  and  how  ashes  were  put  on  the  heads  of  the  local 
judges  and  rulers  of  the  synagogue,  on  such  a  day,  and  He  must  have 
listened  to  the  Rabbi  calling  on  all  present  to  repent,  and  to  the  pray- 
ers and  penitential  psalms  which  followed,  and  to  the  trumpets  wail- 
ing at  the  close  of  each.  He  may  have  gone  with  Joseph  and  all  the 
congregation,  when  the  service  ended,  to  the  burial-place  of  the  vil- 
lage to  lament. 

But  such  sadness  was  by  no  means  the  characteristic  of  the  national 
religion.  Fifty  days  after  the  Passover,  multitudes  were  once  more 
in  motion  towards  Jerusalem,  to  attend  the  Feast  of  Weeks,  or  First- 
Fruits.  The  vast  numbers  present  at  it  are  recorded  in  the  second 
chapter  of  the  Acts.  It  was  one  of  the  three  great  festivities  of  the 
year,  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  in  His  Nazareth  life  Jesus  and 
the  household  of  Joseph,  as  a  whole,  took  part  in  so  great  and  uni- 
versal a  rejoicing. 

The  intending  pilgrims  in  Nazareth  and  the  district  round  met  in 
the  town,  as  a  convenient  centre,  to  arrange  for  the  journey.  As 
before  the  Passover,  however,  no  one  slept  in  any  house  immediately 
before  starting,  all  going  out  into  the  open  country  and  sleeping  some- 
where in  the  open  air,  lest  a  death  might  happen  where  they  lodged, 
and  defile  them,  so  that  they  could  not  keep  the  feast.     They  had  tc 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  103 

be  in  Jerusalem  before  the  6tli  of  Siwan  (June),  on  which  and  the  7th 
the  feast  was  held,  and,  therefore,  set  off  some  daj's  before.  The  early 
harvest  was  mostly  over,  so  that  many  could  go.  Wives,  unmarried 
sisters,  and  children,  accompanied  not  a  few.  Flocks  of  sheep  and 
oxen,  for  sacrifice  and  feasting,  were  driven  gently  along  with  the 
bands  of  pilgrims,  and  strings  of  asses  and  camels,  laden  with  provi- 
sions and  simple  necessaries,  or  with  free-will  gifts  to  the  Temple,  or 
bearing  the  old  or  feeble,  lengthened  the  train.  Ever}'  one  wore  fes- 
tal clothes,  and  not  a  few  carried  garlands  and  wreaths  of  flowers. 
The  cool  banks  of  streams,  or  some  well,  oftered  resting-places  by  the 
way,  and  the  pure  water,  with  melons,  dates,  or  cucumbers,  sufficed 
for  their  simple  food.  Different  bands  united  as  they  passed  fresh 
towns  and  villages.  All  were  roused,  each  morning,  with  the  cry, 
"  Rise,  let  us  go  up  to  Zion,  to  the  Eternal,  our  God!"  The  offerings 
of  first-fruits — the  choicest  of  the  year — in  baskets  of  willows,  or  even 
of  gold  or  silver;  doves  for  burnt  offerings,  with  their  wings  bound, 
and  the  ox,  intended  for  a  peace-offering, — its  horns  gilded,  and 
bound  with  wreaths  of  olive, — went  first.  Flutes  forthwith  struck 
up,  and  the  cavalcade  moved  on,  to  the  chant,  "I  was  glad  when 
they  said  to  me.  We  shall  go  into  the  house  of  the  Lord."  Similar 
hymns  cheered  them  ever  and  anon  on  each  day's  march.  Wheu 
within  sight  of  Jerusalem,  all  was  enthusiasm.  Many  threw  themselves 
on  their  knees  in  devotion,  lifting  their  hands  to  heaven.'  Presently 
all  burst  into  the  grand  ode,  "  Beautiful  for  situation,  the  joy  of  the 
whole  earth  is  Mount  Zion,  on  the  sides  of  the  North,  the  cit_y  of  the 
.great  King" — the  excitement  culminating  in  the  climax — "For  this 
God  is  our  God  for  ever  and  ever;  He  will  be  our  guide  even  unto 
death."  A  halt  was  now  made  to  get  everything  in  order.  All  ar- 
rayed themselves  to  the  best  advantage.  The  whcatsheaves  were 
wreathed  with  lilies  and  the  first-fruits  bedded  in  flowers,  and  set  out 
as  effectivelj'  as  possible.  Each  company  unrolled  its  banner,  bearing 
''he  name  of  the  town  or  village  fi"om  which  it  came.  When  near  the 
ity,  priests  in  their  white  robes  came  out  to  meet  them,  accompanied 
by  a  throng  of  citizens  in  holiday  dress;  and  as  they  entered  the  gates 
they  sang  aloud  to  the  accompaniment  of  flutes,  the  Psalm,  "I  was 
glad  when  they  said  to  me.  Let  us  go  into  the  house  of  the  Lord. 
Our  feet  shall  stand  within  thy  gates,  O  Jerusalem."  The  workmen 
at  their  trades  in  the  streets,  or  at  their  doors,  rose  in  honour  of  the 
procession  as  it  passed,  with  the  greeting,  "Men  of  Nazareth  (or else- 
where), welcome!"  a  great  crowd  as  they  advanced,  filling  the  air 
with  gladness.  At  the  Temple  hill,  every  one,  rich  and  poor — for  all 
"'uiared  in  these  processions— took  his  basket  on  his  shoulder  and  as- 
■rended  to  the  Court  of  the  ]VIen,  where  the  Levites  met  them,  and 
fell  into  the  procession,  singing,  to  the  sound  of  their  instruments, 
the  Psalm,  beginning,  "Hallelujah!  Praise  God  in  His  sanctuary; 
praise  Him  in  the  firmament  of  His  power."  "I  thank  Thee,  O  Lord, 
for  Thou  hast  beard  me,  and  hast  not  let  mine  enemies  rejoice  OT«r 


J 64  THE  LIFE  OF  CliPvTST. 

me."  The  doves  hanfciiie:  from  the  ha^kcts  were  now  handed  to  the 
])ricsLS  for  burut  offerinjis,  niu'l  tlie  first-fruits  and  pifts  delivered, 
with  tlie  words  prescribed  by  Moses,  "I  profess  this  day  unto  the 
Lord  Thy  God  that  I  am  come  into  the  country  whieli  tlie  Lord  sware 
to  our  fathers  to  give  us.  And  now,  behold,  t  have  brought  the  first- 
fruits  of  the  land,  which  Thou,  O  Lord,  hast  given  me."  The  pil- 
grims then  left  the  Temple,  followed  by  a  great  Ihrong,  some  to  lodge 
Avith  relations  and  friends,  others  with  some  of  the  many  hosts  in- 
viting them. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Jesus  was  more  than  once  a  spectator 
of  such  rejoicings,  and  often  in  His  earlier  years  saw  the  vast  encamp- 
ments of  pilgrims  from  every  part,  round  the  city :  the  tents  spread  on 
each  house-top  to  lodge  the  overflowing  visitors;  the  windows  and 
doors  decked  with  l»ranches  of  trees,  and  garlands  and  festoons  of 
flowers,  the  streets  fluttering  with  banners  wreathed  with  roses  and 
lilies,  and  filled  witli  gay  throngs. 

In  the  month  of  August  another  festivity  drew  many  from  ISTaza- 
reth  to  Jerusalem.  In  the  middle  of  that  month  the  wood  for  the 
Temple,  which  all  Jews  had  to  contribute,  was  taken  to  the  capital 
with  great  rejoicings.  The  1st  of  October,  which  was  celebrated  as 
New  Year's  day,  or  the  Feast  of  Trumpets,  was  the  next  event  in  the 
religious  calendar  of  the  months.  As  the  day  of  the  tirst  new  moon 
of  tfie  year,  it  was  ushered  in,  ever  the  land,  by  a  blast  of  trumpets, 
and  special  sacrifices  were  offered  in  Jerusalem.  No  work  was  done. 
It  w^as  the  day,  in  the  ej^es  of  the  Jew%  on  which  an  account  was 
taken  by  God  of  the  acts  of  the  past  year;  the  day  of  judgment,  on 
which  the  destiny  of  every  one  for  the  coming  year  was  written  in 
the  Heavenly  books.  It  was  a  fast,  therefore,  rather  than  a  festival. 
The  synagogues  were  visited  earlier  than  usual  for  a  week  befofe  it; 
special  prayers  were  offered,  and  no  one  ate  till  mid-day  or  even  till 
sunset.  In  the  synagogue  of  Nazareth,  as  elsewhere,  its  eve  was 
like  that  of  a  gabbath.  It  must  have  been  a  great  event  in  a  house- 
hold like  that  of  Joseph. 

The  ten  days  that  followed  were  the  Jewish  Lent,  in  preparation 
for  the  Day  of  Atonement,  a  time  so  solemn  and  sacred  that  it  was 
known  as  the  day.  It  was  a  Sabbath  of  Sabbaths:  a  daj'  of  entire 
rest.  The  entire  people  fasted  during  the  twenty-four  hours. 
Worldly  and  hoxisehold  affairs  were  neglected;  no  one  even  bathed. 
Tlie  whole  day  was  spent  in  the  synagogue,  where  each  stood  wrapped 
in  the  white  shroud,  and  wearing  the  white  cap  in  which  he  was 
hereafter  to  be  buried.  As  was  befitting,  all  disputes  between  friends 
and  neighbours  were  required  to  be  settled  before  it  began.  Each 
made  a  formal  confession  of  his  sins  before  God,  in  words  duly  pre- 
scribed.    It  was  the  most  solemn  day  of  the  Jewish  year. 

In  the  Temple  the  high  priest  alone  officiated.  Jesus  would  early 
hear  how,  for  seven  days  before,  he  had  gone  through  daily  rehearsals 
•I  every  rite,  for  fear  of  his  introducing  Sadducean  innovations,  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  1«5 

had  been  cleansed  by  sprinklings  of  holy  water.  He  would  hear  how 
the  night  before  the  great  diy  was  spent  in  reading  to  him,  or  hear- 
ing him  read  aloud,  to  keep  him  awake,  for  he  must  not  sleep  till 
after  next  sunset.  How  must  He  have  felt  the  puerility  of  Rabbinism 
when  He  learned  that  the  supreme  pontiff  of  the  nation  had  to  change 
his  dress,  on  the  great  day,  six  times,  to  wash  his  hands  and  feet 
eight  times,  and  to  bathe  his  whole  body  five  times,  between  dawn 
and  sunset !  The  high  priest  entered  f he  Holy  of  Holies  four  times, 
to  offer  incense,  to  pray,  to  sprinkle  the  blood  of  a  goat  towards  the 
mercy  seat ;  and,  at;  the  close,  to  bring  out  the  censer.  Jesus  must 
often  have  seen  him,  clad  in  white,  his  golden  robes  laid  aside,  with 
bare  feet  and  covered  head,  drawing  aside  the  veil,  and  passing  alone 
into  the  awful  darkness  which  no  one  but  he  ever  invaded,  and  he 
only  on  this  one  day  of  the  year.  Rites  so  countless  and  intricate  that 
even  the  historian  of  Judaism  will  not  attempt  to  recount  them :  the 
services  of  hundreds  of  priests,  the  whole  culminating  in  a  threefold 
confession  of  sin  for  the  nation :  the  utterance  ten  times  of  the  mys- 
terious name  of  God,  and  tlic  formal  absolution  of  Israel  with  the 
sprinkling  of  blood:  the  vast  congregation  of  worshippers  prostrating 
themselves  on  the  earth  three  times,  with  the  cry,  "Blessed  be  His 
glorious  nj?me  for  ever,"  at  each  utterance  of  the  awful  name,  the 
high  priest  responding  after  each  shout,  "Ye  are  clean!"  were  all 
seen  and  watched,  again  and  again,  by  the  future  Saviour. 

These  high  solemnities  over,  the  day  ended  in  a  reaction  natural  to 
the  East.  No  sooner  had  the  exhausted  high  priest  left  the  Temple, 
accompanied  by  throngs,  to  congratulate  him  on  his  safety,  than  a 
religious  feast  began  at  Jerusalem,  and,  we  may  be  sure,  over  all  the 
laud.  The  gardens  below  Mount  Zion,  and  round  the  walls,  were 
gay  with  the  maidens  of  the  city,  dressed  in  white,  gone  to  meet  the 
youths,  who  were  to  choose  their  futare  wives,  that  evening,  from 
among  them. 

Five  days  later  came  the  closing  groat  feast  of  the  year — that  of 
Tabernacles,  with  its  rejoicings — one  of  the  three  great  annual  festi- 
vals at  which  every  Israelite  was  required,  if  possible,  to  make  a 
journey  to  Jerusalem.  It  celebrated  the  Forty  Years'  Wandering  in 
tents,  but  it  was  ;ilso  the  great  harvest  thanksgiving  for  the  fruits  of 
the  year,  now  fullj'  gathered.  Like  others,  Jesus,  doubtless,  often 
lived  for  the  week,  at  least  by  day,  in  booths  of  living  twigs,  which 
rose  in  every  court,  on  every  roof,  and  in  the  streets  and  open  places 
of  Jerusalem, — and  watched  the  crowds  bearing  offerings  of  tlie  best 
of  their  fruit  to  the  Temple:  each  carrying  a  palm  or  citron  branch 
as  a  sign  of  joy.  The  merry  feasting  in  every  house :  the  illuminated 
city :  the  universal  joj',  were  familiar  to  Him. 

The  35th  of  Chislew — our  December — commemorated  the  re-open- 
ing of  the  Temple  by  Judas  Maccabsus,  after  its  profanation  by  the 
Syrians.  It  brought  another  week  of  universal  rejoicings.  All 
through  the  land  the  people  assembled  in  their  synagogues,  ctirrying 


166  THE  LIFS    Of'  CHRIST. 

"brauclies  of  palm  and.  other  tre*fS  in  th-nr  hands,  and  held  jubilant 
services.  No  fast  or  mourning  could  coinmence  during  the  feast,  and 
a  blaze  of  lamps,  lautern.s,  and  torches  illuminated  every  house,  with- 
in and  Avithout,  each  evening.  In  Jerusalem  the  Temple  itself  was 
thus  lighted  up.  The  young  of  every  household  heard  the  stirring 
deeds  of  the  Maccabees,  to  rouse  them  to  noble  emulation,  and  with 
these  were  linked  the  story  of  the  heroic  Judith  and  the  Assyrian 
Holofcrnes.  There  was  no  child  in  Nazareth  that  did  not  know 
.them. 

'  The  Feast  of  Purim  brightened  the  interval  between  that  of  Taber- 
/nacles  and  the  Passover.  It  was  held  on  the  14th  and  15th  Adar — 
part  of  our  February  and  March — to  embody  the  national  joy  at  the 
deliverance,  by  Esther,  of  their  forefathers  in  Persia,  from  the  designs 
of  Haman.  'fhe  whole  book  of  Esther  was  read  at  the  synagogue 
service  of  the  evening  before,  to  keep  the  mer^ory  of  the  great  event 
alive ;  the  chikh-en  raising  their  loudest  and  angriest  cries  at  every 
mention  of  the  name  of  Haman ;  the  congregation  stamping  on  the 
floor,  with  Eastern  demonstrativeness,  and  imprecating,  from  every 
"voice,  the  curse,  "Let  his  name  be  blotted  out.  The  name  of  the 
"wicked  shall  rot."'  Year  by  year,  in  the  Nazareth  synagogue,  Jesus 
must  have  seen  and  heard  all  this,  and  how  the  Reader  tried  to 
read  in  one  breath,  the  verses  in  which  Haman  and  his  sons  are  jointly 
mentioned,  to  show  that  they  were  hanged  together. 

Such  was.  the  Jewish  religious  year,  with  its  fifty--nine  feast  days 
and  its  background  of  fastings,  as  it  passed  before  the  eyes  of  Jesus. 
Each  incident  had  its  special  religious  colouring,  and  the  aggregate 
influence,  constantly  recuv  jg,  impressed  itself  in  a  thousand  ways 
on  the  national  language,  thoughts,  and  life.  Religion  and  politics, 
moreover,  are  identical  in  a  theocracy,  and  thus  the  two  principles 
which  most  powerfully  move  mankind  constantly  agitated  every 
breast.     In  such  an  atmosphere  Christ  spent  His  whole  earthly  life. 

But  neither  the  synagogue  services,  nor  the  feasts  at  Jerusalem, 
■which  the  Galilieans  delighted  to  attend,  were  the  supreme  influences, 
humanly  speaking,  in  the  gTOWth  of  Jesus  in  "wisdom."  Like  the 
teaching  of  the  Rabbis,  they  were  only  so  many  aids  to  the  under- 
standing of  that  sacred  book,  in  which  His  heavenly  Father  had  re- 
vealed Himself  to  Israel.  The  Gospels  show,  in  every  page,  that, 
like  Timothy,  Jesus,  from  a  child,  knew  "'the  Holy  Scriptures."  In 
such  a  household  as  that  of  Joseph,  we  may  be  sure  that  they  were 
in  daily  use,  for  there,  if  anywhere,  the  Rabbinical  rule  would  be 
strictly  observed,  that  "three  who  eat  together  without  talking 
of  the  Law,  are  as  if  they  were  eating  (heathen)  sacrifices."  The 
directness,  joy,  and  naturalness  of  Christ's  religion  speak  of  the  un- 
constrained and  holy  influences  around  Him  in  early  years.  A  wise 
and  tender  guidance  in  the  things  of  God,  leading  the  way  to  hea?^en, 
as  well  as  pointing  it  out,  must  have  marked  both  Mary  and  Joseph. 
The  fond  pictures  of  home  and  childhood  in  the  Gospels,  speak  of 


•         THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  157 

personal  recollections.  The  allusions  to  the  innocent  playing  of 
children;  to  their  being  nearest  tlie  Kingdom  of  Heaven;  the  picture 
of  a  father  powerless  against  his  child's  entreaty;  and  that  touching 
outburst  at  His  own  homelessnoss,  compared  even  with  the  birds  and 
the  foxes,  show  how  Christ's  muid  went  back,  through  life,  to  the 
pure  and  happy  memories  of  Nazareth. 

Mary  and  Joseph,  we  can  scarcely  doubt,  were,  themselves,  the 
earliest  teachers  of  Jesus.  At  their  knees  He  must  have  first  learned 
to  read  the  Scriptures.  Pious  Jewish  parents  took  especial  care  to 
have  a  manuscript  of  the  Law,  in  the  old  Hebrew  characters,  as 
their  especial  domestic  treasure.  Even  so  early  as  the  Asmonean 
kings,  such  rolls  were  so  common  in  private  houses,  tliat  the  fury  of 
the  Syrian  king,  who  wished  to  introduce  the  Greek  customs  and 
religion,  was  especially  directed  agamst  them.  In  Joseph's  day,  the 
supreme  influence  of  the  Rabbis  and  Pharisees  must  have  deepened 
into  a  passion  the  desire  to  poasess  such  a  symbol  of  loyalty  to  the 
faith  of  Israel.  Richer  families  would  hav«  a  complete  copy  of  the 
Old  Testament,  on  parchment,  or  on  Egyptian  papjTus;  humbler 
homes  would  boast  a  copy  of  the  Law,  or  a  Psalter,  and  all,  alike, 
gloried  in  tlie  verses  on  their  door-posts  and  m  their  phylacteries. 
Children  had  small  rolls,  containing  the  S'chma,  or  the  Hallel,  or 
the  history  of  Creation  to  the  flood,  or  the  first  eight  chapters  of 
Leviticus. 

From  the  modest  but  priceless  instructions  of  home,  Jesus  would, 
doubtless,  pass  to  the  school  in  the  synagogue,  where  He  would  learn 
more  of  the  Law,  and  be  taught  to  write,  or  rather,  to  print,  for  His 
writing  would  be  in  the  old  Hebrew  characters — the  only  ones  then 
in  use. 

His  deep  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures  shows  itself  throughout  the 
Gospels.  He  has  a  quotation  ready  to  meet  every  hostile  question. 
It  was  so  profound  that  it  forced  even  His  enemies  to  recognize  Him 
as  a  Rabbi.  His  frequent  retort  on  the  Rabbis  themselves— "Have 
ye  not  read?"  and  the  deep  insight  into  the  spirit  of  Scripture,  which 
opposes  to  rubrics  and  forms  the  quickening  jTOwer  of  a  higher  life, 
prove  how  intensely  He  must  have  studied  the  sacred  books,  and  that 
the  zeal  that  drew  Him,  in  His  boyhood,  to  the  Temple  school  at 
Jerusalem,  to  hear  them  explained,  was  the  sjicred  passion  of  His  life 
In  the  Gospels  we  find  two  quotations  from  Genesis,  two  from  Exo 
dus,  one  from  Numbers,  two  from  Deuteronomy,  seven  from  the 
Psalms,  five  from  Isaiah,  one  from  llosea,  one  from  Jonah,  two  from 
Malachi,  two  from  Daniel,  one  from  Micah,  and  one  from  Zcchariah, 
lespectively.  The  whole  of  the  Old  Testament  was  as  familiar  to 
Him  as  tlie  Magnificat  shows  it  to  liavc  been  to  His  mother,  Mary. 
It  was  from  the  clear  fountain  of  the  ancient  oracles  His  childhood 
drank  in  the  wisdom  that  coineth  from  above.  They  had  been  His 
only  school-book,  and  they  were  the  unwearying  joy  of  His  whole 
Ufe.     From  them  He  taught  the  higher  spiritual  worship  which  con- 


168  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

trastod  so  strongly  with  the  worship  of  the  letter.  It  was  to  them  He 
appealed  when  He  rejected  what  was  worthless  and  trifling  in  the 
religious  teaching  of  His  day. 

The  long  years  of  retired  and  humble  life  in  Nazareth  were  passed 
in  no  ignoble  idleness  and  dependence.  The  people  of  tlie  town  knew 
Jesus  as,  like  Joseph,  a  carpenter,  lal)ouring  for  His  daily  bread  at  the 
occupations  which  offered  themselves  in  His  calling.  Study  and 
handiwork  were  familiarly  associated  in  the  Jewish'mind,  and  car- 
ried with  them  no  such  ideas  of  incompatibility  as  with  us.  "Love 
handiwork,"  said  Schemaia,  a  teacher  of  HiUel,  and  it  was  a  pro- 
verbial saying  in  the  family  of  Gamaliel,  that  to  unite  the  study  of  the 
Law  with  a  trade  kept  away  sin,  whereas  studj^  alone  was  dangerous 
and  disappointing.  Rabbis  who  gave  a  third  of  the  day  to  study,  a 
third  to  prayer,  and  a  third  to  labour,  are  mentioned  with  special 
honour.  Stories  were  fondly  told  of  famous  teachers  carrying  their 
work  stools  to  their  schools,  and  how  Rabbi  Phinehas  Avas  working  as 
a  mason  when  chosen  as  high  priest.  Of  the  Rabbis  in  honour  in 
Christ's  day  or  later,  some  were  millers,  others  carpenters,  cobblers, 
tailors,  bakers,  surgeons,  builders,  surveyors,  money-changers,  scribes, 
carriers,  smiths,  and  even  sextons.  In  a  natian  where  no  teacher 
could  receive  payment  for  his  instruction  the  honest  industry  which 
gained  self-support  brought  no  false  shame. 

The  years  at  Nazareth  must  have  been  diligently  used  in  the  obser- 
vation of  the  great  book  cf  nature,  and  of  man,  as  well  as  of  written 
revelation.  The  Gospels  show,  throughout,  that  ni  thing  escaped  the 
eye  of  Jesus.  The  lihes  and  the  grass  of  the  tield,  as  He  paints  them 
in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount;  the  hen,  as  it  gathers  its  j-oung,  in  its 
mother's  love,  under  its  widespread  wings;  the  birds  of  the  air,  as  they 
eat  and  drink,  without  care,  from  the  bounty  around  them ;  the  lambs 
which  run  to  follow  the  shepherd,  bvit  sometimes  go  astray  and  are 
lost  m  the  wilderness ;  the  dogs  so  familiar  in  Eastern  cities ;  the  foxes 
that  make  their  holes  in  the  thickets;  the  silent  plants  and  flowers. 
the  humble  life  of  the  creatures  of  the  woods,  the  air,  the  fold,  and 
the  street,  wore  all,  alike,  noticed  in  these  early  years  of  preparation. 
Nor  was  man  neglected  The  sports  of  childhood;  the  rejoicings  of 
riper  life;  the  bride  and  the  bridegroom;  the  mourner  and  the  dead; 
the  castles  and  palaces  of  princes,  and  the  silken  robes  of  the  gi'eat; 
the  rich  owners  of  field  and  vineyard;  the  steward,  the  travelling 
merchant,  the  beggar,  the  debtor;  the  toil  of  the  sower  and  of  the 
labourer  in  the  vineyard,  or  of  the  fisher  on  the  lake;  the  sweat  of 
ib.e  worker;  the  sighs  of  those  in  chains,  or  in  the  dungeon,  were  seen, 
Lud  heard,  and  remembered.  Nor  did  He  rest  merely  in  superficial 
observation.  The  possessions,  joys,  and  sufferings  of  men,  their  words 
and  acts,  their  customs,  their  pi-i'de  or  humility,  pretence  or  sincerity, 
failings  or  merits,  were  treasured  as  materials  from  which,  one  day,  to 
paint  them  to  themselves.  He  had,  moreover,  the  same  keen  eye  to  note 
the  good  m  those  round  Him  as  their  unworthy  striving  and  plan- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  169 

ning,  their  avarice,  amhition,  passion,  or  selfishness.  It  is,  indeed,  the 
Df'blcst  characteristic  in  this  constant  keen-sightedness,  that  amidst 
all  the  imperfections  and  faults  prevailing.  He"  never  failed  to  evoke 
the  hidden  good  which  He  often  saw  even  in  the  most  hopeless. 

Publicans  and  sinners  were  not  rejected.  Even  in  them  He  dis- 
covered a  better  self.  In  Zaccheus  He  .sees  a  son  of  Abraham;  in 
Mary  Magdalene  He  gains  a  weeping  penitent,  and  in  the  dying  rob- 
ber He  welcomes  back  a  returning  prodigal.  Nor  was  it  mere  intel- 
lectual penetration  that  thus  laid  bare  the  secrets  of  eveiy  heart.  His 
search  of  the  bosom  is  pervaded  throughout  with  the  breath  of  th^ 
warmest  love.  As  the  brother  and  friend  of  all,  who  has  come  to 
seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost,  He  looks  at  men  with  eyes  of 
infinite  pit}',  whatever  their  race. 

The  life  of  Nazareth,  in  its  quiet  and  obscurity,  is  passed  over  in  a 
few  lines  by  the  Evangelists;  but  in  the  counsels  of  God  it  had  its 
full  and  all-wise  purpose,  from  first  to  last,  as  a  preparation  for  the 
great  work  of  the  closing  years  of  our  Lord's  life.  We  cannot  con- 
ceive of  Him  otherwi.se  than  as  furnished  from  His  first  appearance 
in  the  world  with  all  that  was  needful  in  its  Saviour:  as  the  incarna- 
tion of  the  divine  Word,  though  for  a  time  silent;  the  Light  which 
sliould  shine  in  darkness,  though  still,  for  a  time,  concealed.  He  must 
have  been  marked  cut  from  all  around  Him  by  His  higher  spiritual 
nature,  and  separated  bj'  it  from  all  fellowship  with  evil.  Yet,  in  His 
human  nature,  there  must  have  been  the  same  gradual  development, 
as  in  other  men;  such  a  development  as,  by  its  even  and  steadfast  ad- 
vance, made  His  life  apjiarentiy  in  nothing  different  from  that  of  His 
fellow  townsmen,  else  they  would  not  have  felt  the  wonder  at  Him 
which  they  afterwards  evinced.  The  laws  and  processes  of  ordinary 
human  life  must  have  been  left  to  mould  and  form  His  manhood — 
ihti  same  habits  of  inquiry;  the  same  need  of  tlie  collision  of  mind 
Avith  mind;  of  patience  during  long  expectation;  of  reconciliation  to 
home  duties  and  daily  self-denials;  of  calm  strength  that  leans  only 
ujion  God.  He  must  have  .ooked  out  on  the  world  of  men  from  the 
calm  retreat  of  tho.se  years  as  He,  doubtless,  often  did  on  the  match- 
less landscape  from  the  hill  above  the  village.  The  strength  and 
weakness  of  the  systems  of  the  day;  the  lights  and  .shadows  of  the 
human  world,  Avould  be  watclied  and  noted  with  never-tiring  survey, 
as  were  the  hills  and  valleys,  the  clouds  and  .sun.shine  of  the  scene 
around.  Year  after  year  passed,  and  still  found  Him  at  His  daily 
toil,  because  His  hour  was  not  yet  come.  In  gentle  patience,  in  trans- 
parent tlamelessness  of  life;  in  natural  and  ever-active  goodness;  in 
tender  love  and  ready  favour  to  all  around ;  loved,  honoured,  but  half 
veiled  in  the  mysterious  light  of  perfect  manhood  and  kindling 
divinity,  thirty  years  passed  quietly  away. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

LIFE   UNDER  THE  LAW. 

Besides  the  humbler  schools  of  the  towns  and  villages,  there  wet-* 
others  in  Jerusalem,  and  in  some  of  the  larger  centres  of  population, 
in  the  days  of  Christ,  in  which  a  higher  education  was  given  by  the 
Rabbis — the  learned  class  of  the  nation.  There  was  nothing,  how- 
ever, to  attract  Jesus  to  such  schools,  though  He  had  been  so  eager  in 
His  attendance  during  His  first  brief  visit  to  Jerusalem.  It  may  be 
that  even  so  .short  a  trial  was  enough  to  .show  Him  how  little  could  be 
gained  from  them. 

The  wonderful  revival  of  Judaism  under  Ezra  and  his  as!3ociates 
had  had  the  most  lasting  effect  on  the  nation.  An  order  known,  in- 
differently, as  "Scribes,"  "Teachers  of  the  Law,"  or  "Rabbis." 
gradually  rose,  who  devoted  themselves  to  the  study  of  the  Law  ex- 
clusively, and  became  the  recognized  authorities  in  all  matters  con- 
nected with  it.  It  had  been  a  command  of  the  Great  Synr.gogue  that 
those  who  were  learned  in  the  Law  should  zealously  teach  it  to  younger 
men,  and,  thus,  schools  rose,  erelong,  in  which  famous  Rabbis  gath- 
ered large  numbers  of  students.  The  supreme  distinction  accorded 
to  the  Rabbi  in  society  at  large,  in  which  he  was  by  far  the  foremost 
personage :  the  exaggerated  reverence  claimed  for  his  office  by  his 
order  itself,  and  sanctioned  by  the  superstitious  homage  of  the  people; 
the  constant  necessity  for  reference  to  its  members,  under  a  religion 
which  prescribed  rules  for  every  detail  of  social  or  private  life,  and, 
not  least,  the  fact  that  the  dignity  of  a  Rabbi  was  open  to  the  humblest 
who  acquired  the  necessary  learning,  made  the  schools  very  popular. 
As  the  son  of  a  peasant,  in  the  middle  ages,  if  he  entered  the  Church, 
might  rise  above  the  haughtiest  noble,  the  son  of  a  Jewish  villager 
might  rise  above  even  the  high  priest,  by  becoming  a  Rabbi.  It  Avas, 
doubtless,  remembered,  in  Christ's  day,  that  some  sixtj'  years  before, 
when  the  high  priest  had  been  retuniing  from  the  Temple  after  the 
service  of  the  Day  of  Atonement,  attended,  according  to  custom,  by 
a  crowd,  to  congratulate  him  on  his  having  come  safely  from  the  ter- 
rors of  the  Awful  Presence,  and  to  escort  him  to  his  dwelling — two 
Rabbis  having  chanced  to  pass  by,  the  people  left  the  high  priest, 
gi  catly  to  his  indignation,  and  paid  reverence,  instead,  to  the  Teachers 
of  the  Law.  The  most  abject  prostration  of  intellect  and  soul  before 
any  priesthood  never  surpassed  that  of  the  Jew  before  the  Rabbi. 

From  their  scholars  the  Rabbis  demanded  the  most  profound  rever- 
ence. " The  honour, "  says  the  Talmud,  "due  to  a  I'eacher  borders 
on  that  due  to  God. "  If  a  choice  were  necessary  between  one's  father 
and  a  Rabbi,  the  Rabbi  must  have  the  preference.  A  father  has  only 
iHOUght  him  into  the  world,  but  the  Rabbi,  who  teaches  him  wisdom. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  171 

■brings  him  to  the  life  hereafter.  If  one's  father  and  a  Ratbi  he  car- 
rying burdens,  the  burden  of  the  Rabbi  must  be  carried  for  him,  and 
not  that  of  tlie  father.  If  one's  father  and  a  Rabbi  be  both  in  prison, 
the  Rabbi  must  lirst  be  redeemed,  and  only  then,  the  father.  The 
common  discourse  of  a  Rabbi  was  to  be  reverenced  as  much  as  the 
Law.  To  dispute  with  one,  or  murmur  against  him,  was  a  crime  as 
great  as  to  do  the  same  towards  the  Ahniglit}.  Their  words  must  be 
received  as  words  of  the  living  God.  As  in  the  blind  passive  obedi- 
ence required  from  the  Jesuits,  a  scholar  of  the  Rabbis  was  required 
to  accept  what  his  master  taught,  if  he  said  that  the  left  hand  was  the 
right.  A  scholar  who  did  not  rise  up  before  his  Rabbi  could  not  hope 
to  live  long,  because  ' '  he  f  eareth  not  before  God. "  It  was  a  principle 
universally  accepted  that  '  •  the  sayings  of  the  Scribes  were  weightier 
than  those  of  the  Law. " 

The  transmission  of  the  as  yet  unwTitten  opinions  of  former  Rabbis 
— forming  an  ever-growing  mass  of  tradition — was  the  special  aim  of 
the  Rabbis  of  each  age.  In  the  course  of  centuries  many  of  the  Mosaic 
laws  had  become  inapplicable  to  the  altered  state  of  things,  and  as 
their  .literal  observance  had  become  impossible,  new  prescriptions 
began  to  be  invented,  after  the  Return,  to  perpetuate  their  spirit. 
Many  were  virtually  obsolete :  others  required  careful  exposition  bj"- 
the  Rabbis.  The  comments  thus  delivered  formed,  as  time  rolled  on, 
a  great  body  of  unwritten  law,  which  claimed  equal  authority  with 
the  law  of  Moses,  and  was  necessarilj^  known  in  any  full  degree  only 
by  the  professional  Rabbis,  who  devoted  their  lives  to  its  study.  It 
might  be  increased,  but  could  never  be  altered  or  .superseded  in  any 
partieular.  Once  uttered,  a  Rabbi's  words  remained  law  for  ever, 
though  they  might  be  explained  away  and  virtually  ignored,  while 
affected  to  be  followed. 

Uniformity  of  belief  and  ritual  practice  was  the  one  grand  design 
of  the  founders  of  Judaism;  the  moulding  the  whole  religious  life  of 
tue  nation  to  such  a  machine-like  discipline  as  w^ould  make  any  varia- 
tion from  the  customs  of  the  past  well-niGrh  impossible.  A  universal, 
death-like  conservatism,  permitting  no  change  in  successive  ages,  was 
established,  as  the  grand  security  for  a  separate  national  existence,  by 
its  isolating  the  Jew  from  all  other  races,  and  keeping  him  for  ever 
apart.  For  this  end,  not  only  was  that  part  of  the  Law  which  con- 
cerned the  common  life  of  the  people — their  Sabbaths,  feast  days, 
jubilees,  offerings,  sacrifices,  tithes,  the  Temjile  and  Synagogue  wor- 
ship, civil  and  rriminal  law,  marriage,  and  the  like — explained,  com- 
mented on,  and  minutely  ordered  by  the  Rabbis,  but  also  that  portion 
ol  it  which  related  only  to  the  private  duties  of  individuals  in  their 
daily  religious  life.  Their  food,  their  clothes,  their  journeys,  their  occu- 
pations :  indeed,  every  act  of  their  lives,  and  almost  their  every  thought, 
were  brought  under  Rabbinical  rules.  To  perpetuate  the  Law,  a 
"hedge"  of  outlying  commands  was  .set  round  it,  which,  in  Christ's 
day,  had  become  so  "heavy  and  grievous  a  burden,"  that  even  the 


172  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

Talmud  denounces  it  as  a  vexatious  oppression.  So  vast  had  the  ac- 
cumulation of  precepts  become,  by  an  endless  series  of  refined  deduc- 
tions from  the  Scriptures — often  connected  with  them  only  by  a  very 
thin  thread  at  best^that  the  liabbis  themselves  have  compared  their 
laws  on  the  proper  keeping  of  the  Sabbath  to  a  mountain  which  hangs 
on  a  hair. 

In  the  later  Grecian  age,  when  heathen  culture  was  patronized  by 
the  Sadducean  high  priests,  and  foreign  customs  were  in  incr'Msin^ 
favour  with  the  people,  the  Rabbis,  who  were  the  zealots  or  puritans 
of  Judaism,  .sought  to  stem  the  flood  of  corruption,  hy  enforcing  in- 
creased strictness  in  the  observance  of  the  multitudinous  precepts  they 
had  already  established.  From  that  time  unconditional  obedience 
was  required  tc  everj^  Rabbinical  law. 

A  system  which  admitted  no  change :  in  which  the  least  originality 
of  thought  was  heresy :  which  required  the  mechanical  labour  of  a 
lifetime  to  master  its  details,  and  which  occupied  its  teachers  with 
the  most  trifling  casuistry,  could  have  only  one  result — to  degenerate, 
to  a  great  extent,  into  puerilities  and  outward  forms. 

It  would  be  wearisome  and  uninteresting  to  quote,  at  any  great 
length,  illustrations  of  the  working  of  such  a  scheme  of  ecclesiastical 
tyranny,  in  daily  life,  but  an  example  or  two  will  show  the  sj'stem  to 
w^hich  Jesus  opposed  the  freedom  of  a  spiritual  religion.  It  is  difficult 
to  realize  the  condition  of  a  people  who  had  submitted  to  such  mental 
and  bodily  bondage. 

One  of  the  great  questions  discussed  by  the  Rabbis  was  ceremonial 
purity  and  defilement,  a  subject  so  wide  that  it  gave  rise  to  countless 
rules.  Uncleanness  could  be  contracted  in  many  waj's;  among  others, 
by  the  vessels  used  in  eating,  and  hence  it  was  a  vital  matter  to  know 
what  might  be  used,  and  what  must  be  avoided.  In  hollow  dishes  of 
clay  or  pottery,  the  inside  and  bottom  contracted  and  caused  unclean- 
ness, but  not  the  outside,  and  they  could  only  be  cleansed  by  breaking. 
The  pieces,  however,  might  still  defile,  and  hence  it  was  keenly  dis- 
cussed how  small  the  fragm.ents  must  be  to  ensure  safety.  If  a  dish 
or  vessel  had  contained  a  log  of  oil,  a  fragoient  could  still  defile  that 
held  as  much  oil  as  would  anoint  the  great  toe ;  if  it  had  held  from  a 
log  to  a  seah,  the  fragment,  to  be  dangeroixs,  must  hold  the  fourth  of 
a  log;  if  it  had  held  from  two  or  three  seahs  to  five,  a  piece  of  it  could 
defile  if  it  held  a  log.  As,  however,  hollow  earthen  vessels  contracted 
imcleanness  only  on  the  inside,  not  on  the  out,  some  could  not  become 
unclean — as,  for  instance,  a  fiat  plate  without  a  rim,  an  open  coal 
shovel,  a  perforated  I'oaster  for  Avheat  or  grain,  brick-moulds,  and  so 
on.  On  the  other  hand,  a  plate  with  a  rim,  a  covered  coal  .shovel,  a  dish 
with  raised  divisions  inside,  an  earthen  .spice-box,  or  an  inkstand  with 
any  divisions,  may  l#'!Come  unclean.  Flat  dLshes  of  wood,  leather, 
bone,  or  gkss,  do  not  contract  uncleanness,  but  hollow  ones  might  do 
BO,  not  only  like  earthen  ones,  inside,  but  also  outside.  If  they  are 
broken  they  are  clean,  but  the  broken  part  is  unclean  if  large  enough 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  1T3 

to  hold  a  pomegranate.  If  a  chest,  or  cupboard,  wants  a  foot,  it  is 
clean,  whatever  its  size,  and  a  tliree-footed  table,  wanting  even  two 
feet,  is  clean,  but  it  may  be  made  unclean  if  wanting  the  whole  three 
feet,  and  the  flat  top  be  ui^ed  as  a  dish.  A  bench  vv^hich  wants  one  of 
the  side  boards,  or  even  the  two,  is  clean,  but  if  a  piece  remain  a 
handbreadth  wide,  it  may  defile.  If  the  hands  are  clean,  and  tha 
outside  of  a  goblet  unclean,  the  hands  are  not  defiled  by  the  outside, 
if  the  goblet  be  held  l)y  the  proper  part.  Everything  of  metal,  that 
has  a  special  name,  may  defile,  except  a  door,  a  door  bolt,  a  lock,  a 
hinge,  or  a  door  knocker.  Straight  blowing  horns  are  clean;  others 
may  defile.  If  the  mouthpiece  is  of  metal,  it  may  defile.  If  a  wooden 
key  have  metal  teeth,  it  may  defile,  but  if  the  key  be  of  metal  and  the 
teeth  of  wood,  it  is  clean. 

The  removal  of  uncleanness  was  no  less  complicated.  Even  the 
kind  of  water  to  be  used  for  the  different  kinds  of  cleansing,  for 
sprinkling  the  hands,  for  dipping  vessels  into,  and  for  purifying  baths 
for  the  person,  caused  no  little  dispute.  Six  kinds  of  water  were  dis- 
tinguished, each  of  higher  worth  than  the  other.  First — A  pool,  or 
the  water  in  a  pit,  cistern,  or  ditch,  and  hill  water  that  no  longer 
flows,  and  collected  water,  of  not  less  qviantitj'  than  forty  seahs,  if  it 
has  not  been  defiled,  is  suitable  for  preparing  the  heave-offering  of 
dough,  or  for  the  legal  washing  of  the  hands.  Second— Water  that 
§till  fiows  may  be  used  for  the  heave-offering  (Teruma),  and  for  wash- 
ing the  hands.  Third — Collected  water,  to  the  amount  of  forty  seahs, 
may  be  used  for  a  bath  for  purification,  and  for  dipping  vessels  into. 
Fourth — A  spring  wf  h  little  water,  to  which  water  that  has  been 
drawn  is  added,  is  fit  for  a  bath,  though  it  do  not  flow,  and  is  the 
same  as  pure  spring  water,  in  so  far  that  vessels  may  be  cleansed  in  it, 
though  there  be  only  a  little  water.  Fifth — Flowing  water  which  is 
warm,  or  impregnated  with  minerals,  cleanses  by  its  flowing;  and 
lastly,  sixth — Pure  spring  water  may  be  used  as  a  bath  bj'  those  who 
have  sores,  or  for  sprinkling  a  leper,  and  may  be  mixed  with  the  ashes 
of  purification. 

Tiiese  general  principles  formed  the  basis  of  an  endless  detail  of 
casuistry.  Thus,  the  Mischna  discourses,  at  wearisome  length,  under 
what  circumstances  and  conditions  "collected  water" — that  is,  rain, 
spring,  or  flowing  water,  that  is  not  drawn,  but  is  led  into  a  reservoir 
directly,  by  pipes  or  channels — may  be  used  for  bathing,  and  for  the 
immersion  of  vessels:  and  the  great  point  is  decided  to  be  that  no 
drawn  water  shall  have  mixed  with  it.  A  fourth  of  a  log  of  drawn 
watei-  in  the  reservoir,  beforehand,  makes  the  water  that  afterwards 
falls  or  runs  into  it  unfit  for  a  bath,  but  it  requires  three  log  of  drawn 
water  to  do  this,  if  there  were  water  already  in  the  reservoir.  If  any 
vessels  are  put  ui^der  the  pipe  emptying  itself  into  the  bath,  it  becomes 
drawn  water,  and  is  unfit  for  a  bath.  Shammai'o  school  made  it  the 
game  whether  tiie  vessel  were  set  down  on  purpose,  or  only  forgotten ; 
but  Hillel's  school  decided  thut  if  it  had  beou  fc.:;otten,  the  water 


174  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

might  still  be  used  for  a  bath.  If  drawn  wate~  and  rain  wa^er  ha^* 
raixed,  in  the  court-yard,  or  in  a  hollow,  or  on  the  steps  oi  the  bath' 
room,  the  bath  may  be  used,  if  most  of  the  water  be  fitting,  but  not 
if  the  proportion  be  reversed.  This,  however,  only  takes  effect  b 
they  have  mixed  before  entering  the  bath.  If  both  flow  into  the  bath^ 
the  bath  may  be  taken,  if  it  be  known  certainly  that  forty  seahs  o^ 
proper  water  ran  in  before  three  log  of  unsuitable  water,  but  other 
wise  it  must  not  be  taken.  There  was  endless  discussion,  also 
whether  snow,  hail,  hoarfrost,  ice,  and  the  like,  could  be  used  to  tiP 
up  a  bath.  So  simple  an  act  as  the  washing  cf  one's  hands  before 
eating  entailed  the  utmost  care  not  to  transgress  some  Rabbinical  rule. 
The  water  could  only  be  poured  from  certain  kinds  of  vessels,  it  must 
be  water  of  a  special  kind,  only  certain  persons,  in  certain  legal  con- 
ditions, could  pour  it,  and  it  was  a  momentous  point  that  the  water 
should  be  poured  neither  too  far  up  the  arm  nor  too  low  towards  the 
hand. 

This  ceremonial  slavery  owed  its  rise  to  the  reaction  from  the 
Syrian  attempts  to  overthrow  the  national  faith.  The  Rabbis  of  the 
austere  but  noble  puritan  party,  which  had  delivered  their  country, 
sought  to  widen  the  gulf,  for  the  future,  between  Judaism  and  all 
other  creeds,  by  laying  a  fresh  stress  on  legal  purity  and  the  reverse, 
and  their  scholars  strove  to  keep  their  rules  as  strictly  as  possible. 
The  dread  of  touching  anything  unclean,  and  the  consequent  self- 
withdrawal  from  the  mass  of  the  people,  and  from  the  ordinary  inter- 
course of  life,  soon  showed  itself  in  the  name — Pai-usch,  or  Pharisee — 
for  those  thus  "separated."  In  the  hands  of  this  party,  cleanness 
and  uncleanness  steadily  grew  to  a  system  of  endless  refinements. 

Ceremonial  purity  had,  at  first,  been  strictly  observed  only  by  the 
priests,  for  the  people  at  large  were  hardly  in  a  position  to  attend  to 
the  many  details  required.  After  the  Maccabfean  revival,  however, 
greater  carefulness  was  demanded.  A  priest,  or  Levite,  lost  the  privi- 
leges of  his  caste  if  he  hesitated  to  fulfil  any  of  the  ritual  obligations 
it  entailed,  and  a  proselyte  was  rejected  who  would  not  undertake  all 
that  was  required  from  an  Israelite.  For  Israelites  themselves,  these 
ceremonial  rules  were  greatly  extended,  and  any  neglect  of  them  was 
noted  unfavourably.  The  tithes,  &c.,  were  strictly  demanded  from 
all  produce,  and  were  either  entirely  forbidden  to  be  eaten,  or  could 
be  so  only  under  fixed  conditions,  while  a  wide  sweep  of  injunctions 
and  rules  was  introduced  as  to  the  use  of  different  kinds  of  food,  and 
even  in  every  detail  of  family  life. 

Those,  including,  of  course,  the  Rabbis,  who  undertook  to  observe 
all  these  rules,  henceforth  formed  a  kind  of  union  of  "  Comrades,"  or 
"Haberim,"  which  any  one  might  enter-^all  who  did  not  join  them 
being  stigmatized  as  ignorant  Am-ha-aretz,  or  boorish  rabble. 

It  was  to  this  league  that  the  amazing  development  of  legalism  was 
latterly  due.  Careful  inquiry  was  everywhere  instituted  to  ascertain 
if  all  dues  for  priests,  Levites,  or  the  poor  were  regularly  paid.     An 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  175 

Hideftnite  due  n^erama)  for  the  priests,  and  a  tithe  for  them  and  the 
Levites,  were  required  each  year  from  every  kind  of  farm  or  garden 
produce,  even  the  smallest,  and  from  all  live  stock,  and  property  of 
any  kind,  and  a  second  tenth  each  third  year  for  the  poor.  Nor  were 
these  demands  confined  to  Israelites  living  in  the  strictly  Jewish  ter- 
ritory; they  were,  after  a  time,  extended  over  those  neighbouring 
countries  in  which  Jews  had  settled.  These  material  results  were  only 
a  subordinate  advantage  of  this  widely  extended  claim;  it  established 
an  organized  system  of  all-pervading  influence  in  social  intercourse, 
and  on  the  private  life  of  every  household.  Part  of  the  dues  was 
holy,  and  to  use  anything  holy  was  a  mortal  sin.  Every  purchaser 
had,  therefore,  to  make  certain  beforehand  whether  they  had  been 
paid  from  what  he  proposed  to  buy,  though  many  things  in  the 
markets  came  from  abroad,  or  liad  been  grown  or  made  by  others 
than  Jews,  or  were  imder  other  complications  as  regarded  their  lia- 
bility to  tithe  and  gift. 

To  save  heavy  loss  it  was  conceded  that  tlie  Teruma  should  be 
strictly  separated,  but  the  various  tithes  were  apparently  left  to  be 
paid  by  the  buyer,  though  the  assurance  of  an  owner  that  everything 
had  been  tithed  could  only  be  taken  if  the  seller  could  prove  his 
trustworthiness.  Failing  this,  all  produce,  and  whatever  was  made 
from  it,  was  regarded  as  doubtful,  and  the  Teruma,  or  holy  portion, 
was  to  be  taken  from  it  before  it  could  be  used.  The  second  tithe 
might  be  turned  into  money,  that  it  might  be  the  more  easily  con- 
sumed in  Jerusalem.  It  was  not  obligatory,  however,  to  separate  the 
first  tithe,  or  that  for  the  poor,  since  a  doubt  hung  on  the  matter,  and 
so  the  Levite  or  the  poor  must  prove  their  claim.  These  harassing 
regulations  shut  off  strict  Jews  from  either  buying  or  accepting  hos- 
pitality from  any  but  their  own  nation,  and  made  it  imperative  on 
every  fruit  or  food  seller  to  establisli  his  trustworthiness,  by  joining 
the  union  of  the  "Comrades,"  or  "  Separated" — that  is,  the"  Phari- 
sees." It  required  for  this,  only  a  declaration  before  three  of  the 
Rabbis,  and  afterwards  before  three  "  trustworthy"  persons,  that  one 
would  henceforth  abstain  from  all  that  had  not  been  tithed.  Hence- 
forth, not  only  was  personal  trustworthiness  established,  but  that  of 
all  the  members  of  his  family,  and  even  of  his  descendants,  so  long 
as  no  ground  of  suspicion  was  raised  against  his  wife,  children,  or 
slaves. 

The  nation  was  thus  gradually  divided  into  Haberim  and  Am-ha- 
aretz — strict  followers  of  the  Rabbis  and  despised  rabble, — and  inter- 
course and  hospitality  between  the  two  classes  became  steadily  more 
circumscribed,  till  it  well-nigh  ceased,  as  the  laws  of  the  Rabbis  grew 
more  exacting.  It  was  difficult,  for  instance,  when  from  home,  to 
ascertain  the  conscientiousness  of  a  host,  companion,  or  tradesman; 
scruples  rose  whether  produce  that  might  be  foreign  was  liable  to 
dues;  how  far  purchases  not  intended  for  eating  might  be  used  with- 
out tithing,  and  so  on,  till  all  social  freedom  was  utterly  hampered. 


178  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

?^nd  cases  of  conscience  accumulated  which  afterwards  filled  whole 
volumes,  and  meanwhile  gave  constant  anxiety. 

This  self-isolation  from  the  commimity  at  large  of  the  members  of 
the  "  Leagiie  of  the  Law,"  procured  them  the  name  of  Peruschim,  or 
Pharisees — that  is,  the  separated — and  introduced  different  grades  of 
purity  even  among  them,  according  to  the  greater  or  less  strictness  in 
the  observance  of  the  multitudinous  Rabbinical  rules.  Religiousness 
consisted,  above  everything,  in  avoiding  ceremonial  defilement,  or 
removing  it,  if  at  any  time  contracted,  by  prescribed  washings  and 
bathing.  Rules  for  preserving  Mosaic  puritj^  multiplied  the  risks  of 
defilement  as  casuLstry  increased,  and  thus  a  graduated  scale  of  "holi- 
ness" was  introduced,  rising  to  the  harshest  asceticism  in  its  highest 
development.  To  partake  of  anything  from  which  the  due  tithes  had 
not  been  separated,  or  of  the  tithe  itself,  or  the  priest's  portion,  the 
hands  must  be  washed.  Before  eating  parts  of  sacrifices  or  otferings, 
a  bath  had  to  be  taken,  and  a  plunge  bath  was  required  before  the 
sprinkling  with  water  of  purification,  even  if  only  the  hands  were 
"unclean."  But  he  who  bathed  in  order  to  partake  of  what  was  a% 
jxt  untithed,  had  not  the  right  to  make  use  of  the  tithe;  he  who  took 
a  bath  to  qualify  him  to  enjoy  the  tithe  could  not  touch  the  priest's 
portion :  he  who  copld  touch  that,  could  not  eat  what  was  holy,  while 
he  who  might  touch  it,  must  yet  keep  from  water  of  purification. 
The  higher  grades,  en  the  other  hand,  included  the  less  holy.  Even 
to  touch  the  clothes  cf  a  "common  man,"  defiled  a  Pharisee;  the 
clothes  of  an  ordinary  Pharisee  were  unclean  to  one  who  could  eat 
tithes;  those  of  an  cater  of  tithes  to  an  eater  of  offerings;  and  his, 
again,  to  one  who  enjoj^ed  the  sprinkling  of  the  water  of  purifica- 
tion. Pome  gained  one  grade,  some  another,  but  few  the  highest. 
A  special  initiation,  training,  and  time  of  trial  was  required  for  each 
grade,  from  thirty  days  for  the  lowest,  to  twelve  months  for  the 
highest. 

Religiousness  was  thus  measured  bj^  the  more  or  less  complete 
observance  of  ten  thousand  Rabbinical  rules  of  ceremonial  purity, 
and  fanatical  observance  of  them  was  secured,  not  less  hy  religious 
pride,  than  by  their  appeal  td  a  spvirious  patriotism,  and  to  self-inter- 
est. This  severe  and  inflexible  discipline,  which  regulated  every  act 
of  life,  foresaw  every  contingency,  and  interfered  with  common 
liberty,  at  every  step,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  had  been  slowly 
elaborated  by  the  Rabbis,  to  isolate  the  Jew  from  all  other  nations. 
His  very  words  and  thoughts  were  prescribed;  he  was  less  a  man 
than  a  mechanical  instrument.  Any  deviation  in  word  or  deed,  or 
even  in  thought,  from  Rabbinical  law,  was  regarded  as  impious. 

Theocracies  have  enforced  in  all  ages  a  similar  isolation  on  their 
adherents.  "The  kings  of  Egypt,"  says  Diodorus,  "could  not  act 
as  they  would.  Everything  was  ruled  by  laws,  not  only  in  theii 
public,  but  even  in  their  most  private  life.  The  hours  of  the  day  and 
ai^ht  at  which  sj^ecial  duties  must  be  performed,  were  fixed  by  law 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  177 

Those  for  sleep,  for  rising,  for  bathing,  for  sacrifice,  for  reading,  for 
meals,  for  walking,  and  much  beside,  were  inflexibly  prescribed.  It 
was  no  less  rigidly  settled  what  they  were  to  eat  at  each  meal,  and 
what  amount  of  wine  they  were  to  drink.  "  The  Brahmin  is  under 
the  same  rigid  and  all-embracing  tyranny  of  religious  forms.  His 
whole  life  is  covered  with  the  meshes  of  a  vast  net  of  rites  and  core- 
monies:  The  law  of  Manu  prescribes  how  he  is  to  eat,  and  what; 
how  he  is  to  clothe  himself,  drink,  wash  his  feet,  cut  his  nails  and 
hair,  bathe,  and  perform  even  the  most  private  functions.  It  fixes 
the  rights  and  duties  of  each  caste  and  subdivision  of  caste,  the  wash- 
ers, the  weavers,  the  tillers  of  the  soil,  &c.  Such  systems  annihilate 
individuality,  and  reduce  whole  populations  to  a  single  type,  which 
perpetuates  itself  with  an  unchanging  and  almost  indestructible  con- 
stancy, begetting,  besides,  a  fanaticism  which,  at  any  moment,  may 
burst  into  flames,  especially  when  indentified,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Jews,  with  patriotism.  Life  under  the  Jewish  law  had  already  kin- 
dled this  spirit  of  scarcely  veiled  revolution  long  before  our  Lord's 
biith. 

An  additional  illustration  of  the  working  of  Rabbincial  rules  in 
Jewish  daily  life  is  afforded  by  those  for  the  proper  observance  of  the 
Sabbath.  In  Exodus  xvi.  5,  it  is  commanded  that  food  for  the  Sab- 
bath be  prepared  on  the  sixth  day,  no  doubt  with  the  design  that  the 
rest  of  the  servant  should  be  as  sacred  as  that  of  her  master  or  mis- 
tress. The  Rabbis,  pondering  this  command,  raised  the  question, 
whether  an  egg  which  a  hen  had  laid  on  a  Sabbath  could  be  eaten  on 
the  sacred  day,  and  decided  it  by  a  strict  negative,  if  it  had  been  laid 
by  a  hen  kept  to  laj^  eggs;  because,  in  that  case,  it  was  the  result  of 
work  begun  on  a  week-day,  and  brought  to  an  end  on  tiie  Sabbath. 
On  this  the  Rabbis  were  unanimous.  But  how  would  it  be  if  the  hen 
Avere  one  intended  not  to  lay  eggs,  but  for  eating,  and  how,  if  a  Sab- 
bath, and  a  feast  day,  observed  as  a  Sabbath,  should  come  together  ? 
On  this  point  Shammai,  one  of  the  two  great  Rabbis  of  the  day,  was 
disposed  to  be  liberal,  and  decided  that  it  was  lawful  to  eat  the  egg 
of  a  hen,  itself  destined  to  be  eaten,  on  whichever  day  the  egg  had 
been  laid.  But  Hillel,  the  other  great  Rabbi,  argued  as  follows:  — 
Since  the  egg  has  come  to  maturity  on  a  Sabbath  or  feast  daj',  and  is 
therefore  of  unlawful  origin,  it  is  not  allow^ed  to  make  use  of  it;  and 
though  it  would  be  lawful  to  make  use  of  the  egg  of  such  a  hen,  laid 
on  a  feast  day  or  Sabbath,  not  followed  or  preceded  by  another  simi- 
larly sacred  da}',  j'et  it  must  not  be  eaten  if  two  such  days  come  to- 
gether, because,  otherwise,  there  would  be  a  temptation  to  u.se  it  on 
the  second  holy  day.  And  sinee  it  is  forbidden  even  to  carry  unlaw- 
ful food  from  one  i)lace  to  another,  such  an  egg  must  not  only  not  be 
eaten,  but  must  not  be  touched,  to  put  it  away.  The  conscientious 
man,  therefore,  is  not  to  put  a  finger  on  it,  for  that  might  lead  to  his 
taking  it  altogether  into  his  hand,  and  is  not  even  to  look  at  it,  for 
that  might  possibly  make  him  wish  he  could  eat  it.    Hillel's  opinion 


178  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

carried  me  day,  for,  says  the  Talmud,  "  There  came  a  voice  from 
heaven,  »<.>  iug — 'The  words  of  both  are  the  words  of  the  living  God, 
but  the  TjAt  uf  the  scliool  of  Hillel  is  to  be  followed.' " 

These  wcitidess  puerilities  were  in  keeping  with  the  fantastic  ex- 
aggerations iu  which  many  of  the  Rabbis  delighted.  What  shall  we 
say  of  a  learned  order  which  has  treasured  in  that  great  repertory  of 
its  ^.ayings  and  acts,  the  Talmud,  such  wild  Eastern  inventions  as 
that  Adam,  wlun  created,  was  so  tall  that  his  head  reached  heaven, 
and  io  terrified  the  angels  by  his  gigantic  size,  that  they  all  ascended 
to  the  upper  heav>^ns,  to  God,  and  said,  "Lord  of  the  world,  two 
powe/s  are  in  the  otivth!"  and  tlaat,  on  this,  God  put  His  hand  on  the 
head  of  Adam,  ani  reduced  his  height  to  only  a  thousand  cubits — 
over  fifteen  hundred  feet!  We  are  told  that  there  were  sixty  thou- 
sand towns  in  the  mountains  of  Judea,  each  with  sixty  thousand  in- 
habitants; that  there  h  a  bird  so  large  that  when  it  flies  it  intercepts 
the  light  of  the  sun;  that  when  the  Messiah  comes,  Jerusalem  will 
have  ten  thousand  palaces  and  the  same  number  of  towers,  that  there 
will  be  a  hundred  and  ei^^'hty  thousand  shops  of  vendors  of  perfumes 
■alone ;  that  Adam  had  tv\  o  faces  and  a  tail ;  that  from  one  shoulder 
to  the  other  Solomon  measured  not  less  than  sixty  cubits;  and  that 
at  one  blow  of  an  axe  Da\id  killed  two  hundred  men. 

The  form  of  teaching  in  the  schools  of  the  Rabbis  was  by  question 
and  answer.  The  teacher  propounded  questions  of  legal  casuistry  to 
the  scholars,  and  let  them  give  their  opinions,  adding  his  own  if  he 
thought  fit.  The  scholars  also  could  propose  questions  in  their  turn. 
They  sat,  during  class  time,  v)n  the  ground,  the  teacher,  en  a  raised 
seat,  known  as  the  seat  of  Moses.  As  all  the  knowledge  of  the  Law 
was  strictly  traditional  and  orij,  teacher  and  scholar  alike  had  to  de- 
pend entirely  on  memory,  the  >.<ne  faculty  of  supreme  importance  to 
both.  To  attain  high  fame,  a  Rabbi  must  have  the  reputation  of 
knowing  the  whole  immense  mctss  of  tradition  down  to  his  day,  by 
heart,  so  as  to  be  able  to  cite  authorities  for  any  possible  question. 
Originality  was  superstitiously  dreaded,  and  nothing  more  shrink- 
ingly  avoided  than  the  giving  any  opinion  unsupported  by  that  of 
some  former  Rabbi.  To  forget  a  single  word  he  had  heard  from  his 
teacher  was  an  inexpiable  crime  on  the  part  of  a  scholar. 

The  feats  of  memory  produced  by  such  a  system  were  so  amazing, 
that  we  may  readily  credit  the  tradition  of  the  whole  Talmud  hav- 
ing been  learned  by  heart,  in  sections,  by  he  disciples  of  a  Persian 
Rabbi,  who  feared  that  all  the  copies  of  it  would  be  destroyed,  in  a 
local  persecution,  in  the  seventh  century.  The  mass  of  the  Rabbis, 
to  use  a  Jewish  phrase,  must  have  been  mere  book-baskets;  grown 
children,  full  of  the  opinions  of  others,  but  piously  free  from  any  of 
their  own — the  ideal  of  pedants. 

The  Rabbis  were  both  jurists  and  preachers.  They  explained,  de- 
fined, and  taught  the  Law  in  their  schools;  gave  judicial  opinions 
and  decisions  on  it  in  their  official  meetings,  and  delivered  expositiong 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  179 

of  Scripture,  in  their  own  style,  to  the  people  in  the  synagogues. 
Their  systems  of  interpretation  were  peculiar.  The  professional 
statement  of  Rabbinical  law,  on  one  point  or  other,  occupied  them 
chiefly ;  for  every  Rabbinical  precept  had  to  be  justified,  not  only  by 
precedents,  but  by  some  reference  to  the  written  law,  and  this  often 
required  both  tediousness  and  ingenuity.  There  was  no  end  of  points 
on  which  a  legal  opinion  was  volunteered  from  the  synagogue  pulpit, 
and  trifles  infinitesimal  to  any  but  Jews,  served  for  ceaseless  wrang- 
ling in  the  schools. 

The  interpretation  of  Scripture  gave  even  more  scope  to  Rabbinical 
fancy.  Three  modes  were  in  vogue :  the  using  single  letters  to  ex- 
plain whole  words  or  clauses :  what  was  called  the  practical  exposi- 
tion; and  what  bore  the  name  of  the  "Mystery" — an  elucidation  of 
the  lofty  secrets  of  the  Creation,  the  world  of  angels,  and  such  trans- 
cendeiltal  matters,  from  the  most  improbable  sources.  Rules  were 
provided  for  the  treatment  of  these  different  methods,  but  the  utmos\ 
license  prevailed,  notwithstanding.  The  nature  and  value  of  the  in- 
struction thus  given  may  be  judged  from  some  illustrations  of  the 
teaching,  in  the  days  of  our  Lord,  respecting  the  secret  power  of 
numbers. 

In  the  first  and  last  verses  of  the  Bible  the  first  letter,  Aleph  (X  \ 
occurs  six  times,  and  as  .six  alephs  are  equal  to  our  figures  6,000 — for 
the  Jews  used  letters  for  figures— it  was  held  to  be  proved  by  this 
that  the  world  would  last  6,000  years.  Words  m  a  verse  might  be 
exchanged  for  others  whose  letters  were  of  equal  numerical  value. 
Thus  the  statement,  which  greatly  offended  the  Rabbis,  that  Moses 
had  married  an  Ethiopian  woman — in  violation  of  his  own  law — was 
explained  as  a  figure  of  speech  which  hid  an  orthodox  meaning.  The 
letters  of  the  word  "  Cushith"  rT'^O.  an  "Ethiopian  woman,"  when 
added  together  as  figures,  represented  736,  and  the  letters  of  the  much 
more  flattering  word;^,  "fair  of  face,"  made  the  same  sum,  and, 
therefore,  they  were  clearly  the  true  meaning! 

Another  fancy  was  to  explain  texts  by  putting  the  numerical  value 
of  a  word  in  the  place  of  the  word  itself.  Thus,  in  Proverbs  viii  PA, 
the  word  which  we  have  translated — ' '  substance" — was  read  as  the 
number  310,  its  value  in  figures,  and  the  doctrine  educed  from  it  that 
God  will  give  310  worlds  to  every  just  man  as  his  inheritance! 

This  strange  system  was  so  much  in  vogue  in  the  days  of  our  Lord 
that  it  occurs  even  in  the  New  Testament,  and  in  early  Christian 
writings.  In  the  book  of  Revelation  the  name  of  "  the  Beast"  is 
veiled  from  common  eyes  by  the  mystical  number  666,  but  the  reason 
for  its  being  so  becomes  very  apparent  when  we  find  that  it  is  a  cy- 
pher for  the  letters  of  the  name  of  Nero.  The  early  Christians 
imagined  that  God  had  already  revealed  the  doctrine  of  the  Cross  to 
Abraham  in  the  number  of  his  servants — 318:  for  18  is  written  in 
Greek  letters,  IH— the  symbol  of  the  word  Jesus,  and  300  is  tho 
letter  t,  which  means  the  Cross !     With  the  same  liking  for  mystery, 


180  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

801  was  used  as  the  symbol  for  Christ,  because  tljfe  Greek  word  foi 
dove  {rtcpidrspd)  makes  that  cypher,  and  so  do  the  letters  Alpha  an^ 
Omega. 

This  love  of  the  mystical  prevailed  in  all  Rabbinical  teaching, 
Thus  the  account  of  the  Creation  and  Ezckiel's  vision  of  the  Wheel 
were  made  the  foundation  of  the  wildest  fancies.  "Ten  things,  "wo 
are  told,  "  were  created  in  the  twilight  of  the  tirst  Sabbath  eve: — The 
abyss  below  the  earth  (for  Korah  and  his  companjO;  the  mouth  of 
the  spring  (of  Miriam,  which  gave  the  tribes  water  in  the  wilderness); 
the  moutli  of  Balaam's  she  ass;  the  rainbow;  the  manna  in  the 
wilderness;  the  rod  of  Moses;  the  schamir  (a  Avorm  which  cleaves 
rocks);  alphabetical  characters;  the  characters  of  the  Tables  of  the 
Law;  and  the  Tables  of  stone  themselves.  Some  Rabbis  add  to  these 
• — evil  spirits,  the  grave  of  Moses,  and  the  ram  that  was  caught  in 
the  thicket. 

Such  was  the  teaching  of  the  Rabbis,  as  a  whole,  though  even  in 
such  sandy  wastes  there  were  not  wanting  specks  of  verdure,  as  one 
still  sees  in  the  Talmud.  Finer  minds  here  and  there,  for  a  moment, 
gave  a  human  interest  to  these  teachings,  or  touched  the  heart  by 
poetry,  and  simple  feeling.  But,  as  a  rule,  the  "  Law,"  to  the  study 
of  which  the  youth  of  Israel  were  summoned  so  earnestly,  was  a 
dreary  wilderness  of  worthless  trifling.  The  spell  of  the  age  was  on 
all  minds,  and  bound  them  in  intellectual  slavery.  On  everj'  side, 
Christ,  in  His  childhood  and  youth,  heard  such  studies  extolled  as  the 
sum  of  wisdom,  and  as  the  one  pursuit  supremely  pleasing  to  God. 
Yet  He  rose  whally  above  them,  and  with  immense  originality  and 
force  of  mind,  valued  them  at  their  true  worthlessness,  leaving  no 
trace  of  their  spirit  in  the  Gospels,  but  breathing,  instead,  only  that 
of  the  most  perfect  religious  freedom.  It  has  been  sometimes  insin- 
uated that  He  only  followed  the  teachers  of  His  nation :  that  He  was 
indebted  to  Hillel,  or  to  the  Pharisees  as  a  class:  but  enough  has  been 
said  to  show  that  the  latter  were  the  representatives  of  all  that  He 
most  utterly  opposed,  and  the  distance  between  Him  and  Hillel  may 
be  measured  by  their  respective  estimates  of  the  sanctity  of  the  mar- 
riage bond,  which  Hillel  treated  so  lightly  as  to  sanction  divorce,  if  a 
Trife  burned  her  husband's  dinner. 


CHAPTER   XVm. 

JTTDEA   UNDER   ARCHELAIJS  AKD  ROME. 

The  death  of  Herod  removed  the  strong  hand  that  for  more  than 
ft  generation  had  repressed  ahke  the  hatreds  and  the  hopes  of  the 
naltion.  Fanaticism  had  muttered  in  secret,  and  had  at  last  burst  out 
in  the  tumults  at  the  Temple,  just  before  he  died;  but  Tvhen  he  was 
gone,  there  was  no  one  to  hold  the  wild  forces  in  check  that  had  so 
long  been  pent  up. 

His  reign  had  served  the  purpose,  in  providence,  of  delaying  the 
breaking  up  of  the  Jewish  people,  and  its  being  scattered  among  the 
nations,  and  made  its  dissolution  easier  in  the  end;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  had  called  forth  the  sympathies  of  heathenism  for  Judaism 
more  strongly^  and  had  conquered  lasting  rights  for  it  among  the 
nations,  as  in  a  sense  the  salt  of  the  earth  and  as  the  forerunner  of 
Christianity. 

The  rejoicings  of  the  nation,  that  the  scandal  of  an  Edomite  sitting 
on  the  throne  of  David  was  past,  knew  no  bounds.  A  negro  con- 
queror, at  the  White  House  in  Washington,  in  the  daj's  of  slavery, 
would  scarcely  have  raised  such  indignant  hatred,  or  have  been  so  re- 
volting to  the  national  instincts  of  the  white  population  of  America, 
as  an  Edomite  reigning  on  ]Mouut  Zion  was  to  the  Jews.  Even  the 
founders  of  the  two  races  bad  been  mortal  enemies,  as  the  twin  sons 
of  Abraham,  and  Jewish  tradition  embittered  the  storj-  of  Genesis, 
by  adding  that,  at  last,  E.sau.  killed  Jacob  Avith  an  arrow  from  his 
bow.  WTien  Israel  was  coming  from  Egypt,  Edom  had  refused  it  a 
passage  through  its  territory,  and  had  ent;dled  on  it  the  dreary  years 
of  wandering  in  the  wilderness.  The  Edomites  had  been  mortal 
enemies  of  its  first  king.  David  had  conquered  them,  and  he  and 
Solomon  had  reigned  over  them.  In  the  decline  of  Israel  under  its 
later  kings,  they  had  been  its  deadliest  and  most  implacable  foes. 
They  had  joined  the  Ciialdeans  in  the  final  conquest  of  Judea  under 
Nebuchadnezzar,  and  had  rejoiced  over  the  destruction  of  Jerusa- 
lem, in  the  hope  of  getting  possession  of  its  richer  territory,  and 
adding  it  to  their  own  wild  moimtain  land.  The  prophets,  from 
Amos  and  Joel,  in  the  ninth  century  before  Christ,  had  denounced 
them  as  the  bitterest  enemies  of  the  theocracy.  "  Edom  shall  be  a 
desolate  wilderness,"  cried  Joel,  "  for  their  violence  against  the  chil- 
dren of  Judah,  because  they  have  shed  innocent  blood  in  the  land." 
"For  three  transgressions  of  Edom,  or  for  four,  saith  Jehovah," 
cried  Amos,  "  I  will  not  turn  away  the  punishment  thereof,  because 
he  did  pursue  his  brother  with  the  sword,  and  did  cast  oil  all  pity, 
and  his  anger  did  tear  perpetually,  and  he  kept  his  wrath  for  ever. 
But  I  will  send  a  fire  upon  Teman,  which  shall  devour  the  palacea  of 


183  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Bozrah."  Obadiah,  after  the  destruction  of  Jenisalem  by  Nebuchad- 
nezzar, taunted  them  with  having  been  among  the  enemies  of  Israel, 
in  the  day  when  strangers  carried  away  captive  the  force  of  the  land, 
and  foreigners  entered  its  gates  and  cast  lots  on  Jerusalem,  and  with 
having  rejoiced  over  the  cliildren  of  Judah  in  the  day  of  their  de- 
struction. Jeremiah  and  Ezekiel  had  denounced  the  wrath  of  God 
against  them,  and,  indeed,  every  prophet  had  proclaimed  them  the 
enemies  of  God,  whom  Israel  was  one  day  to  crush  with  an  utter 
destruction.  During  the  exile  they  took  possession  of  great  part  of 
the  territory  of  Judah,  and  were  only  tinally  driven'  back,  by  John 
Hyrcanus,  who  conquered  them  180  years  before  Christ,  and  com- 
pelled them  to  submit  to  circumcision.  The  deadly  hatred  of  cen- 
turies was  intensified  by  such  a  history.  "Thou  hatest  me, "says 
Jacob  to  Esau,  in  the  book  of  Jubilees,  "thou  hatest  me  and  my 
sons  for  ever,  and  no  brotherly  love  can  be  kept  with  thee.  Hear 
this,  my  word,  which  I  say — When  I  can  change  the  skin  and  the 
bristles  of  a  swine  to  wool,  and  when  horns  spring  from  its  head  like 
the  horns  of  a  sheep,  then  will  I  have  brotherly  love  to  thee;  and 
Avhen  wolves  make  peace  with  lambs,  that  they  sliall  not  devour  them 
or  spoil  them,  and  when  they  turn  their  hearts  to  each  other  to  do 
each  other  good,  then  shall  1  be  at  peace  with  thee  in  my  heart ;  and 
when  the  lion  is  the  friend  of  the  ox,  and  goes  in  the  yoke  and 
ploughs  with  him,  then  will  I  make  peace  with  thee;  and  when  the 
raven  grows  wliite,  then  shall  I  know  that  I  love  thee,  t.ud  shall  keep 
peace  w  ith  thee.  Thou  shalt  be  rooted  out,  and  thy  sons  shall  be 
rooted  out,  and  thou  shalt  have  no  peace."  It  is  thus  that  a  Jew 
speaks  of  Edom,  apparently  in  the  very  days  of  Herod,  and  it  is 
only  the  natural  culmination,  when  he  prophesies,  i:i  the  next  chap- 
ter, that  the  sons  of  Jacob  will  once  more  subdue  and  make  bond- 
slaves of  the  hated  race. 

Yet  one  of  this  execrated  and  despised  people  had  for  more  than  a 
generation  ruled  over  Israel!  His  death  was  the  removal  of  a  national 
reproach,  that  had  been  bitter  beyond  words.  The  hope  of  the  land 
now  was  that  the  abhorred  usurper  might  prove  the  last  of  his  race  on 
the  throne  of  Judah,  Archelaus  in  his  stead  was  even  worse  than  to 
have  had  Ilcrod,  for  he  was  not  only  of  Idumean  blood,  but  his 
mother  was  of  the  equally  hated  race  of  the  Samaritans!  Rome, 
rather  than  Edom  or  Samaria! 

Palace  intrigues,  and  especially  the  systematic  whisperings  of  Anti- 
pater,  who  hated  his  brothers  as  rivals,  had  caused  Herod  to  change 
l.;s  vill  once  and  again  in  his  last  years.  In  the  end  nothing  seemed 
\'ke\}  to  put  an  end  to  the  rivalries  of  his  family  but  the  breaking  up 
of  the  kingdom,  which  it  had  been  the  work  of  his  life  to  create.  His 
latest  gained  territories  beyond  the  Jordan  were  left  to  Philip,  the  son 
of  Cleopatra,  a  maiden  of  Jerusalem,  v.-hom  Herod  had  married  for 
her  beauty.  Galilee,  with  Pcrca,  he  left  to  his  son  Antipas,  and 
Judea,  Idumca,  and  Samaria,  with  the  title  of  king,  to  Archelaus, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. .  183 

both  sons  of  Malthake.  •  He  had  at  one  time  intended  to  have  left  the 
whole  kingdom  to  Herod,  son  of  the  second  Mariamne,  as  successor 
to  Antipater,  but  the  complicity  of  the  mother  of  that  prince  in  the 
intrigues  of  the  Rabbis  was  fatal  to  him.  Salome,  Herod's  sister,  the 
ruthless  enemy  of  the  Maccsibaean  family,  received  the  gift  of  the  towns 
of  Jamnia  and  Ashdod  in  the  Philistine  plain,  and  of  Phasaelis,  in  the 
palm  groves  of  the  Jordan  valley. 

As  soon  as  Herod  was  dead  his  sister  Salome  and  her  husband  set 
free  a  multitude  of  the  leading  men  of  the  Jews,  whom  Herod  had 
Bummonod  to  Jericho,  that  he  might  have  them  butchered  at  his  own 
death.  Thoy  ne.xt  assembled  the  army  and  the  people  in  the  amphi- 
theatre at  Jericho,  and  having  read  a  letter  left  by  the  dead  king  for 
the  soldiers,  opened  his  will,  which,  with  his  ring,  was  to  be  carried 
foithwith  to  Cjesar,  that  the  settlements  might  be  contirmed,  and  the 
due  acknowledgment  of  dependence  made.  Sleanwhile,  the  soldiers 
hailed  Archelaus  as  king,  and  forthwith  took  the  oath  of  allegiance  to 
him.  It  Wiis  noted,  however,  that  Archelaus  held  a  grand  feast  on 
the  night  of  liis  father's  death. 

This  over,  the^  funeral  of  Herod  followed,  after  due  preparation. 
All  the  maguiticence  of  the  palace  had  becMi  laid  in  contribution. 
The  body  lay  on  a  couch  of  royal  purple;  a  crown  and  diadem  on  its 
head;  a  sceptre  in  its  right  hand;  a  purple  pall  covering  the  rest; 
the  couch  itself  resting  on  a  bier  of  gold,  set  with  a  great  display  of 
the  most  precious  stones.  Herod's  sons  and  a  midtitude  of  his  kin- 
dred walked  on  each  side,  and  followed.  Next  came  Herod's  favour- 
ite regiments:  the  body  guard  given  him  by  Augustus  at  Cleopatra's 
death;  the  Thracian  corps;  the  German  regiment;  ai:d  the  regiment 
of  Gauls,  all  with  their  arms,  standards,  and  full  cquipiqents;  then 
the  whole  armj%  horse  and  foot,  in  long  succession,  in  their  proudest 
bravery.  Five  hundred  slaves  and  freedmen  of  the  court  carried 
sweet  spices  for  the  burial,  and  so  they  swept  on,  amidst  wailiugs  of 
martial  music,  and,  doubtless,  of  hired  mourners,  by  slow  stages,  to 
the  new  fortress  Herodium,  ten  miles  south  of  Jerusalem,  wiiere  the 
dead  king  had  b\iilt  a  grand  tomb  for  himself.  But  if  there  were 
pomp  and  pageantry  to  do  him  honour,  there  was  little  love  on  the 
part  either  of  the  nation  or  of  his  family,  for  Archelaus,  who  had 
prepared  all  this  magnificence,  quarrelled  with  his  relations  about  the 
succession  on  the  way,  and  scarcely  had  the  corpse  reached  the  first 
half -hour's  stage,  before  disturbances  broke  out  in  Jerusalem. 

Archelaus  paid  the  customary  reverence  of  a  seven  days'  mourning 
after  the  burial,  closing  them  with  a  magnificent  funeral  feast  to  the 
people.  He  then  laid  aside  his  robes  of  mourning  and  put  on  white, 
and  having  gone  up  to  the  Temple,  harangued  the  multitude  from  a 
throne  of  gold,  thanking  them  for  their  ready  submission  to  him,  and 
making  great  promises  for  the  future,  when  he  should  be  confirmed 
in  the  kingdom  by  Augustus.  The  crowds  heard  him  peaceably  till 
h»  suded,  but  he  had  qo  sooner  done  so,  tnan  some  began  to  clamour 

li  or  c— 7. 


IM  THE  LIFE    3F  CHRIST. 

for  a  Itglitening  of  the  taxes,  and  otLers  for  tlie  liberation  of  those  ia 
prison  on  account  of  tlie  late  religious  insuiTection.  All  this  he  readily 
promised,  and  retired  to  the  palace.  Towards  evening,  however, 
crowds  gathered  at  tlie  gates,  and  began  lamenting  the  Rabbis  and  the 
young  men,  put  to  death  by  Herod  for  cutting  do^vn  the  golden  eagle 
over  the  Temple,  in  the  late  tumult,  and  demanding  that  the  officials 
who  had  executed  Herod's  commands  should  be  punished ;  clamour- 
ing, besides,  for  the  deposition  of  Joazar,  of  the  house  of  BoPthos, 
whom  Herod,  in  compliment  for  having  married  into  the  family,  had 
appointed  high  priest  in  the  place  of  Mattathias,  a  friend  of  the  na- 
tional cause.  More  dangerous  still,  they  demanded  that  Archclar.B 
should  at  once  rise  against  the  Romans,  and  drive  them  out  of  the 
country.  His  utmost  efforts  to  appease  them  were  vain.  Each 
day  taw  a  greater  tumult,  and,  to  make  matters  worse,  the  city  was 
filling  with  countless  multitudes  coming  to  the  Passover,  now  at  hand. 
Force  alone  could  restore  order,  and  this  he  w^as  at  lart  compelled, 
most  reluctantly,  to  use.  A  bloody  street  battle  followed,  in  which 
3,000  were  slain,  and  the  Passover  guests  were  shut  out  of  the  city, 
and  returned  home  without  having  been  able  to  keep  the  feast.  The 
winds,  long  chained  by  Herod,  had  broken  locse. 

Archelaus  forthv.ith  set  cU  for  Rome,  leaving  Pliilip  regent  in  his 
absence.  Doris,  Herod's  wife,  Salome,  his  sister,  and  other  members 
of  the  family,  went  with  him,  ostensibly  to  support  his  claims,  but  in. 
reality  to  oppose  him,  for  the  family  hated  him  as  the  son  of  a  Samari- 
tan, and,  even  more,  as  a  second  Herod.  Antipas,  also,  started  for 
Rome,  to  plead  his  owm  claims  to  the  kingdom,  on  the  strength  of  a 
former  will,  and,  as  tlie  elder,  was  secretly  supported  in  his  enterprise, 
with  refined  treachery,  even  by  those  who  escorted  Archelaus. 

The  family  would  have  liked  an  oligarchy,  in  which  all  could 
share,  better  than  any  king,  but  preferred  a  Romaji  governor  to  either 
Archelaus  or  Antipas;  but  if  one  of  these  two  must  be  chosen,  they 
wished  Antipas  rather  than  his  brother,  whom  they  all  hated.  At 
Rome  the  two  claimants  canvassed  eagerly  among  the  Senators,  in 
favour  of  their  rival  causes,  and  lowered  their  dignity  by  unseemly  dis- 
putes. Meanwhile,  a  deputation  of  fifty  Jews  arrived  from  Jerusalem 
to  protest  against  Archelaus  being  made  king,  and  to  ask  the  incor- 
poration of'judea  with  Syria,  as  part  of  a  Roman  province,  under  a 
Roman  governor,  in  the  idea  that  Rome  would  be  content  with  their 
submission  and  tribute,  and  leave  the  nation  independent  in  its  re- 
ligious affairs.  The  embassage  was  received  with  great  enthusiasm 
by  the  Jews  of  Rome,  eight  thousand  of  whom  escorted  them  to  the 
Temple  of  Apollo,  where  Augustus  gave  them  audience.  All  possible 
charges  against  Herod,  though  now  dead,  were  detailed  at  length — his 
wholesale  proscriptions  and  confiscations;  his  adorning  foreign  cities, 
and  neglecting  those  of  his  own  kingdom;  his  excessive  taxation,  and 
much  more;  tlie  petitioners  adding  that  they  had  hoped  for  milder 
treatment  iror.i  Archelaus,  but  had  had  to  lament  3,000  of  their  coun- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  185 

try'men  slain  by  him  at  the  Temple,  at  his  very  entrance  on  power. 
The  people,  they  said,, wished  only  one  thing,  deliverance  from  tha 
Herods,  and  annexation  to  Syria.  The  whole  scene  of  the  audience 
was,  erelong,  widely  reported  in  Judca,  and  .stamped  itself  deeply  on 
the  national  memory,  especially  the  fact  that  Archelaus,  adding  the 
last  touch  to  the  humiliation  to  which  both  brothers  had  stooped, 
threw  himself  at  Caesar's  feet  to  implore  his  favour.  Many  j'ears  after, 
Jesus  needed  to  use  no  names,  in  His  parable  of  the  pounds,  to  telL 
whom  He  meant,  when  He  spoke  of  a  king,  against  whom  his  people 
clamoured  before  a  foreign  thi'one — "We  will  not  have  this  man  to 
rule  over  us." 

Archelaus  was  only  in  part  successful.  A  few  days  after  the  plead- 
ings,  from  respect  to  Herod's  will,  and,  doubtless,  influenced  by  a  be- 
quest  of  ten  millions  of  drachmae  in  it  to  himself,  a  gift  equal  to  about 
£375,000,  besides  jewels  of  gold  and  silver  and  very  costly  garments, 
to  Julia,  his  wife,  Caasar  raised  the  suppliant  from  his  feet,  and  ap- 
pointed him  ethnarch  of  the  part  of  the  kingdom  left  him  b}'  Herod; 
promising  to  make  him  king  hereafter,  if  he  were  found  worthy. 
Idumea,  Judea,  and  Samaria,  with  the  great  cities,  Jerusalem,  Sama- 
ria, Caesarea,  and  Joppa,  were  assigned  him ;  but  Gaza,  Gadara,  and. 
Hippos,  as  Greek  cities,  were  incorporated  with  the  province  of  Syria. 
His  revenue  was  the  largest,  for  it  amounted  to  600  talents,  or  about 
£130,000.  Antipas  had  only  a  third  part  as  much,  and  Philip  only  a 
sixth.  The  immense  sum  of  money  left  him  by  Herod,  Ca3.sar  re- 
turned to  the  sons,  reserving  only  a  few  costly  vessels,  as  mementoes. 

"While  these  .strange  scenes  were  enacting  at  Rome,  things  were 
going  on  very  badly  in  Palestine.  As  soon  as  Archelaus  had  sailed, 
the  whole  nation  was  in  uproar.  The  massacre  at  his  accession  had 
been  like  a  spark  in  explosive  air,  and  the  flame  of  revolt  burst  out 
at  once.  The  moment  seemed  auspicious  for  the  re-erection  of  the 
theocracy,  with  God  for  the  only  king,  as  in  early  days.  The  rich,  . 
and  such  as  had  no  higher  wish  than  the  material  advantages  of 
trade  and  commerce,  which  it  would  bring,  desired  government  by  a 
Roman  procHrator.  They  regarded  religion,  government,  law,  and 
constitution,  with  equal  indifierence,  setting  their  personal  ease  and 
gain  before  anything  else.  But  for  generations,  there  had  been  a 
growing  party  in  the  land,  whose  ideas  and  aims  were  very  diHerent. 
From  Ezra's  time,  the  dream  of  a  restored  theocracy  had  been  cher- 
ished, through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  nation,  with  undying  tenacity, 
by  a  portion  of  the  people.  The  political  system  of  the  Pentateuch. 
was  their  sacred  ideal.  Kings  over  Israel  were,  in  their  eyes,  usurpers 
of  the  rights  of  Jehovah,  against  whom  Samuel,  the  great  prophet, 
had,  in  His  name,  protested.  The  heathen  could  no  more  be  tolerated 
now  than  the  Canaanites  of  old,  whom  God  had  commanded  their 
fathers  to  drive  out.  The  land  was  to  be  sacred  to  Jehovah  and  Ilia 
people,  under  a  high  priesthood  only,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  foreign 
or  kiugly  rule.     The  impossibility  of  restoring  such  a  state  of  things, 


153  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

after  the  changes  of  so  many  centuries,  may  have  been  felt,  bvit  was 
not  acknowledged.  It  stood  commanded  in  the  Holy  Books,  and  that 
was  enough.  Their  fathers  had  murmured  under  Persian  domina- 
tion, and  had  eagerly  grasped  at  the  promises  of  the  Greek  conqueror, 
demanding,  however,  that  they  should  include  the  safety  of  their 
special  institutions.  When  Grecian  supremacy,  in  its  turn,  became 
corrupt,  and  threatened  the  destruction  of  the  "Law,"  the  "pious" 
revolted,  and  fought,  under  the  Maccabees,  for  the  true  religion,  but 
still  in  the  form  of  a  theocracy.  They  continued  faithful  to  the  great 
patriot  family,  as  long  as  it  maintained  the  high  priesthood  as  the 
{highest  dignity  of  the  state,  but  they  had  taken  up  arms  only  to  defend 
'the  faith,  and  as  soon  as  they  were  able  once  more  to  practise  its 
riles,  and  to  give  themselves  up  again  to  religious  study,  they  for- 
sook the  ranks  of  the  Maccabaeans,  unwilling  to  take  any  part  in  the 
consolidation  of  a  political  power  to  which  they  attached  no  value. 
In  the  end,  Judas  had  been  wcll-:iigli  deserted,  and  could  gather  only 
a  handful  of  3,0u0  followers,  and  Ms  brother,  who  succeeded  him,  had 
to  flee,  with  a  remnant  of  their  adherents,  to  the  fens  and  reed  beds 
of  Lake  Merom,  or  the  Avilds  of  Gilead.  The  long  peace  which  pre- 
vailed in  the  reign  of  John  Hyrcanus,  after  his  wars  were  ended,  was 
devoted  by  the  JrJabbis  to  the  creation  of  the  famous  ' '  hedge"  round 
the  Law,  to  prevent  for  ever  the  religious  apostasy  and  decay  which 
had  almost  ruined  Judaism  under  the  Syro-Greek  dynasty.  From 
this  time,  we  hear  of  tSe  "unsociability"  of  the  Jews  towards  other 
nations.  Pharisaism,  or  separation,  was  erected  into  a  system,  and 
was  pushed  to  its  ultunate  and  most  rigorous  consequences  with  a 
zeal  and  fanaticism  that  excite  wonder.  The  extreme  party  became 
Isnown  as  the  "  Separation,"  while  the  courtly  party  round  the  king, 
who  were  contented  to  follow  the  Law  as  written,  conscientiously  and 
rigorously,  were  called  in  irony  the  Saddouk  or  righteous,  or  as  wa 
call  them,  the  Sadducees. 

The  indifference  of  the  Pharisaic,  or  ultra,  party  to  political  affairs, 
and  their  concentration  on  the  observance  and  elaboration  of  the  Law, 
became,  in  the  end,  the  characteristic  of  the  people  at  large.  During 
the  civil  war  between  Ilyrcanus  and  Aristobulus,  the  two  Asmonean 
Tirothers,  they  stood,  as  much  as  possible,  aloof.  The  Jew  is  demo- 
cratic by  nature,  and  seeks  equality,  whether  under  a  foreign  or  nativo 
government.  "  The  holy  nation,"  "  the  kingdom  of.  priests,"  recog- 
nized no  other  distinction  than  that  of  superior  piety  and  Icnowledga 
of  the  Law,  which  are  only  personal  virtues,  and  cannot  be  transmitted. 
The  Asmonean  family,  once  on  the  throne,  lost  much  of  the  popular 
sympathy,  and  the  priestly  aristocracy  which  formed  the  court,  be- 
came objects  of  aversion.  From  the  last  years  of  John  Hyrcanus  to 
the  death  of  Janua;us,  the  Eabbis,  living  in  retirement,  attracted  to 
themselves  more  and  more  the  vital  force  of  the  nation ;  and  during 
the  nine  sunny  years  of  royal  patronage,  under  Alexandra,  instead  of 
busying  thernselves  in  hea^Ding  up  wealth  and  increasing  their  powar. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  187 

they  laboured  to  found  a  legal  system  which  should  secure  the  tri- 
umph of  their  ideas.  _  Disinterestedness  is  always  attractive,  and  it 
had  its  reward  in  creating  a  fanatical  devotion  to  tlie  Rabbis,  which 
knew  no  limits.  "Love  work,  keep  apart  from  politics,  and  hava 
nothing  to  do  with  office,"  was  the  maxim  of  Schemaiah,  the  succcs- 
i  sor  of  bimeon  Ben  Schetach.  The  struggle  between  Hyrcanus  and 
Aristobulus  liad  no  interest  to  the  Pharisc'es.  The  Talmud,  which  eni- 
bodies  Rabbinical  feeling,  never  mentions  even  the  names  of  any  of 
the  five  Maccabees — not  even  that  of  Judas, — and  the  spelling  and 
meaning  of  the  word  Maccabee  were  unlike  unknowfi  to  its  compilers. 
The  history  of  the  nation  was  utterly  ignored  by  these  dreamy  trau- 
scendentalists,  who  recognized  no  earthly  power  whatever. 

But  even  among  the  liabbis,  and  the  blindly  fanatical  people,  there 
was  an  ultra  party  of  Irreconcilables.  From  the  first,  even  Rabbinical 
sternness  and  strictness  were  not  stern  and  strict  enough  for  some, 
and  tliere  appeared,  at  times  within  the  circle  of  the  Rabbis,  at  others, 
outside,  men  of  extreme  views,  who  would  tolerate  no  compromises 
such  as  the  Pharisees  were  willing  to  accept.  They  would  acknowl- 
edge neither  prince  nor  Idng,  far  less  any  foreign  heathen  power.  Al- 
ready, in  the  days  of  John  Ilyrcauus,  they  had  begun  to  mutter  discon- 
tentedly, and  their  voices  rose  louder  under  Alexander  Janmeus,  who 
tried  to  crush  them  by  the  fiercest  persecution.  But  when  Pompey 
came,  as  conqueror,  and  arbiter  of  the  national  destiny,  they  once 
more,  by  their  earnest  protests,  showed  that  their  parly  was  still  vig- 
orous. In  the  civil  wars,  many  of  them  fought  for  the  Asmoneaa 
princes;  but,  under  Herod,  they  were  so  mercilessly  held  down,  that 
no  political  action  on  their  part  was  possible,  and  they  had  to  devote 
themselves  to  the  eager  study  of  the  Law,  which  made  his  reign  the 
Augustan  age  of  Rabbinism.  But  in  tlieir  schools  they  could  at  least 
kindle  the  zeal  of  the  rising  youth,  and  this  some  of  them  did  only 
too  elfectively.  Even  in  the  sternest  days  of  Herod's  reign,  more- 
over, some  had  not  been  wauling  to  maintain  a  fierce  protest  against 
his  usurpation  of  the  throne,  which  they  believed  belonged  only  to 
God.  The  so-called  robbers  crushed  by  him  at  Arbela,  seem  to  have 
been  rather  patriotic  bands,  wrong,  it  may  be,  in  the  means  pursued, 
but  noble  in  their  aims,  who  sought  to  carry  out  the  theocratic  dream'. 
The  foremost  leader  of  these  fierce  zealots  had  l)een  that  Ilezekiah 
whom  Herod,  with  much  difficulty,  had  secured  and  put  to  death.  I 
His  sou  Judas,  the  Galila'an,  was  now,  in  his  turn,  to  raise  the  standard 
of  uati:)nal  liberty  and  institutions. 

Quintilius  Varus,  the  future  victim,  with  his  legions,  of  Arminius, 
in  Germany — now  governor  of  Syria— had  come  to  Jerusalem,  ori 
account  of  the  disturbances  at  the  accession  of  Archelaus.  After 
some  executions,  supi)Osing  that  he  had  restored  order,  he  returned  to 
Antioch,  leaving  behind  him  in  Jerusalem,  under  Sabiuus,  a  whole 
legion,  instead  of  the  garrison  that,  in  peaceful  times,  would  have 
been  thought  sufficient.     He  could  hardly  have  d^nc  worse  than  put 


188  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

euch  *  man  as  Sabinus  in  command,  for,  like  Tlorann  govcmora  la. 
genoral,  in  Lha,!:.  djy,  he  was  a  man  cf  no  principle,  bent  only  on  mak. 
jng  a  fortune,  ovcii  ty  the  vilest  means,  while  he  had  opportunity. 
He  infuriated  the  Jows,  by  forcing  the  surrender  of  the  castles  of 
Jerusalem  into  his  hi:nds,  to  get  possession  of  Herod's  treasures, 
which  he  at  once  appropriated  to  his  own  use.  Plunder  was  his  ore 
thought,  and,  to  secure  it,  uo  act  of  lawless  violence  was  too  audacious. 
Extortion  and  robbery  drove  the  people  to  fury.  Not  only  the  city, 
but  the  country  everywhere-,  seethed  with  excitement.  It  seemcda 
fitting  moment  to  strike  ioi  their  long,  lost  national  liberty,  and  to 
get  up  the  theocracy  again,  under  the  Kabbis,  after  having  driven  out 
the  heathen.  Their  fanaticism  knew  no  caution  or  prudence,  nor 
any  calculation  of  the  odds  again  jt  them.  Miracles  would  be  wrought, 
if  needed,  to  secure  their  triumph  Vjiid  Avas  not  the  Messiah  at  hand? 
It  was,  moreover,  the  time  of  Pentecost,  and  an  immense  body  of  men 
from  Galilee,  Idumea,  Jericho,  and  Pcrca,  but,  above  all,  from  Judea, 
taking  advantage  of  the  feast,  hurried  up  to  Jerusalem  to  join  issue 
with  the  greedy  robber  iilunderiug  ),I:e  city.  Lividir.g  thcmselvea 
into  three  camps,  they  forthwith  invtstcd  the  citj^  and  Sabinus,  in 
terror,  withdrew  to  the  fort  Phasadis.  But  tl.e  storm  soon  burst  on 
him.  Crowding  the  roofs  of  the  Tcn;ple  t leisters,  the  Jews  rained 
down  a  storm  of  missiles  on  the  Ivomtm  soldiers  sent  to  dislodge 
them,  till  at  last  these,  liuding  other  means  useless,  fired  and  nearly 
destroyed  the  cloisters, — the  dry  cedar  of  the  roofs,  and  the  wax  in 
which  the  plates  of  gold  that  covered  them  were  bedded,  feeding  the 
flames  only  too  readily.  The  Temple  itself  was  now  at  the  mercy  of 
the  assailants,  who  avenged  themselves  by  j^lundoriEg  its  treasures, 
Sabinus  himself  securing  400  talents — about  £88,000 — for  his  share. 
But  this  only  infuriated  the  people  still  more,  and  even  Herod's  army 
was  so  outraged  by  it,  that  all  the  troops,  except  the  Samaritan  regi- 
ments— numbering  3,000  men — went  over  to  the  popular  side.  Mean- 
while, the  flame  of  revolt  spread  over  the  whole  country.  The  dis- 
charged soldiers  of  Herod  began  plundering  in  Judea,  and  2,000  of 
them  got  together  in  Idumea,  and  fought  stoutly  against  the  new 
king's  party,  driving  Herod's  cousin,  Achiab,  who  was  sent  against 
them,  to  take  refuge  in  the  fortresses,  while  they  held  the  open  coun- 
try. Across  the  Jordan,  in  Perea,  one  t-'imon,  who  had  been  a  slave 
of  Herod,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  a  great  baud,  who  acknowledged 
him  as  king,  and  doubtless  hoped,  by  his  means,  to  deliver  their  coun- 
try, and  restore  its  religious  freedom.  Betaking  themselves  to  the 
defile  between  Jerusalem  and  Jericho,  they  burned  Herod's  palace  at 
the  latter  city,  and  carried  flame  and  sword  to  the  homes  of  all  who 
did  not  favour  them.  A  corps  of  Roman  soldiers,  sent  out  against 
Simon,  soon,  however,  scattered  his  followers,  and  he  himself  was 
tlain. 

Further  north,  Athronges,  a  sliepherd  of  the  wild  pastures  beyond 
tiie  Jordan,  put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  popular  excitement.     He 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  189 

■w«i  A, man  of  great  size  and  strength,  and  with  four  brothers,  all, 
like  him,  of  lofty  stature,  strove  in  his  own  wild  way  to  avenge  his 
country.  Gathering  a  vast  multitude  of  followers,  he  kept  up  a 
fierce  guerilla  warfare  against  the  troops  sent  out  to  put  him  down, 
and  was  able  toJieep  the  field  for  years,  so  well  was  he  supported  by 
the  people. 

But  the  most  alarming  insurrection  broke  out  in  Galilee,  the  old 
headquarters  of  the  zealots,  under  Ilezckiah,  in  the  last  generation. 
Judas,  his  son,  born  on  the  other  side  of  the  Jordan,  but  known  as 
the  Galihiean,  had  grown  to  manhood  full  of  the  spirit  of  his  father. 
The  same  lofty  ideal,  of  restoring  the  land  to  God  as  its  rightful 
king,  had  become  the  dream  of  liis  life.  The  time  s'eemed  to  favour 
his  rising  for  "  God  and  the  Law,"  as  his  father,  and  the  heroes  of  his 
nation,  had  done  in  the  past.  The  brave  true-hearted  Galileans,  ever 
P3ady  to  fight  at  the  cry  that  the  Law  was  in  danger,  rallied  round 
him  in  great  numbers,  and  at  their  head  he  ventured  on  an  enterprise 
which  made  him  the  hero  of  the  day,  in  every  town  and  village  of 
the  land.  Sepphoris,  a  walled  hill  city,  over  the  hills  from  Nazareth, 
was  the  capital  of  Galilee,  and  the  great  arsenal  in  the  north.  This 
fortress,  sitting  like  a  bird,  as  its  name  hints,  on  its  height,  Judas 
took  by  storm,  and  its  capture  put  in  his  hands  arms  of  all  kinds  for 
thousands,  and  a  large  sum  of  money. 

How  long  he  was  able  to  keep  the  field  is  not  known.  The  Ro- 
mans lost  no  time  in  taking  steps  to  crush  him  and  the  other  rebels. 
Varus,  afraid  of  the  safety  of  the  legion  he  liad  left  in  Jerusalem,  set 
oif  southward  from  Antioch  with  two  more  legions,  and  four  regi- 
ments of  cavalr}^  in  addition  to  the  auxiliary  forces  supplied,  as  was 
required  of  them,  by  the  local  princes  round.  As  he  passed  through 
Berytus,  that  city  added  its  quota  of  1,500  men,  and  Aretas,  king  of 
Arabia  Petra^a,  sent  liim  a  largo  contingent  of  irregulars,  in  t'.ic  shape 
of  wild  Arab  horsemen  and  foot  soldiers.  The  whole  force  rendez- 
voused at  Ptolemais,  and  from  this  point  Varus  sent  his  son,  with  a 
strong  division,  into  Galilee,  while  he  himself  marched,  by  way  of 
Esdraelon  and  Samaria,  to  Jerusalem.  Samaria  had  been  loyal,  for 
it  would  have  been  the  last  thing  its  citizens  would  have  done  to  join 
the  hated  Jews  in  a  Avar  for  their  Law,  and  was  loft  imtouched, 
Varus  pitching  Ids  camp  at  a  village  called  Arus,  which  the  Arab 
auxiliaries  set  on  fire  as  they  left,  out  of  hatred  to  Herod.  As  they 
approached  Jerusalem,  Emmaus,  at  which  a  company  of  Roman 
soldiers  had  been  attacked  and  partly  massacred  by  Athronges,  was 
Viund  deserted,  and  was  burned  to  the  ground,  in  revenge  for  the  in- 
sult that  liad  been  oifered  to  the  army  of  Rome.  Reaching  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  capital,  the  besieging  force  of  the  Jews  at  once 
dispersed,  and  Varus  marched  in  withoiit  a  blow.  With  keen  dis- 
sinmlation,  the  Jerusalem  Jews  forthwitli  laid  all  the  blame  of  the 
troubles  on  the  Passover  crowds,  asserting  that  they  had  been  as  much 
besieged  as  Sabinus.     J^Ieanwhile,  the  troops  scoured  the  country  for 


190  THE  LIFE  OF  CIirJST. 

fugitives,  2,000  of  whom  were  crucified  along  tlie  roadsides  B<?ar  Je- 
rusalem. A  Jewish  force  of  10,000  men,  still  afoot,  dis))ancTed  itself, 
and  the  revolt  in  Judea  was  for  the  moment  suppressed.  Several 
of  the  relations  of  Herod  vvlio  had  taken  part  in  the  rising,  and  had 
beeu  sent  prisoners  to  Rome,  were  the  last  victims  for  the  time. 

The  force  under  the  son  of  Varus  had  meanwhile  beeu  busy  in  the 
north.  Sepphoris  was  retaken,  its  inhabitants  sold  as  slaves,  and  the 
town  itself  burned  to  the  ground,  but  Judas  escaped  for  the  present, 
to  begin  a  still  more  terrible  insurrection  a  few  years  later. 

Peace  was  thus,  at  length,  restored,  and  the  young  princes  entered 
on  their  inheritances,  thanks,  once  niore,  to  Rome.  Lut  the  land  had 
been  desolated:  the  bravest  of  its  youth  had  died  on  the  battle-field: 
cities  and  villages  lay  smouldering  in  their  ashes.  Samaria  alone 
profited  by  the  attempted  revolution,  for  not  only  did  it  suffer  noth- 
ing, a  third  of  its  taxes  were  remitted  and  laid  on  Judea — a  new 
ground  of  hatred  towards  the  "  foolish  people"  of  thechem. 

The  sensual,  lawless,  cruel  nature  of  Archelaus,  with  his  want  of 
tact,  Avhich,  together,  had  turned  both  his  family  and  his  father's 
wisest  counsellors  against  him,  leave  us  little  doubt  of  the  chai  acter  of 
his  reign.  The  general  estimate  of  him  was  that  he  was  most  like  his 
father  of  all  his  l)rothers.  He  returned  from  Rome  degraded  in  his 
own  eyes  by  having  had  to  beg  his  kingdom  on  his  knees,  and  by  the 
people,  and  all  his  relations,  except  the  just  and  honourable  Philip, 
having  tried  to  prevent  his  success  with  Augustus.  His  one  thought 
was  revenge.  Jesus,  thougli  an  infant  when  Archelaus  began  his  reign, 
must  have  often  heard  in  kxtcr  years  of  his  journey  to  Rome  and  its 
humiliations,  and  of  the  fierce  reprisals  on  his  return,  for,  as  I  have 
said.  He  paints  the  slory  unmistakably  in  the  parable  of  the  great 
man  Avho  Avcnt  into  a  far  country,  to  i^eceive  a  kingdom;  whose  citi- 
zens hated  him,  and  sent  after  him,  protesting  that  they  would  not 
have  him  to  reign  over  them.  The  fierce  revenge  of  Archelaus  cculd 
not  fail  to  rise  in  tlie  minds  cf  those  who  heard,  in  the  ];arable,  how 
the  lord,  on  his  return,  commanded  his  servants  to  be  called,  and  re- 
warded the  faithful  richly,  but  stripped  the  doubtful  of  everything, 
and  put  to  death  those  who  had  plotted  against  him. 

Archelaus  began  his  reign  by  such  a  reckoning  with  his  servants 
and  enemies.  When  he  took  possession  of  his  monarchy,  says 
Josephus,  he  used,  not  the  Jews  only,  but  the  Samaritans,  barbar 
ously.  In  Jerusalem  he  deposed  the  high  priest  of  the  Eoethos 
family,  on  the  charge  of  having  conspired  against  him.  But  though 
this  might  have  pleased  the  Pharisees  and  the  people,  who  counted 
the  Boethos  high  priest  unclean,  he  only  roused  their  indignation  by 
filling  the  office  with  two  ct  his  own  creatures  in  succession.  His 
treatment  of  his  people  generally  was  so  harsh,  that  Jews  and  Samar- 
itans forgot  their  mutual  hatred  in  efforts  to  get  him  dethroned.  His 
crowning  offence,  however,  was  marrying  Glaphyra,  the  widow  of 
hifl  half-brother  Alexjander,  to  whom  she  had  borne  children.    She  had 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.   ,  191 

gone  back  to  her  father,  the  friend  of  Herod  and  Antony,  after  the 
death  of  her  second  ]iusl)and.  King  Juba,  of  Libya,  when  Archelaua 
met  her  on  his  way  bacli  from  Rome,  and  falling  violently  in  loyo 
with  her,  married  her  after  divorcing  his  wife.  Her  former  career  in 
Jerusalem  might  have  made  him  hesitate  to  bring  her  back  again,  for 
her  haughtiness,  keen  tongue,  and  affected  contempt  for  Salome,  and 
Herod's  family  generally,  had  been  one  great  cause  of  her  first  hus- 
band's death,  while  her  training  her  children,  as  she  did,  in  heathen 
manners,  had  made  her  hateful  to  the  people.  Her  incestuous  mar- 
riage, now,  involved  both  her  and  Archelaus  in  the  bitterest  unpopu- 
larity. But  she  did  not  live  long  to  trouble  any  one.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  return  to  the  scene  of  her  early  marriage  life  had  waked  only  too 
vivid  recollections  of  her  murdered  husband.  Soon  after  it  she 
dreamed  that  he  came  to  her  and  accused  her  of  her  infidelity  to  him 
in  marrying  Archelaus,  and  the  dream  so  affected  her  that  she  sicken- 
ed, and  in  a  few  days  died. 

Archelaus  had  not  the  same  taste  for  heathen  architecture  and 
public  games  as  his  father,  and,  perhaps  to  his  own  hurt,  was  much 
less  an  adept  at  public  flattery  of  the  Emperor  and  his  ministers,  and 
he  was  wise  or  timid  enough  to  put  no  heathen  or  objectionable  im- 
press on  his  coins.  At  Jericho  he  rebuilt,  with  great  magnificence, 
the  palace  burned  down  by  Simon,  and  he  founded  a  town  on  the 
western  hill-slopes  of  the  Jordan  valley,  in  Samaria,  calling  it  Arche- 
laTs,  after  himself,  and  embellishing  it  with  fine  conduits,  to  water 
the  palm  groves  in  his  gardens,  but  beyond  this  he  left  no  monuments 
of  his  reign.  His  time  and  heart  were  too  much  engrossed  with 
vice  and  drunkenness  to  leave  much  interest  for  anything  else. 

The  hatred  of  the  people  and  of  their  leaders,  the  Phari-sees,  which  < 
had  striven  to  prevent  his  getting  the  throne  at  first,  grew  only  fiercer 
with  time.  The  struggle  continued,  with  true  Jewish  pertinacity, 
for  nine  years,  fanned  more  or  less  openly  by  the  ethnarch's  relations, 
and  their  factions  at  court.  At  last,  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  6, 
things  came  to  a  crisis.  Judea  and  Samaria,  whom  common  oppres- 
sion had,  for  the  moment,  made  friendly,  sent  a  joint  embassy  to 
Rome,  to  accuse  the  tyraut,  before  his  master,  of  having  affronted  the 
imperial  majesty,  by  not  observing  the  moderation  commanded  him. 
Archelaus  was  thoroughly  alarmed.  'Superstitious,  like  his  dead  wife, 
he  dreamed  that  he  saw  \^\\  ears  of  wheat,  perfectly  ripe,  presently 
eaten  bj'  o.\en,  and  at  once  taking  the  dream  as  an  omen,  was  told  by 
one  Simon,  an  Essene,  that  the  ten  heads  of  wheat  were  ten  years, 
and  marked  the  length  of  his  reign.  Such  a  forecast  was  only  too 
easy.  The  embassy  to  Rome  had  done  its  work.  Ca'sar  was  indig- 
nant, and  ordered  the  agent  of  Archelaus  at  Rome,  a  man  of  the  same 
name,  to  sail  at  once  for  Palestine,  and  summon  his  master  to  appear 
at  Rome.  Five  days  after  the  dream  the  messenger  reached  Jerusalem, 
and  found  Archelaus  feasting  with  his  friends.  The  imperative 
sumnK)D8  brooked  no  delay,  and  the  vas*iil  instantly  aet  out  for  Italy, 


193  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

There  his  fate  was  speedily  decided.  Accusers  and  accused  were 
brouglit  face  to  face,  and  Arclielaus  was-  sentenced  to  prrpetual 
banishment,  and  the  confiscation  of  all  his  property  to  the  Emperor. 
The  place  of  his  exile  was  fixed  at  Vienna,  in  Gaul,  a  town  on  the 
Rhone,  a  little  south  of  the  modern  Lyons,  in  what,  long  afterwards, 
became  the  province  of  Dauphine.  Here  he  lived  in  obscurity  till 
his  death,  amid  the  vines  of  southern  France,  perhaps  a  wiser  and 
happier  man  than  in  the  evil  years  of  his  greatness.  His  reign  was 
the  beginning  of  the  end  of  Herod's  kingdom,  his  dominions  being 
forthwith  incorporated  with  Syria,  as  part  of  that  Roman  province. 
The  wish  of  the  Jews  was  at  last  gratified,  but  they  were  soon  to 
feel  how  bitterly  they  had  deceived  themselves  in  supposing  that 
incorporation  with  Rome  meant  religious  independence.  The  castle 
at  Jericho,  and  the  palm  groves  and  buildings  of  Archelais,  were  the 
only  memorials  of  the  ethuarch,  except  the  bitterness  written  on  every 
heart  by  his  cruelties  and  oppressions. 

A  man  of  unspeakably  greater  importance  in  his  influence  on  the 
nation — Ilillel,  the  gentle,  the  godly,  the  scholar  of  Ezra,  appears  to 
have  passed  away  in  these  last  months  of  excitement,  at  the  age,  it  is 
said,  of  120.  Born  among  the  Dispersion,  in  Babylon,  he  had  come 
to  Jerusalem,  long  years  before,  to  attend  the  famous  schools  of 
Abtalion  and  Schemaiah,  which  Herod's  proscriptions  would  have 
well-nigh  crushed  in  later  years,  destroying  Rabbinism  with  them, 
but  for  the  genius  who  had  been  trained  in  their  spirit.  Already  a 
married  man,  he  had  no  income  but  the  daily  pittance  of  half  a 
denarius,  earned  as  a  light  porter  or  day  labourer,  though  liis  one 
brother  was  a  great  Rabbi  and  president  of  the  school  at  Babylon, 
and  his  other  was  growing  to  be  a  wealthy  man  in  Jerusalem.  But 
the  rich  one  did  not  trouble  himself  about  him,  and  aiTected  to  de- 
spise him,  and  the  other,  thougli  eminent,  was  very  likely  himself 
poor.  Unable,  one  day,  to  pay  the  trifling  fee  for  entrance,  to  tlie 
doorkeeper  of  the  school,  HiUel  was  yet  determined  to  get  the  knowl- 
edge for  which  his  soul  thirsted.  It  wasaSabbalh  eve  in  winter, 
and  the  classes  met  on  the  Friday  eveninsr,  continuing  through  the 
night,  till  the  Sabbath  morning.  To  catch  the  instruction  from 
which  he  was  shut  out,  Hillel  climbed  into  a  window  outside,  and  sat 
there,  in  the  cold,  for  it  was  bitter  weather,  and  snow  was  filling 
heavily.  In  the  morning,  says  the  tradition,  Schemaiah  said  to 
Abatalion  :  "Brother  Abtalion,  it  is  usually  light  in  our  school  by 
day  ;  it  must  be  cloudy  this  morning  to  be  so  dark  "  As  he  spoke  he 
looked  up,  and  saw  a  form  in  the  wmdow  outside.  It  was  Hillel, 
buried  in  the  snow  and  almost  dead.  Carrying  him  in,  bathing  and 
rubbing  him  with  oil,  and  setting  him  near  the  hearth,  he  gradually 
revived.  "  It  was  right  even  to  profane  the  Sabbath  for  such  an  one," 
said  the  teachers  and  students. 

Five  or  six  years  after  the  beginning  of  Herod's  reign,  Hillel  rose 
to  be  the  head  of  the  Rabbinism  of  Jerusalem,  as  the  only  man  to  be 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  193 

found  who  had  studied  under  Abtalion  and  Scliemaiah.  After  a 
time  a  rival  scliool  rose  under  Schanimai.  Ilillel,  though  a  strict 
Jew,  had  still  a  leaning  to  charitable  and  liberal  ideas  in  some  direc- 
tion;; 8chammai  was  the  embodiment  of  the  narrow  ultra-Pharisaic 
spirit,  and,  as  such,  much  more  numerously  followed  than  his  milder 
riv'al.  Ilillel's  weakness,  as  well  as  strength,  lay  in  his  love  of  peace, 
for  he  too  often  gave  up  principle  to  maintain  (juiet.  Many  of  his 
sayings  are  preserved,  but  most  of  them  are  inferior  to  those  left  by 
Epictetus  or  Seneca.  His  summary  of  the  Law,  to  a  heathen,  is  the 
best  known, — "  What  you  woul  I  yourself  dislike,  never  do  to  your 
neighbour — that  is  the  whole  Law,  all  else  is  only  its  application." 
But,  like  all  the  Rabbis,  his  religious  system  was  radically  uu.sound. 
Its  central  principle  was  the  belief  in  strict  retaliation  or  recom- 
pense, for  evc^ry  act.  Like  for  like  Avas  the  sum  of  liis  morality. 
Seeing  a  human  skull  floating  on  a  stream,  llillcl  cried  out,  "Because 
thou  hast  drowned  (some  one),  thou  thyself  art  drowned,  and  he  who 
has  drownL'd  thee  will  himself  some  day  also  be  drowned."  The 
same  way,  he  believed,  would  it  be  at  the  iinal  judgment.  "  He  who 
has  gained  (the  knowledge  of)  the  Law,"  said  he,  "ha«i  also  gained 
the  life  to  come."  Service  and  payment,  liis  fundamental  motive  to 
right  action,  inevitably  led  to  formalism  and  selfish  calculation,  fatal 
to  all  real  merit. 

The  banishment  of  Archelaus  found  Jesus  a  growing  boy  of  about 
ten  or  twelve,  living  ciuietly  in  the  Galila^an  Nazareth,  among  the 
hills.  It  was  a  momentous  event  in  the  declining  fortunes  of  the 
ration,  for  its  results  presently  filled  the  land  with  terror,  and  paved 
tue  way  for  the  final  crisis,  sixty  years  later,  which  destroyed  Israel 
as  a  nation. 

The  troubles  of  Herod's  time,  and  the  dreams  of  the  Rabbis,  had 
excited  a  very  general  desire,  at  his  death,  for  direct  government  by 
Rome,  under  the  proconsul  of  Syria.  The  deputation  sent  to  Augus- 
tus, when  Archelaus  was  seeking  the  throne,  had  prayed  for  such  an 
arrangement,  thinkin'^  they  would  be  left  imder  their  high  priests,  to 
manage  their  national  affairs  after  their  own  customs,  as  the  Pheni- 
cian  cities  were  allowed  to  do  under  their  Archons,  and  that  Rome 
would  only  iuterfi-re  in  taxation  and  military  matters.  Their  wish, 
however,  was  the  only  ground  of  their  expectation,  for  Rome  never 
left  large  communities  like  the  Jewish  nation  thus  virtuallj-  inde- 
pendent, though  they  might  indulge  towns  or  cities  with  such  a  privi- 
lege. 

When  Archelaus,  at  the  entreaty  of  the  people,  had  been  banished, 
their  hopes  revived  of  the  restoration  of  the  theocracy  under  the  high 
priests  and  the  Rabbis,  with  a  nominal  supremacy  on  the  part  of 
Koine.  The  exile  of  the  tyrant,  therefore,  was  greeted  with  universal 
jjy;  but  the  news  that  a  jiroevwator,  or  lieutenant-governor,  as  he 
might  be  called,  had  been  appointed  in  his  stead,  and  that  Judea  was 
henceforth  to  be  incorporated  into  the  proAince  of  SjTia,  with  its  pro- 


194  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

consul,  or  governor -general,  as  supreme  head,  under  the  Emperor, 
soon  dispelled  their  dreams  of  theocratic  liberty. 

The  proconsul,  or  governor-general,  of  Syria,  at  the  time,  was  Pub- 
lius  Sulpicius  Quirinius,  a  brave  soldier,  and  faithfid  servant  of  the 
Emperor,  accustomed  to  command  and  to  l;e  obeyed.  C)idered  to 
Incorporate  Judea  with  his  province,  no  thought  of  conMiltirg  JcAvish 
feelings  in  doing  so  crossed  his  mind.  From  com]:'arative  obscurity 
be  had  risen,  through  military  and  diplomatic  service,  till  Augustus 
had  him  made  consul.  He  had  made  a  successful  campaign  in  Asia 
Minor,  against  some  tribes  of  savage  mountaineers,  whom  he  suc- 
ceeded in  subduing,  by  blockading  the  mountain  passes,  and  after 
starving  them  into  submission,  had  secured  their  future  quiet  by  carry- 
ing off  all  the  men  able  to  bear  arms,  Innishing  scn.e,  and  drafting 
the  rest  into,  his  legions.  For  this  he  bad  gained  the  honour  of  a 
triumph.  When  Caius,  the  young  giandscn  of  Augustus,  was 
treacherously  wounded  in  Armenia,  l:c  br.d  n  f>i  f  £cd  aflairs  for  him 
so  much  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Emperor,  lLi.t  be  ^ot  the  province 
of  Syria  as  a  reward.  With  all  this,  he  bore  a  bad  character  with 
those  who  knew  him,  or  were  any  way  under  Lim,  as  not  only  ma- 
lignant and  grasping,  but  mean  and  revengeful.  As  a  pioof  of  this  it 
wsis  instanced,  that  he  kept  a  charge  of  attempted  poisoning  over  his 
wife's  head,  for  twenty  years  after  he  had  c'.ivorced  her. 

The  procurator,  or  lieutenant-governor,  appointed  over  Judea  by 
Quirinius,  was  Coponius,  a  Roman  knight,  unknown  except  from  this 
office.  He  and  Quirinius  made  their  appearance  in  Jeius-akm  to- 
gether, as  soon  as  Archelaus  had  been  condemned,  t("/  take  possession 
of  his  effects  for  Augustus.  They  lodged  in  the  palace  of  Herod, 
which,  henceforth,  was  called  the  Prajtorium,  and  became  the  resi- 
dence of  the  procurators  when  they  were  in  Jeiusalem  at  the  time  of 
the  feasts,  for,  except  then,  they  lived  in  Casarea.  The  Herod 
family  had  to  content  themselves  with  the  old  castle  of  the  Macca- 
btean  kings,  near  the  Xystus. 

Any  golclen  dreams  of  a  restored  theocracy  were  soon  dispelled. 
Hardly  had  the  inventory  of  the  possessions  of  the  crown  l)een  fin- 
ished, than  Quirinius  announced  that  his  next  duty  was  to  take  a 
cen.sus  of  the  people,  and  a  return  of  their  property  and  incomes,  as 
the  basis  for  introducing  the  Roman  taxation  conunou  to  all  subject 
provinces  of  the  empire.  There  could  be  no  clearer  proof  that  the 
nation  had  deceived  itself.  Rich  and  poor  alike  resented  a  measure 
which  announced  slavery  instead  of  freedom,  and  ruinous  extortion 
instead  of  prosperity.  In  every  country  the  introduction  of  a  new 
fiscal  sj^stem,  with  its  intrusion  into  private  affairs,  its  vexatious  inter- 
ferences with  life  and  commerce,  its  new  and  untried  burdens,  and 
the  general  disturbance  of  the  order  of  things  which  custom  has  made 
familiar,  is  always  unpopular.  But  in  this  case  patriotic  and  religious 
feeling  intensified  the  dislike.  It  was  at  once  the  direct  and  formal 
subjection  of  the  country  to  heathen  government,  the  abrogation  of 


THE  LITE  OP  CHRIST.  -195 

laTvs  with  ■wliicli  religious  ideas  were  blended,  and  tlie  fancied  profa- 
nation of  the  word  of  Jehovah  and  of  His  prophets,  that  Israel  would 
be  as  the  sand  on  the  sea-shore,  irhkh  cannot  he  numbered  It  was  re- 
called to  mind,  moreover,  that  when  the  wrath  of  God  turned  against 
Israel,  He  moved  David  to  give  the  command,  "  Go  numljer  Israel 
and  Judah."  It  ran  also  fro'm  mouth  to  mouth  that  old  prophecies 
foretold  that  the  numbering  of  the  people  would  be  the  sign  of  their 
approaching  fall  as  a  nation.  To  the  fanaticism  of  the  Jcav  the  census 
was  a  matter  of  life  and  death;  to  Quirinius,  who  could  not  compre- 
hend such  a  state  of  feeling,  it  was  the  simplest  matter  in  the  world. .' 
The  very  first  step  in  the  Roman  government  of  Judea  brought  it  into 
conflict  with  the  people. 

The  systematic  and  direct  taxation  of  the  country  by  Rome  was, 
from  this  time,  an  inextinguishable  subject  of  hatred  and  strife  be- 
tween the  rulers  and  the  ruled.  The  Romans  smiled  at  the  political 
economy  of  the  Rabbis,  who  gravely  levied  a  tax  of  half  a  shekel  a 
head  to  the  Temple,  to  avert  a  national  pestilence,  and  proposed 
that  a  census  of  the  people,  calculated  by  the  niunber  of  the  lambs 
■  slauffhtered  in  Jerusalem  at  the  last  Passover,  should  be  the  basis  of 
the  imperial  fiscal  registration.  But  if  this  was  ridiculous  to  the  Ro- 
man, it  was  a  matter  so  sacred  to  the  Jew,  that  it  led  to  ever-fresh 
revolts,  after  thousands  of  patriots  had  died  to  maintain  it.  The 
Jewish  law  recognized  taxes  and  free  gifts  only  for  religious  objects, 
and,  according  to  the  Rabbis,  the  very"  holiness  of  the  land  rested  on 
every  field  and  tree  contributing  its  tithe,  or  gift  of  wood,  to  the 
Temple.  How,  it  was  asked,  could  this  sacredness  be  maintained,  if 
a  heathen  emperor  received  taxes  from  the  sources  consecrated  by 
these  tithes  and  gifts  to  Jehovah?  Hence  the  question  rose,  "whether 
it  Avas  lawful  to  pay  tribute  to  Ctesar  or  not?" — a  question  to  be  solved 
only  by  the  sword,"  but  rising  ever  again,  after  each  new  despairing 
attempt  at  resistance.  Every  "receipt  of  custom"  at  the  gate  of  a 
town,  or  at  tlie  end  of  a  bridge,  was  a  rock  against  which  the  Jew 
rvho  honoured  the  Law  felt  his  conscience  wrecked,  or  a  battle-field 
marked  bv  a  deadly  strife. 

This  sullen  antipathy  to  imperial  taxation  was,  moreover,  intensified 
by  the  evils  of  the  Roman  system.      The  chief  imposts  demanded 
were  two— a  poll  and  a  laud  tax,  the  former  an  income  tax  on  all  not 
embraced  bv  tlie  latter.     The  income  tax  was  fixed  by  a  sjiecial  cen- 
us,  and  was  rated,  i-i  Syria  and  Cilicia.  at  one  per  cent.     All  landed 
•:-operty  of  private  individuals  was  sul)ject  to  the  gi-ound  tax.  while 
le  Jewisli  ground  pos.sessions  were  confiscated  entirely  to  the  im- 
•ciial  exchequer.     The  tax  amounted  to  a  tenth  of  all  grain,  and  a 
Ifth  part  of  wine  and  fruit,  and  was  thus  very  oppressive.     Both  im- 
posts were  in  the  hands  of  "publicans,"  who  bought  the  right  of  col- 
lecting the  taxes  for  five  years,  from  the  censors  at  Rome.     These 
publicani  farmed  the  revenue  from  the  State,  giving  security  for  the 
payment  of  a  fixed  sum  for  the  province  whose  taxes  they  b^ujflat 


196  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

There  v/crc,  however,  extraordinary  taxes  and  local  imposts,  besides 
the  two  great  ones.  If  corn  ran  short  in  Italy  the  provinces  had  to 
supply  it  at  fixed  prices,  and  the  procurator  at  Cfesarea  had  the  right 
\o  demand  for  himself  and  his  attendants  what  supplies  he  required. 

The  customs  and  excise  duties,  moreover,  were  levied  for  the  im- 
perial government, — and  the  tolls  on  bridges,  and  roads,  the  octroi 
at  the  gates  of  towns,  and  the  custom-houses  at  the  boundaries  of 
districts  or  provinces,  which,  also,  were  farmed  by  the  publicani, 
gave  additional  room  for  arbitrary  oppression.  The  whole  system 
was  radically  bad,  like  its  counterparts  under  the  Ancien  Regime  in 
France,  and  in  Turkey,  now.  The  Roman  knights  who  took  con- 
tracts for  provinces,  sub-let  them,  by  districts,  to  others,  and  these 
again  had  sub-contractors  to  smaller  and  smaller  amounts.  The  worst 
result  was  inevitable  where  self-interest  was  so  deeply  involved.  Each 
farmer  and  sub-farmer  of  the  revenue  required  a  profit,  which  the 
helpless  provincials  had,  in  the  end,  to  pay.  The  amount  assessed  by 
Rome  was  thus  no  measure  of  the  ultimate  extortion.  The  greed  and 
opportunity  of  the  collectors,  in  each  descending  grade,  aione  deter- 
mined the  "demand  from  the  taxpayer. 

Nor  was  there  a  remedy.  The  publicani  were  mostly  Roman 
knights,  the  order  from  which  the  judges  were  chosen.  They  were 
the  capitalists  of  the  empire,  and  formed  companies  to  take  up  the 
larger  contracts,  and  these  companies,  like  some  even  in  the  present 
day,  were  more  concerned  abovit  the  amount  of  their  dividends  than  the 
means  of  obtaining  them.  Complaints  could  only  be  laid  before  an 
official  who  might  himself  intend  to  farm  the  same  taxes  at  a  future 
time,  or  who  was  a  partner  in  the  company  that  farmed  them  at  the 
moment.  Thus  safe  from  the  law,  the  oppression  and  extortion  prac- 
tised by  the  collectors  were  intolerable.  The  rm'al  population  were 
especially  ground  down  by  their  exactions.  A  favourite  i)lan  was  to 
advance  money  to  those  unable  to  pay  demands,  and  thus  make  the 
borrowers  private  debtors,  whose  whole  property  was  erelong  confis- 
cated by  the  usurious  interest  required. 

Ciesar  has  left  us  a  vivid  picture  of  the  fate  of  a  Roman  province 
in  matters  of  taxation.  Speaking  of  Pius  gcipio,  tlie  proconsul  of 
S\Tia  in  B.C.  48,  he  tells  us  that  he  made  large  requisitions  of  money 
on  the  towns,  and  exacted  from  the  farmers  of  the  taxes  the  amount 
of  two  years'  payment,  then  due  to  the  Roman  treasury,  and  also  de- 
manded as  a  loan  the  sum  which  would  be  due  for  tlic  next  year.  All 
lliis  extortion,  we  may  be  sure,  would  have  to  ))e  more  than  made  up 
hy  the  unfortunate  provinciids.  Having  brought  his  troops  to  Per- 
garaum,  one  of  the  chief  cities  of  the  province  of  Asia,  he  quartered 
them  for  the  winter  in  the  richest  cities,  and  quieted  their  discontent 
by  great  bounties,  and  by  giving  up  the  towns  to  them  to  plunder. 

The  money  requisitions  levied  by  him  on  the  province  were  exacted 
With  the  utmost  severity,  anfl  many  devices  were  invented  to  satisfy 
tixQ  proconsul's  rapacity.     A  head  tax  was  imposed  on  all,  both  slave 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  197 

and  free:  taxes  were  laid  on  columns  and  doors;  corn,  soldiers,  arms, 
rowers,  military  engines  and  conveyances,  were  taken  by  requisition. 
If  anything  could  be  thought  of  as  a  pretext  for  a  new  tax,  the  tax 
was  imposed.  Men  with  military  authority  were  set  over  cities,  and 
even  over  small  villages  and  petty  fortified  places;  and  he  who  used 
his  power  most  harshly  and  remorselessly,  was  thought  the  best  man 
and  the  best  citizen.  The  province  was  full  of  lictors  and  bailiffs;  it 
swarmed  with  officials  and  extortioners,  who  demanded  more  than 
was  due  for  the  taxes,  as  gain  for  themselves.  In  addition  to  all  this, 
enormous  interest  was  asked,  as  is  usual  in  time  of  war,  from  all  who 
had  to  borrow,  which  many  needed  to  do,  as  the  taxes  were  levied  on 
all.  Nor  did  these  exactions  save  the  Roman  citizens  of  the  province, 
for  additional  tixed  sums  were  levied  on  the  several  communes,  and 
on  the  separate  towns.  Cicero,  on  his  entry  on  the  proconsulate  of 
Cilicia,  found  things  equallj^  sad  in  that  province.  He  tells  us  that 
he  freed  many  cities  from  the  most  crvishing  taxation,  and  from  ruin- 
ous usury,  and  even  from  debts  charged  against  them  falselj\  The 
province  had  been  nearly  ruined  by  the  oppressions  and  rapacity  of 
his  predecessor,  whose  conduct,  he  says,  had  been  monstrous,  and 
more  like  that  of  a  savage  wild  beast  than  a  man.  Such  pictvires,  by 
Romans  themselves,  leave  us  to  imagine  the  misery  of  the  wi-etched 
provincials  under  proconsuls  and  procurators,  and  account  in  no  small 
degree  for  the  recklessness  of  Judea  under  the  Roman  yoke. 

Jesus  grew  up  to  manhood  amidst  universal  murmurs  against  .such 
a  system,  the  discontent  becoming  more  serious  year  by  year.  At 
last  the  Senate,  on  the  recommendation  of  the  Emperor  Tiberius, 
sent  Germanicus,  the  Emperor's  nephew,  to  Syria,  as  a  necessary  step 
towards  calming  the  popular  excitement.  The  Jews  had  already  sent 
a  deputation  to  Rome,  to  represent  the  niin  brought  on  their  country 
by  the  crushing  weight  of  the  taxes.  The  deepening  exhaustion  of 
Palestine  by  the  tiscal  oppression  of  the  Romans,  and  of  Herod's 
family,  is  incidentally  implied  in  many  passages  of  the  Gospels.  One 
of  the  most  frequent  allusions  in  Christ's  discourses  is  to  the  debtor, 
the  creditor,  and  the  prison.  The  blind  misrule  that  was  slowly  de- 
stroying the  empire  fell  with  special  weight  on  an  agricultural  ]3eople 
like  the  Jews.  In  one  parable,  Jesus  represents  every  one  but  the 
kin"^  as  bankrupt.  The  steward  owes  the  king,  and  the  servant  oves 
the  steward.  The  question  what  they  should  eat  and  what  they 
should  drink  is  assumed  as  the  most  pressing,  with  the  common  man. 
The  creditor  meets  the  debtor  in  the  street,  and  straightway  commits 
him  to  prison,  till  he  pay  the  uttermost  farthing,  and,  if  that  fails, 
sells  him,  his  wife,  his  children,  and  all  that  he  has,  to  make  up  his 
debt.  Oil  and  wheat,  the  first  necessaries  of  life,  are  largely  claimed 
by  the  rich  man's  steward.  Buildings  have  to  be  left  unfinished  for 
want  of  means.  The  merchant  invests  his  money,  to  make  it  safe,  in 
a  single  pearl,  which  he  can  easily  hide.  Mauj'  bury  their  money  in 
the  gi-ound,  to  save  it  from  tiie  oppressor.     Speculators  keep  baek 


198  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

their  graia  from  the  market,  and  enlarge  their  barns.  Instead  of  a 
field  which  needed  the  plough,  the  spade  suffices.  "What  shall  I 
do?"  says  the  ruined  householder,  "I  cannot  dig,  I  am  ashamed  to 
beg."  In  the  tram  of  scarcity  of  money  comes  the  usurer,  who  alone 
is  prosperous,  speedily  increasing  his  capital  five  or  even  ten  times. 
This  state  of  things  is  constantly  assumed  in  the  Gospels,  and  it  grew 
worse  and  worse  through  the  whole  life  of  our  Lord,  culminating  in 
a  great  financial  crisis,  tkroughout  the  empire,  a  few  years  after  the 
Crucifixion. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE   ROMAN   PROCURATOBS. 

The  material  ruin  which  Rome  had  brought  on  the  land,  naturally 
increased  the  prevailing  excitement,  and  the  bands  of  fierce  religion- 
ists which  lurked  in  the  hill-country  constantly  received  additions 
from  those  whom  the  evil  times  had  beggared.  The  popular  mind 
was  kept  in  permanent  agitation  by  some  tale  of  insult  to  the  Law  on 
the  part  of  the  Romans.  At  one  time  they  had  "defiled  the  feasts," 
at  another,  a  military  standard  had  been  shown  in  Jerusalem,  or  a 
heathen  emblem  brought  into  the  Temple,  or  a  votive  tablet  set  up  on 
Moimt  Zion,  or  a  heathen  sculpture  had  been  discovered  on  some  new 
public  building.  Real  or  imagined  oCences  were  never  wanting. 
Now,  it  was  heard,  with  horror,  that  a  procurator  had  plundered  the 
Temple  treasures;  then,  a  Roman  soldier  had  torn  a  copy  of  the  Law; 
or  a  heathen  had  passed  into  the  forbidden  court  of  the  Temple,  or 
some  Gentile  child,  in  his  boyish  sport,  had  mocked  some  Jew.  The 
most  trifling  rumours  or  incidents  became  grave  frcm  the  passion  they 
excited,  and  the  hundreds  or  thousands  of  lives  lost  in  the  tumults 
they  kindled.  The  heart  of  the  whole  country  glowed  at  white  heat, 
and  ominous  flashes  continually  warned  Casar  of  the  catastrophe 
approaching. 

The  excitement  caused  by  the  inquisitorial  census  of  persons  and 
property  by  Quirinius  was  intense.  Herod  and  Archelaus  had  been 
careful  to  avoid  direct  similarity  to  the  Temple  tenth  in  their  taxa- 
tion, and  possibly  it  was  because  the  revenue  had  to  be  raised  in  any 
circuitous  way,  to  prevent  collision  with  the  popular  prejudices,  that 
the  imposts  these  princes  had  levied — tolls,  house  tax,  excise,  market 
tax,  head  tax,  salt  tax,  crown  tax,  and  custom  dues,  —had  pressed  on 
the  nation  so  heavily.  Augustus  had  waived  the  introduction  of  Uie 
Roman  modes  of  taxation,  -from  similar  motives  of  prudence,  and 
Herod,  while  he  had  taxed  produce,  took  care  to  avoid  requiring  a 
tenth.  But  Qiiirinius  had  no  such  scruples,  and  at  once  kindled  the 
fiercest  resistance.  The  whole  nation  saw  in  the  tithe  on  grain,  and 
tlie  two  tenths  on  wine  and  fruil,  an  encroachment  on  the  rights  of 
Jehovah.     A  leading  Rabbi — Zadok — headed  the  opposition,  in  his 


TIIE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  199 

class,  and  joined  Juda.«?,  the  Galilsean,  who  again  appeared  in  the  field, 
calling  on  all  to  take  arms.  The  Rabbi.s  inveighed  against  the  pro- 
posals of  Quirinius,  but  he  cared  nothing  for  their  theology,  and  as 
he  had  broken  the  moimtaineers  of  Cilicia  by  starvation,  he  felt  no 
donbt  that  he  could  keep  order,  in  spite  of  resistance,  among  the 
Jews.  Ambition,  love  of  money,  and  military  rule,  were  the  only 
thought  of  the  rough,  coarse  soldier. 

At  first  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  succeed.  The  high  priest,  Joazer, 
a  Ilerodian  of  the  house  of  BoPthos,  openly  took  his  side,  and  per- 
suaded the  people  in  Jerusalem  to  let  the  census  and  registration  go 
on  quietly.  The  Rabbis  temporized,  and  seemed  inclined  to  take  the 
safer  side.  But  this  did  not  content  the  whole  body.  The  more 
determined  were  weary  of  the  endless  discussions  and  trifling  of  the 
Synagogue,  and  broke  away  from  their  lirethren,  to  found  a  new 
school — that  of  the  "  Zealots" — which  henceforth  carried  in  its  hand 
the  fate  of  the  nation.  The  fanatics  of  Judaism — their  one  .sleepless 
thought  was  war  with  Rome.  They  were  the  counterparts  and  repre- 
sentfitives  of  the  stern  puritans  of  the  ]\Iaccab{ean  times,  and  took 
their  name,  as  well  as  their  inspiration,  from  the  words  of  the  dying 
Mattathias — "  Be  Zealots,  my  sons,  for  the  Law,  and  give  your  lives 
for  the  covenant  of  your  fathers."  The  exhortations  of  their  brethren, 
to  submit  quietly  to  the  government,  were  answered  in  the  words  of 
the  early  patriots — "  Whoever  takes  on  him  the  yoke  of  the  Law  is 
no  longer  imder  that  of  mah,  but  he  who  casts  off  the  Law,  has  man's 
yoke  laid  on  him."  Thus,  the  foreboding  that  this  numbering  of  the 
people,  like  that  of  David,  would  bring  death  in  its  train,  was  not  un- 
accomplished. The  fierce  ruin  broke  forth  from  Gamala,  on  the  Sea 
of  Gennesareth,  a  district  in  which  the  census  was  not  to  be  taken; 
and  the  destroying  angel  who  passed  through  the  land  was  Judas  the 
Galiltcan. 

•  Judas  is  one  of  those  ideal  forms  which  have  an  abiding  influence 
on  the  imagination :  an  enthusiast,  raised  above  all  calculations  of 
prudence  or  possibility,  but  .so  grand  in  his  enthusiasm,  that,  while 
he  failed  utterly  in  his  immediate  aim,  he  more  than  triumphed  in  the 
imperishable  influence  of  his  example.  He  was  the  first  of  the  stern 
Irreconcilables  of  his  nation,  and  from  his  initiative  sprang  the  fierce 
and  ]iitiless  fanatics  whose  violence  led,  two  generations  later,  to  the 
frightful  excesses  of  the  great  revolt,  and  to  the  ruin  of  the  nation. 
The  cry  which  drew  round  him  the  youth  of  the  country,  had  been, 
in  part,  the  inarticulate  longing  of  countless  noble  souls,  though 
mingled  with  a  spirit  of  proscription  they  would  have  repudiated. 
"  No  Lord  but  Jehovah:  no  tax  but  to  the'  Temple:  no  friend  but  a 
Zealot."  It  was  idolatry  to  pay  homage  to  Casar;  idolatry  to  pay 
dues  to  a  heathen  government;  it  was  defilement  of  what  was  pure, 
to  give  tithes  or  custom  from  it  to  the  Unclean,  and  he  who  demanded 
them  was  the  enemy  of  God,  and  of  Israel,  worthy  of  double  punish- 
ment if  »  Jew.     War  with  Rome,  and  with  their  brethren  willing  to 


200  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

live  at  peace  with  it,  were  alike  pi-oclaimcd.  Fire  and  sword  wasted 
the  land.  The  country  house  of  the  rich  Sadducee,  and  the  ricks  and 
barns  of  the  well-to-do  friend  of  Eome,  everywhere  went  up  in 
flames,  at  the  first  conflict  of  the  rude  but  liereely  brave  patriots  with 
the  'Roman  soldiery.  Like  our  own  Fifth  Monarchy  men,  they  be- 
lieved that  the  kingdom  of  God  could  be  set  up  only  l\y  the  sword. 
In  the  stern  spirit  of  the  Old  Testament,  they  thought  only  of  hewing 
Agag  in  pieces  before  the  Lord,  believing  themselves  God's  instru- 
ments to  rid  the  land  of  His  enemies,  who  were,  in  effect,  in  their 
view,  all  but  themselves  and  their  supporters.  He  was  a  jealous  God, 
who  would  suffer  no  other  lords  in  His  inheritance,  and  His  will  was 
a  war  of  extermination  on  the  heathen  invaders,  like  that  of  Joshua 
against  the  Canaanites. 

From  the  Nazareth  hills,  Jesus,  as  a  growing  boy,  saw,  dailj%  tlie 
smoke  of  burning  villages,  and  in  Joseph's  cottage,  as  in  all  others  in 
the  land,  every  heart  beat  thick,  for  long  weeks,  at  the  hourly  news 
of  some  fre.sh  storj^  of  blood.  But  the  insurrection  was,  erelong, 
suppressed :  Judas  dying  in  the  struggle.  The  terrible  storj',  how- 
ever, was  never  forgotten.  Many  years  after,  Gamaliel  could  "remind 
the  authorities  how  "the  Galiltean  drew  away  nuich  people  after 
him,  but  perished,  and  as  many  as  obeyed  him  were  dispersed."  Even 
the  Romans  learned  a  lesson,  and  never  attempted  another  census; 
the  proconsul,  Cestius  Gallus,  even  so  late  as  the  reign  of  Nero, 
being  content  to  reckon  in  the  Jewish  manner,  by  the  number  of 
Passover  lambs.  To  the  people  at  large,  Judas  and  his  sons  were  a 
new  race  of  Maccabaean  heroes,  for  the  sons — Jacobus,  Simon,  Mena- 
hem,  and  Eleazar,  in  after  years,  carried  out  the  work  of  their  father 
with  a  splendid  devotion.  None  of  the  four  died  in  bed.  They 
either  fell  in  battle  against  Rome,  or  by  their  own  hand,  to  prevent 
their  being  taken  alive.  When  all  Judea  had  been  lost  but  the 
rock  of  Masada,  it  was  a  grandson  of  Judas  who  was  in  command  of 
that  last  citidel  of  his  race,  and  boasted  to  his  comrades  that  as  his 
family  were  the  first  who  rose  against  the  heathen,  so  they  were  the 
last  who  continued  to  fight  against  them,  and  it  was  he.  who,  when 
all  hope  had  perished,  slew,  by  their  own  consent,  the  900  men  who 
were  shut  up  with  him,  and  set  the  fortress  in  flames,  that  Rome 
might  find  nothing  over  which  to  triumph  but  ashes  and  corpses. 
The  grand  self-immolation  of  Judas  became  a  deathless  example,  and 
kept  Rome  uneasy  for  seventy  years,  nor  is  Josephus  wrong  in  say- 
ing that  though  the  insurrection  lasted  hardly  two  months,  it  kindled 
ft  spirit  which  reduced  Palestine  to  a  desert,  destroyed  the  Temple, 
And  scattered  Israel  over  the  earth.  Galilee  and  Judea  never  showed 
their  lofty  idealism  more  strikinglj'  than  in  producing  such  leaders, 
or  in  continuing  to  believe  in  them  after  their  disastrous  end. 

Meanwhile  Quirinius  had  gained  his  point  in  a  measure,  and  the 
poll  and  ground  taxes  were  imposed  on  the  Roman  plan,  by  the  close 
of  the  year.     But  nothing  was  done  to  lighten  the  previous  burdens, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  201 

of  which  the  house  and  market  taxes,  especially,  were  hateful  to  the 
people.  The  fiscal  result,  however,  was  far  below  Roman  expecta- 
tions. Although  Herod  had  been  regarded  as  the  richest  king  of  the 
East,  the  estimate  forwarded  by  Quirinius  to  the  Emperor,  of  the 
value  of  all  the  taxes,  amounted  to  less  than  a  twelfth  part  of  the  sum 
derived  from  Egypt.  The  computation  was  sent  for  each  tax,  that  Au- 
g\istu.-^  might  sanction  it,  and  let  it  be  put  up  for  sale  to  the  publicani. 

The  opposition  to  this  heathen  taxation,  though  thus  outwardly 
suppressed,  was  only  nursed  the  more  closely  in  the  hearts  of  all. 
The  Rabbis  still  taught  that  the  laud  was  defiled  by  dues  paid  to  a 
heathen  emperor,  and  attributed  every  real  or  fancied  natural  calamity 
to  the  displeasure  of  the  Almighty  for  their  being  so.  "Since  the 
purity  of  the  land  was  destroyed,"  said  the}-,  "  even  the  flavour  and 
smell  of  the  fruit  are  gone."  The  Roman  tithe  soon  told  fatally  on 
that  which  had  hitherto  been  paid  to  the  Temple,  and  this  the  Rabbis 
especially  resented.  "  Since  the  tithes  are  no  longer  regularly  paid," 
said  they,  "  the  yield  of  the  fields  has  grown  less."  Hence  the  ques- 
tion constantly  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  not  whether  the  Roman 
tax  should  be  paid,  but  whether  it  was  lawful  at  all  to  pay  it. 

The  hatred  and  contempt  for  those  of  their  countrymen  who, 
imder  siich  circumstances,  took  service  under  the  associations  of 
publicani  farming  the  odious  taxes,  as  collectors,  may  be  imagined. 
The  bitter  relentless  contempt  and  loathing  towards  them  knew  no 
bounds.  As  the  Greeks  spoke  of  "tax-gatherers  and  sycophants," 
the  Jews  had  always  ready  a  similarly  odious  association  of  terms, 
such  as  "tax-gatherers  and  sinners,"  " tax-gatherers  and  heathen," 
"  tax-gatherers  and  prcstitutes,"  "  tax-gatherers,  murderers,  and  high- 
way robbers,"  in  speaking  of  them.  Driven  from  society,  the  local 
publicans  became  more  and  more  the  Pariahs  of  the  Jewish  world. 
The  Pharisee  stepped  aside  with  pious  horror,  to  avoid  breathing  the 
air  poisoned  with  the  breath  of  the  lost  son  of  the  House  of  Israel, 
who  had  sold  himself  to  a  calling  so  infamous.  The  testimony  of  a 
])ublicau  was  not  taken  in  a  Jewish  court.  It  was  forbidden  to 
sit  at  lal)le  with  him,  or  to  eat  his  bread.  The  gains  of  the  class  were 
the  ideal  of  uncleanness,  and  were  especially,  shunned,  every  piece  of 
their  money  serving  to  mark  a  religious  offence.  To  change  coin  for 
tlieni,  or  to  accept  alms  from  them,  defiled  a  whole  household,  and 
demanded  special  purifications.  Only  the  dregs  of  the  people  woidd 
connect  tliemselvcs  with  a  calling  so  hated.  Cast  out  by  the  com- 
muniiy,  they  too  often  justified  the  ba<l  repute  of  their  order,  and 
lived  in  reckless  dissipation  and  profligacy.  To  revenge  themselves 
for  the  hatred  shown  them,  their  only  thought,  not  seldom,  was  to 
make  as  much  as  they  could  from  their  otfice.  The  most  shameless 
imposition  at  the  "  receipts  of  custom,"  and  the  most  hardened  reck- 
lessness in  the  collection  of  excessive  or  fraudulent  charges,  became 
a  daily  occurrence.  They  repaid  the  war  against  themselves  by  a 
war  against  the  community. 


SOS  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Amidst  such  a  state  of  feeling  between  rulers  and  ruled,  Jei3u8 
grew  up  to  manhood  and  spent  His  life.  The  sleepy  East  could  not 
endure  the  systematic  and  restless  ways  of  the  West,  now  forced 
upon  it,  and,  still  less,  the  regular  visit  of  the  tax-gatherer,  esuecially 
under  such  a  vicious  system  as  that  of  Rome.  War,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, became  the  chronic  state  of  things,  if  not  in  the  open  field,  yet 
in  never-ending,  ever-beginning  resistance,  all  over  the  land.  Even 
the  mild  school  of  Hillel  justified  the  use  of  any  means  of  escape 
from  the  robbery  of  the  "  publicans,"  and  the  Rabbis  a-  large  made 
the  subject  a  standing  topic  in  their  schools.  Controversies  sprang 
up  in  connection  with  it.  The  Irreconcilables,  as  I  may  call  the 
Zealots,  could  not  brook  even  the  slightconcessions  to  Rome  of  the 
hitherto  popular  Pharisees.  It  was  made  a  matter  of  reproach  to 
them  that  they  put  the  name  of  the  Emperor  along  with  that  of 
Moses  in  letters  of  divorce,  and  the  dispute  was  ended  only  by  Hil- 
lel's  party  reminding  its  opponents  that  this  was  already  sanctioned 
by  Scripture  itself,  which  allowed  the  name  of  Pharoah  to  stand  be- 
side that  of  Jehovah. 

Before  Quirinius  left  Jerusalem,  he  made  one  concession  to  the 
people,  by  sacrificing  to  their  hatred  the  instrument  of  his  tyranny — 
the  High  Priest,  Joazar.  After  helping  to  get  the  census  carried  out, 
and  thus  losing  all  popular  respect,  the  time-serving  priest  was  strip- 
ped of  his  dignity  by  the  master  who  had  despised  even  while  he 
made  use  of  him,  and  it  was  given  to  Annas,  the  son  of  Seth,  in 
whose  family  it  was  held,  at  intervals,  for  over  fifty  years.  liut 
though  his  house  was  thus  permanently  ennobled,  its  taking  office 
under  the  Romans,  no  less  than  its  belonging  to  the  party  of  the  Sad 
ducees,  made  it,  henceforth,  of  no  weight  in  the  destiny  of  the  na- 
tion. The  Zealots  were  steadily  rising  to  be  a  great  party  in  the 
land.  The  noblest  spirits  flocked  to  their  banner  most  readily,  as  we 
may  judge  when  we  remember  that  one  of  the  Apostles  had  been  a 
Zealot,  and  that  the  young  Saul  also  joined  them.  The  young  men, 
especially,  swelled  their  numbers.  "  Our  youth,"  laments  Josephus, 
"  brought  the  State  to  ruin,  by  their  fanatical  devotion  to  the  fero- 
cious creed  this  party  adopted."  Its  principles  were,  indeed,  destruc- 
tive of  all  government,  as  things  were.  "  He  who  was  under  the 
Law,"  it  was  held,  "was  free  from  all  other  authority."  Its  mem- 
bers were  pledged  to  honour  Jehovah  alone  as  King  of  Israel,  and 
neither  to  shrink  from  death  for  themselves  nor  from  the  murder  of 
their  nearest  kin,  if  it  promised  to  serve  the  cause  of  liberty,  as  they 
understood  it.  The  family  of  the  fallen  Judas  remained  at  the  head 
of  these  fierce  patriots.  Two  of  his  sons  were  afterwards  crucified 
for  raising  an  insurrection,  and  while  his  third  son,  Menahem,  by  the 
taking  of  Masada,  was  the  first  to  begin  the  final  war  against  Florus, 
his  grandson,  Eleazar,  was  the  last  who  fought  against  the  Romans, 
burying  himself,  as  has  been  told,  and  the  wreck  of  the  Zealots, 
beneath  the  rums  of  the  fortress,  rather  than  surrender.     It  is  note- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  203 

worthy,  moreover,  that  from  the  date  of  the  census,  no  part  of  Pal- 
e4;tine  was  less  safe  than  that  which  was  directly  under  Roman 
authority.  If  the  traveller  between  Jericho  aud  Jerusalem  fell 
among  robbers,  what  must  have  been  the  danger  in  the  lonely  and 
desolate  valleys  beyond  Hebron  ? 

The  first  seven  years  after  the  annexation  were,  notwithstanding, 
comparatively  happy  times  for  the  Jews.  Augustus  made  it  his 
maxim  to  spare  rather  than  destroy  the  provinces,  so  far  as  he  could 
safely  do  so;  and  he  furthered  this  policy  by  frequent  change  of  the 
procurators.  As  to  the  burning  religious  questions  raised  by  the  de- 
cay of  heathenism,  aud  the  spread  of  Eastern  religions  in  the  empire, 
he  took,  b}'  advice  of  Maecenas,  a  middle  course.  He  supported  the 
Roman  religion,  but,  at  the  same  time,  protected  the  special  faith  of 
each  country.  Hence,  although  he  personally  despised  foreign  relig- 
ions, and  offered  no  sacrifices  when  in  Jerusalem,  even  while  asking 
with  interest  about  the  Jewish  God,  and  though  he  praised  his  grand- 
son, the  young  Caius  Caesar,  for  passing  through  Jerusalem  like  a 
Roman,  without  making  an  offering,  yet,  like  Ca?Sixr  and  Cicero,  else- 
■where,  he  would  by  no  means  do  any  violence  to  the  Jewish  religion. 
On  the  contrary,  he  j'ielded  to  the  wish  of  Herod  by  taking  the  Jews 
of  the  Dispersion  under  his  protection,  as  Caesar  had  done,  and  sanc- 
tioned the  remittance  of  the  Temple  money  from  all  parts.  Besides 
this,  he  acted  with  the  greatest  consideration  towards  the  Jews  in 
Rome ;  for  since  the  campaigns  of  Pompey  and  Gabinius,  they  had 
been  so  numerous  in  the  capital  that  they  formed  a  great  "quarter" 
on  the  farther  side  of  the  river.  Treating  them  as  clients  of  Caesar, 
he  acted  with  marked  thoughtfulness  in  all  connected  with  their  re- 
ligion, their  morals,  or  their  prosperity.  He  formally  sanctioned  the 
Jewish  Council  in  Alexandria,  and,  after  the  annexation  of  Judea, 
he  ordered  a  permanent  daily  sacrifice  of  an  ox  and  two  lambs  to  be 
offered  at  his  expense,  and,  in  conjunction  with  the  Empress  Livia, 
and  other  members  of  his  house,  sent  gifts  of  precious  jars  and  ves- 
sels for  the  use  of  the  drink-offering. 

This  policy  was  not  without  its  effect.  Augustus  got  the  fame  in 
i-Jonie  of  being  the  patron  of  the  Jews,  and  in  the  provinces,  even 
among  the  Jews  themselves,  of  being  the  magnanimous  protector  of 
their  religion.  His  tolerance,  moreover,  served  an  end  wliich  he  did 
not  contemplate.  It  secured  the  slow  but  certain  conquest  of  the 
West,  first  by  Judaism,  the  pioneer  of  a  new  and  higher  faith,  and 
then  by  Christianity — the  faith  for  which  it  had  prepared  the  way. 

Eut,  in  spite  of  every  desire  on  the  part  of  Augustus  to  humour 
their  peculiarities,  the  Jews  were  still  in  a  state  of  chronic  excite- 
inent.  The  Samaritans  seeing  their  opportunity,  raised  their  heads 
more  boldly.  They  were  no  longer  dependent  on  Jerusalem,  since 
\he  banishment  of  Archelaus.  Their  elders  rejoiced  in  political 
consequence  long  denied  them.  But  the  light  and  giddy  people 
imder  them  could  not  make  a  right  use  of  liberty.     Under  Coponius, 


204  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  first  procurator  after  Archelaus  was  deposed,  it  was  discovered 
tliat  they  had  defiled  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem  on  the  night  before  the 
Passover.  The  Temple  doors,  as  was  the  custom,  had  been  opened 
at  midnight,  before  the  feast,  and  some  Samaritans,  knowing  this, 
and  having  previously  smuggled  themselves  into  Jerusalem,  liad 
crept  up  to  the  Temple  in  the  darkness,  and  strewed  human  bones  in 
the  courts,  so  that  the  high  priest  Hannas  liad  to  turn  away  from  the 
polluted  sanctuary  the  worshippers  who  in  the  morning  thronged  the 
gates.  Nothing  remained  for  the  vast  multitudes  but  to  go  back  em- 
bittered to  their  homes,  leaving  the  Temple  to  be  purified,  but  noth- 
ing is  said  of  any  punishment  of  the  Samaritans.  The  procurator 
seems  only  to  have  told  the  Jews  that  they  should  have  kept  a  better 
watch. 

Little  is  known  of  the  two  procurators — Marcus  Ambivius  and 
Annius  Rufus,  who  followed  Coponius — except  that  Judea,  exhausted 
b)"  its  burdens,  implored  their  diminution,  and  that,  under  the  first, 
Salome,  Herod's  sister,  died,  while  Augustus,  himself,  died  under  the 
second. 

The  new  emperor,  Tiberius,  on  his  accession,  sent  a  fresli  procu- 
rator, Valerius  Gratus,  whom,  with  his  dislike  of  change,  he  retained 
in  oflice  for  eleven  years.  Under  him  things  went  from  bad  to  worse. 
During  his  period  of  office  he  changed  the  high  priests  five  times, 
deposing  Hannas,  and  giving  the  office  alternately  to  one  of  his 
famil}%  and  to  a  rival  house  of  the  small  band  (  f  Sadducean  Temple 
nobility.  Large  sums  no  doubt  filled  his  coffers  at  each  transaction, 
but  .such  a  degradation  of  their  highest  dignitaries  must  have  exas- 
perated the  Jews  to  the  quick.  After  the  crafty  Hannas  came,  as  his 
successor,  one  Ismael,  but  his  reign  was  only  one  year  long.  Hannas' 
son,  Eleazer,  next  won  the  pontifical  mitre  for  a  year,  then  came 
Simon,  but  he,  too,  had  to  make  way  for  a  successor,  Caiaphas,  son- 
in-law  of  Hannas,  afterwards  the  judge  of  Jesus.  Simon  is  famous 
in  Rabbinical  annals  for  a  misfortune  that  befell  him  in  the  night, 
before  the  Day  of  Atonement.  To  while  away  the  long  hours,  dur- 
ing which  he  was  not  permitted  to  sleep,  he  amused  himself  bj^  con- 
versation with  an  Arab  sheikh,  but,  to  his  dismay,  the  heathen,  in  his 
liasty  utterance,  let  a  speck  of  spittle  fall  on  the  priestly  robe,  and 
thus  made  its  wearer  unclean,  so  that  his  brother  had  to  take  his 
place  in  the  rites  of  the  approaching  day.  Changes  so  violent  and 
corrupt  had  at  last  degraded  the  liigh  priesthood  so  much,  in  the  eyes 
of  all,  that  the  deposed  Hannas,  rather  than  his  successors,  was  still 
regarded  as  the  true  high  priest. 

Meanwhile,  the  load  of  the  public  taxes  became  so  unendurable  that 
a  deputation  was  sent  to  Rome  in  the  year  17,  to  entreat  some  allevia- 
tion of  the  misery.  Syria  as  a  whole,  indeed,  seemed  on  the  brink  of 
an  insurrection,  from  the  oppression  of  the  publicans.  Germanicus, 
the  Emperor's  nephew,  one  of  the  noblest  men  of  his  day,  was  sent  to 
the  East  to  quiet  the  troubles;  but,  unfortunately,  with  him  was  sent, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  208 

as  Governor-General  of  Syria,  Cneius  Piso,  his  deadly  enemy,  who 
soon  involved  him  in  personal  disputes  tliat  well-nigh  excited  a  war 
between  them.  Tiberius,  able  and  cautious,  and  not  yet  fallen  to  tao 
hatefulness  of  his  later  years,  saw  no  remedy  for  the  state  of  thingi 
but  iu  prolonging  the  reign  of  the  procurators.  "Every  oflice,"  ha 
was  wont  to  say,  "  induces  greed,  and  if  the  holder  enjoy  it  only  for 
a  short  time,  without  knowing  at  what  moment  he  may  have  to  s:ir- 
render  it,  he  will  naturally  plunder  his  subjects  to  the  utmost,  while 
he  can.  If  on  the  other  hand,  he  hold  it  for  a  lengthened  term,  ho 
will  grow  weary  of  oppression,  and  become  moderate  as  soon  as  hj 
has  extorted  for  himself  what  he  thinks  enough."  "On  one  of  my 
campaigns,"  he  would  add,  by  way  of  illustration,  "I  came  upon  tt 
wounded  soldier,  lying  on  the  road,  with  swarms  of  flies  in  his  bleed- 
ing flesh.  A  comrade,  pitying  him,  was  about  to  drive  them  ofl:, 
thinking  him  too  weak  to  do  it  himself.  But  the  wounded  man 
begged  him  rather  to  let  thsm  alone,  '  for,'  said  he,  '  if  you  drive  the^j 
flies  awaj'  you  will  do  me  harm  instead  of  good.  They  are  already 
full,  and  do  not  bite  me  as  they  did,  but  if  you  frighten  them  o!f, 
hungry  ones  will  come  in  their  stead,  and  suck  the  last  drop  of  blood 
from  me.'  "  The  heartless  cynic  in  the  purple  had  no  pity,  and  was 
far  enough  from  a  thought  of  playing  the  Good  Samaritan,  by  binding 
up  the  wounds  of  any  of  the  Kices  under  him,  far  less  those  of  tlie 
hated  Jews.  In  Rome  itself  he  treated  them  with  the  bitterest  hars'i- 
ness,  and  his  example  reacted  on  those  in  Palestine.  In  the  year  19 
he  drove  the  Jews  out  of  Rome.  ' '  Four  thousand  freedmen  infcctod 
with  this  superstition"  (Judaism),  saj's  Tacitus,  ' '  being  able  to  carry 
arms,  were  shipped  off  to  the  island  of  Sardinia  to  put  down  the  rob- 
ber hordes.  If  they  perished  from  the  climate  it  was  little  loss.  The 
rest  were  required  to  leave  Italy,  if  they  did  not  forswear  their  unholy 
customs  by  a  certain  day."  Suetonius  says  that  Tiberius  even  coi.i- 
pelled  them  to  burn  their  sacred  robes  and  utensils;  bujt  Josephus 
boasts  that  those  drafted  into  the  legions  preferred  dying  as  martyrri, 
to  breaking  the  Law. 

In  Judea,  these  measures  were  attributed  to  the  influence  of  the 
hated  favourite  of  Tiberius,  Sejauus.  It  was,  doubtless,  with  no  littlo 
ftlarm  that  the  news  came  in  the  year  26,  when  the  intluence  of  Sc- 
janus  was  at  its  height,  that  Valerius  Gratus  had  at  length  beea 
recalled,  and  Pontius  Pilate  appointed  iu  his  stead.  The  cliert 
was  worthy  of  the  patron.  Venal,  covetous,  cruel,  even  to  delight- 
ing in  blood,  without  principle  or  remorse,  and  yet  wanting  de- 
cision at  critical  moments,  his  name  soon  became  specially  infamous 
in  Judea.  He  bore  himself  in  the  most  offensive  way  towards  the 
people  of  Jerusalem.  The  garrison  of.  Antonia  had  hitherto  always 
left  the  ornaments  of  their  military  standards  at  the  headquarters  in 
Caesarea,  since  the  Jews  would  not  suffer  the  Holy  City  to  be  profaned 
by  the  presence  of  the  eagles  and  the  busts  of  the  emperors,  of 
which  they  mainly  consisted.      But  Pilate,  apparently  on  the  first 


200  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

clianixe  of  llic  gtirrison,  orflcrcd  the  new  retjimcnts  to  enter  the  city 
Ly  night  with  tlic  oirciisivo  emblems  on  tlieir  standards,  and  Jerusft- 
1cm  awoke  to  soo  idolatrous  symbols  plantinl  within  si<,dit  of  the  Tem- 
ple. Universal  exeilcment  spread  tlin)U!2;h  the  city,  and  the  Kalibis 
and  people  took  mutual  covuisol  how  the  oulrau;e  eould  be  removed. 
The  country  soon  be,u;an  to  jiour  in  its  nnilMtudes.  Tiie  violent  i>arly 
counselled  i'orce,  but  the  more  sensiiile  prevailed  as  yel,  and  a  multi- 
tude of  the  citizens  hurried  olT  to  Pilule  at  (.'icsarea,  to  entreat  him  t» 
take  away  the  cause  of  suc^h  bitter  otfeuce.  But  I'ilate  would  not  lis- 
ten, and  treated  the  reipiest  as  an  affront  to  the  Emi)eror.  Still  tjic 
crowds  continued  their  ai)p(!al.  For  live  days  and  five  nights  they 
beset  the  palace  of  Herod  in  which  Pilate  resided,  raisinji"  continually 
the  same  crj^  that  the  standards  miiilit  be  removed.  Determined  to 
cud  the  matter,  heat  last  sununoned  them  to  meet  him  on  the  seventh 
day  in  the  circus.  Meanwhile,  he  had  tilled  the  simccs  round  the 
arena  with  soldiers,  and  when  tiie  .U'ws  bcijan  to  raise  their  unitinous 
cries  apiin,  on  his  refusinu:  to  yield,  he  ordered  the  troops  to  enter 
with  drawn  swords.  But  lie  had  nuscountcd  their  fanatical  earnestness. 
Earing  their  throats,  and  kneeling  as  if  to  meet  the  sword,  the  nudti- 
tude  cried  (Mit  that  they  would  rather  pail  with  their  life  than  their  law. 
Pilate,  dreading  the  anger  of  the  Emperor  if  he  commanded  a  whole- 
sale massacre,  had  to  yield,  and  the  sjtandards  were  withdrawn  from 
Jerusalem. 

The  power  of  Pilate  over  the  people  was  henceforth  broken.  They 
had  conquered  his  will  by  stronger  wills  of  their  own.  From  this 
time  they  knew  how  to  e.xtort  concessions  from  liim.  Persistent 
clamour,  that  would  take  no  refusal,  was,  henceforward,  their  most 
trusted  reliance,  as  we  see  only  too  strikinglj'  in  the  last  hours  of 
Jesus.  But  Pilate  could  not  learn  by  any  lesson,  however  severe. 
Furious  at  his  defeat,  he  resolved  to  hide  it  by  a  fresh  innovation, 
which  he  fancied  he  could  carrj-  out.  The  Kabbis  had  contended 
that  their  I*uv  did  not  allow  tiie  setting  up  of  images,  liut  there  .seemed 
nothing  to  prevent  votive  tablets  being  set  up  in  .k'rusalem,  like  those 
d(dicaled  to  the  Emperor  by  other  oilicials.  He,  therefore,  hung  up 
golden  shields  of  this  kind  on  the  palace  on  JMount  Zion,  where 
he  lived,  inscribed  simply  with  his  own  name  and  that  of  Tiberius. 
A  tcrril)le  commotion  was  the  result.  At  the  ne.xt  feast,  the  Jews, 
Avilh  the  four  sous  of  Herod,  Piulip,  Antipas,  llerod  JJoCthos,  and 
Fhasael,  at  their  head,  declareil  that  such  symbols,  which  were  eijuiv- 
alent  to  altars,  were  less  endurable  than  the  emblems  on  the  standards. 
"  Cease,"  cried  they,  as  he  fiercely  disnussed  tliem,  "to  stir  up  war 
and  commotion.  The  Eini)eror  is  not  honoured  liy  insults  olTered  to 
the  Law.  it  is  the  will  of  1  ibvrius  that  our  laws  shall  be  respected,  but 
if  not,"fehow  us  the  edict,  or  new  rescript,  which  says  otherwise,  that  wu 
may  send  an  embassy  respecting  it  to  him."  Pilate  trembled  when  he 
heaVd  of  a  complaint  to  'I'iberius,  for  he  was  afraid,  as  Philo  tells  us, 
that  a  deputation  io  r.ome  would  reveal  all  his  crimes:,  "the  venality 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  207 

of  his  sentences,  his  rapacity,  his  having  ruined  wliol^  famiiics,  and 
all  the  shameless  deeds  he  had  done,  the  numerous  executions  ho  had 
ordered,  of  persons  who  had  not  been  condemned  by  any  tribunal, 
and  the  excess  of  cruelties  of  every  kind  committefl  1)y  liim."  He 
had  <ion()  too  far,  however,  to  retreat,  and  had  to  leave  matters  to  the 
decision  of  tlu;  f]mperor,  but  as  Herod  Antipas  had  the  ear  of  Tiberius, 
and  vvillin<rly  sideil  with  the  people,  the  procurator  ^vas  defeated  once 
more.  The  command  of  Tiberius  was  directly  a<?ainst  him,  and  he 
was  ordered  to  take  away  the  shields,  and  hanu^  them  up  in  the  temple 
of  Augustus,  at  Ctesarea.  The  Jews  consoled  themselves  that  the 
Emperor  was  jrravely  offended  at  Pilate's  folly.  Henceforth,  the 
clamour  of  the  multilud(^  nearly  always  succeeded. 

Before  Ion*  he  found  himself  involved  in  another  conflict  with  the 
people,  in  carrying  out  a  work  wliich  was  unfpiestional)Iy  of  the 
highest  value  to  Jerusalem,  and  for  which  he  had  already  obtained  the 
eanction  of  the  Jewish  authorities.  The  conduit  which  su[)phed  the 
city  and  the  Temple  with  water,  had  grown  ruinous  from  age,  and 
Pilate  undertook  to  build  a  grand  new  aqueduct,  twenty-five  miles  in 
length,  which  should  bring  a  full  and  pure  supply  for  the  Temple  and 
the  citizens.  As  the  Temple  wa,s  to  be  benefited,  he  naturally  thought 
that  he  might  defray  the  expense  from  ils  treasury,  forgetting  that 
the  money  was  Corban,  or  consecrated  to  God.  Hardly  had  the  news 
of  his  intention  spread,  than,  at  the  next  feast,  a  frantic  cry  rose  that 
the  Temi)le  was  to  be  plundered,  and  thousands  streamed  to  the 
palace,  to  repeat  the  tactics  of  C;e.sarea.  Kut  the  procurator  had  this 
time  prepared  himself  beforehand.  He  had  scattered  numl)ers  of  his 
8')ldi(;rs,  dressed  as  Jews,  among  the  crowds,  and  no  sooner  had  the 
tumultuous  cries  begun,  than  these  assailed  those  round  them  with 
clubs,  and  speedily  drove  them  off  in  wild  terror,  leaving  many  of 
their  numbc'r,  severely  wovuided,  behind.  Perhaps  it  was  about  tliis 
time,  wh(!n  the  works  had  been  i)ushed  almost  to  the  Pool  of  yiloam, 
tliat  the  tow(,'r,  there,  fell  and  killed  eighteen  men ;  a  calamity  attrib- 
uted by  the  Kabbis  to  the  wrath  of  God  at  the  secularization  of  the 
Temple  treasures.  Pilate's  aqueduct  suffered  no  more  hindrance  iu 
its  completion. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HEROD  ATnTTIPAS  AND  CHUISt's  OWN  COrTNTRT. 

On  the  death  of  his  father  Herod,  Galilee  fell  to  the  lot  of  Herod 
Antipas,  who  ruled  over  it  during  nearly  all  the  lifctjme  of  our  Lord, 
and  for  six  years  after  His  death.  His  mother  was,  the  Samaritan, 
Malthace,  so  that  he  was  a  full  brother  of  Archelaus,  who  was  about 
a  year  older.  He  had  been  sent  to  Rome,  for  his  education,  with 
Archelaus  and  his  half-brother  Philip,  when  a  boy  of  about  thirteen, 
and  the  three  had  been  entrusted  there  to  the  care  of  a  private  guar- 
dian. The  evil  genius  of  their  house,  their  half-brother  Antipater, 
who  was  much  their  senior,  was  already  living  in  the  imperial  city. 
He  had  always  hated  Archelaus  and  Philip,  as  rivals  in  his  hopes  of 
the  throne,  and  now  took  every  opportunity  to  slander  them  to  their 
father,  so  that,  perhaps  in  consequence  of  this,  they  were  recalled  to 
Judea  in  the  year  B.C.  5.  But  this  only  made  Antipater  the  more 
deadly  in  his  hatred,  and  he  succeeded  in  so  poisoning  their  father's 
mind  against  them,  that  they  almost  dreaded  sharing  the  fate  of  the 
tAvo  sons  of  Mariamne,  who  had  fallen  through  the  same  fatal  influ- 
ence. Antipas,  who  had  escaped  Antipater's  wiles,  seemed  likely  to 
profit  most  by  the  misfortune,  for,  in  his  second  will,  made  after  the 
execution  of  Antipater,  Herod,  unable  to  clear  his  mind  of  the  preju- 
dice against  them,  had  passed  over  both  Archelaus  and  Philip,  and 
named  Antipas,  the  youngest,  as  his  successor.  Kindlier  thoughts, 
however,  returned  before  he  actually  died,  and  a  third  will  was  made, 
in  which  Archelaus  Avas  named  king,  and  Antipas  and  Philip  te- 
trarchs,  their  father's  dominions  being  divided  betAveen  them. 

Antipas  had  received  his  name  in  honour  of  his  paternal  great- 
grandfather, as  Antipater,  his  half-brother,  had  received  that  of  his 
grandfather.  In  Rome,  hj  a  strange  fortune,  he  had  for  a  compan- 
ion and  fellow-scholar,  one  wiiose  after-life  was  very  different  from 
his  OAvn — a  lad  named  Menahem,  who  afterwards  became  a  Christian 
teacher  in  Antioch.  Antipas  staid  at  school,  in  Rome,  after  Arche- 
laus and  Philip  had  been  recalled  to  Judea,  his  quiet,  peace-loving 
disposition  having  protected  him,  in  some  measure,  from  the  slanders 
of  Antipater,  and  from  the  distrust  of  his  father.  He  Avas,  hoAvcA^er, 
by  no  means  wanting  in  ability,  else  so  shrcAvd  a  man  as  Herod  would 
never  have  thought  of  making  him  his  sole  successor;  nor  could  he, 
otherAvise,  have  been  supported,  as  he  was,  before  Augustus,  by 
Salome  and  the  family,  and  by  the  leading  men  of  Herod's  govern- 
ment, in  his  suit  for  the  crown,  in  preference  to  Archelaus.  That 
prince,  hated  by  nearly  every  one,  found  himself  vigorously  opposed 
by  Antipas,  and  gained  his  cause  only  with  mortifying  abasementa. 
Salome  and  Herod's  counsellors  may  have  put  Antipas  forward  to 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  209 

serve  their  own  ends,  but  he  had,  hin>self,  shown  in  tlie  management 
of  his  claim,  that,  if  quiet,  he  was  none  the  less  ambitious  in  a  peace- 
ful way. 

When  he  entered  on  his  government,  in  the  year  B.C.  4,  he  was 
about  seventeen  years  old.  His  provinces  were  wide  apart,  for  Gkili- 
lee  was  in  the  north-west,  and  Perea  in  the  south-east  of  the  country, 
tlie  territory  of  the  free  towns,  known  as  Decapolis,  separating  them 
completely.  They  were  both,  however,  so  rich,  especially  Galilee, 
that  they  ranked  as  second  in  the  paternal  inheritance. 

Under  the  wise  guidance  of  his  father's  counsellors,  Irenseus  and 
Ptolemy,  the  care  of  Antipas  was  first  turned  to  the  repair  of  his 
kingdom,  which  had  Dcen  sadly  injured  by  the  Romans  and  Arabs  in 
the  wars,  and  to  the  necessary  security  of  his  throne.  In  the  south 
of  Galilee  he  rebuilt  and  strongly  fortified  the  town  of  Sepphoris, — 
which  lay  on  an  isolated  hill,  only  two  hours  north  of  Nazareth, — and 
made  it  his  capital,  and  at  once  the  ornament  of  his  kingdom,  and  ifs 
protection  against  Syro-Phenician,  or  even  Roman  attack.  It  had 
been  taken  and  burned  to  the  ground  by  the  son  of  the  proconsnl 
Varus,  who  had  marched  against  it  from  the  neighbouring  garrison 
town,  Ptolemais,  in  the  summer  of  the  year  B.C.  4,  on  occasion  of  the 
insurrection  of  Juda^,  the  son  of  that  Hezekiuh  whom  Herod  had  put 
to  death  when  he  routed  his  band  in  the  caverns  of  the  800  feet  high 
cliffs  of  Arbela,  on  the  Sea  of  Gennesareth.  Varus  had  sold  the  in- 
habitants as  slaves,  but  Antipas  brouglit  others  and  repeopled  it. 
Jesus,  in  His  early  childhood,  must  have  seen  the  town  building,  for 
it  lay,  full  in  view,  at  a  isliort  distance  from  the  hill-top  behind  Naza- 
reth, to  which  He  often  wandered. 

Having  thus  secured  his  northern  frontier,  he  turned  to  the  oppo- 
site, outlying,  extremity,  where  Perea  bordered  the  Nabatean  kingdom 
and  was  exposed  to  the  Arabs,  about  half-way  down  the  eastern  edge 
of  the  Dead  Sea.  Among  the  precipitous  volcanic  cliffs  and  peaks  of 
that  region,  he  strengthened  the  fortress  of  Machaerus  by  high  walls 
and  towers,  adding  a  residence  for  himself  within  its  circuit.  The 
defences,  built  at  tirst  by  Alexander  Jannseus,  but  destroyed  by  the 
Romans  in  the  old  Asmonean  wars,  were  now  made  almost  impreg- 
nable, and  Antipas  could  boast  of  having  secured  his  kingdom  at 
another  of  its  weakest  points.  He  little  thought  that  he  himself  was 
to  earn  his  darkest  stain  by  the  execution  of  a  lonely  prisoner  within 
its  walls.  But  he  did  not  trust  to  strong  walls  alone.  He  dreaded 
the  neighbouring  Arab  prince  Aretas  as  his  most  probable  enemy,  and 
allied  himself  with  him  by  marrying  his  daughter.  To  flatter  th3 
empress-mother,  Livia,  whom  Salome,  at  her  death,  a.d.  about  10— 
13,  had  made  her  heir,  and  his  neighbour,  he  built  a  town  which  he 
called  Livias,  on  the  site  of  the  old  Beth  Harum,  at  the  upper  end  of 
*iie  Dead  Sea.  From  Salome  Livia  had  obtained,  besides,  the  town 
of  Janinia  and  its  district,  in  the  Phi'istine  plain,  and  Phasaelis  and 
Archelais  in  the  valley  of  the  Jordan,  close  to  his  own  borders,  sa 


210  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

that  he  wished  to  be  on  good  terms  with  her.  Besides,  Julia  was  at 
the  time  in  favour  with  the  Jews,  for  having  given  golden  jars  and 
dishes,  and  other  costly  offerings  to  the  Temple. 

In  the  lirst  part  of  liis  reign,  under  Augustus,  from  the  year  a.b.  4 
to  14,  Antipas  maintained  a  prudent  restraint,  for  lie  had  had  no  suc- 
cess in  the  single  attempt  he  ventured  towards  a  more  intimate  rela- 
don  with  the  Emperor.  On  the  banishment  of  Archelaus  he  had 
oought  to  become  his  heir,  and  to  get  his  father's  dominions  as  a 
whole,  as  had  been  intended  in  the  second  will,  and  seemingly  had 
made  himself  chief  accuser  of  his  fallen  brother,  and  of  his  govern- 
ment. But  the  answer  of  Augustus  was  the  annexation  of  Judea  to 
Syria,  leaving  Antipas,  as  his  one  consolation,  the  thought  that  as  he 
was  now  the  only  Herod,  he  might  assume  the  name,  as  he  seems  by 
his  coins  to  have  done,  from  this  date. 

His  relations  with  Tiberius  were  more  flattering.  By  countless 
proofs  of  dependence  and  obedient  fidelity,  shown,  doubtless,  in  part, 
as  later,  in  reports  and  espionage  on  the  proconsuls,  such  as  the  sus- 
picious and  despodc  emperor  loved,  he  succeeded  at  last,  after  a  pro- 
bation of  a  good  many  years,  in  gaining  great  favour  with  him.  To 
show  his  gratitude,  Antipas,  who  had  grown  tired  of  Sepphoris  for 
his  capital,  far  off  among  the  hills  of  Galilee,  on  the  borders  of  his 
tetrarchy,  and  among  a  proud  and  independent  people,  determined  to 
build  a  new  one  on  the  Hea  of  Gennesareth,  near  the  hot  springs  of 
Emmaus.  It  was  the  finest  part  of  his  territory,  alike  for  richness  of 
soil,  and  beauty  of  landscape.  The  city  was,  of  course,  planned  in 
the  Roman  style,  and  as,  under  the  former  emperor,  every  third  town 
was  called  Cix'sarea  or  Sebaste,  the  Greek  equivalent  of  Augustus,  the 
new  metropolis  was  to  be  called  Tiberias.  The  site  chosen  was  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  on  the  lake,  on  a  southerly  bend  of  the  shore, 
washed  on  its  eastern  side  by  the  waves.  Yet  it  was  not,  for  the  time, 
a  fortunate  one,  for  the  reedy  strand  made  it  unhealthy,  and,  still 
worse,  traces  of  an  old  bmlal-place  were  found  as  tlie  streets  were 
being  laid  out — a  discovery  which  at  once  brought  forward  the  Rab- 
bis with  entreaties  that  the  spot  might  be  abandoned,  as  thus  at  once 
unclean  and  unholy.  But  Herod  paid  no  attention  to  the  clamour, 
and,  as  soon  as  some  streets  were  ready,  filled  the  houses  with  what- 
ever strangers  were  willing  to  take  them.  Erelong,  however,  he  had 
to  use  force  to  get  inhabitants,  for  no  strict  Jew  would  settle  of  his 
own  accord  in  a  place  known  to  be  polluted.  He  was  even  driven  to 
give  slaves  and  beggars  building  and  garden  groimd,  and  to  raise 
houses  for  them,  and  grant  them  special  privileges,  before  he  got  hia 
capital  peopled.  But  a  prejudice  clung  to  it,  which,  even  in  after 
^•ears,  made  all  unclean  for  seven  days  after  visiting  it,  and  required 
rites  of  purification  before  the  defilement  could  be  removed.  Tiberias 
is  only  once  mentioned  in  the  Gospels,  and  there  is  no  trace  of  Jesua 
having  ever  entered  it.  But,  in  spite  of  all  opposition,  Herod  trans- 
ferred his  residence  to  it  from  Sepphoris,  and  lavishly  decorated  his 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  211 

palace,  to-  the  grief  of  the  people,  with  heathen  ornaments.  The 
facade,  which  was  adorned  by  sculptures  of  animals,  was  especially 
offensive  to  the  Rabbis.  The  interior  was  furnished  with  almost  im- 
perial splendour,  and  it  was  long  reported  how  the  ceilings  were 
gilded,  and  what  wonderful  candelabra  and  furniture  of  precious 
metal  dazzled  the  eyes.  When  the  palace  and  castle  were  stormed  by 
the  people,  at  the  outbreak  of  the  final  war,  lustres  of  Corinthian 
brass,  splendid  tables,  and  whole  table-services  of  solid  silver,  were 
carried  off  as  plunder.  Close  to  this  castle-palace,  to  the  additional 
horror  of  the  Jews,  he  built  an  amphitheatre,  still  to  be  traced,  spa- 
cious enough  for  the  greatest  assemblies.  The  city  Avas  adorned,  be- 
sides, with  Grecian  colonnades  and  marble  statues,  and,  even  at  this 
day,  ruins  of  fine  buildings  strew  the  beach — granite  columns  and 
blocks  of  costly  marble,  porphyry,  and  syenite,  the  wreck  of  the 
splendid  villas  of  the  great  ones  of  Herod's  day,  when  no  heathen 
luxury  had  been  wanting. 

Still,  with  all  this  Roman  magnificence,  the  Jews  were  not  quite 
forgotten.  A  synagogue  large  enough  for  the  greatest  congregation, 
was  built,  apparently  by  Herod,  in  the  spacious  hall  of  which,  two 
generations  later,  the  wild  revolutionary  gatherings  of  the  Galilseans 
were  held  during  the  great  war  with  Rome.  The  archives  of  the 
province  were  transferred,  with  the  seat  of  government,  to  Tiberias, 
and  a  castle  in  whose  arsenals  arms  were  stored  for  70,000  men,  was 
built  for  the  garrison.  For  the  next  fifty  years,  Tiberias  was  the  un- 
diijputed  capital  of  Galilee,  and,  Csesarea  excepted,  the  finest  city  of 
Palestine.  Its  building  was  the  great  theme  of  local  curiosity  and  in» 
terest  in  the  north,  for  the  five  years  after  Jesus  had  reached  His 
majority,  for  it  was  begun  between  a.d.  16  and  19,  and  was  ready 
for  inhabitants,  at  latest,  by  the  year  22,  and  it  lay  only  fifteen  or 
eighteen  miles  from  Nazareth.  Sepphoris  was  henceforth,  till  Nero's 
days,  only  the  second  town  of  the  province. 

Galilee  has  a  surpassing  interest  as  the  special  scene  of  the  ministry 
of  Jesus,  and  the  district  in  which  He  spent  nearly  all  His  life.  It 
was  through  its  cities  and  villages  that  He  is  recorded  to  have  passed, 
once  and  again,  teaching  and  preaching,  and  it  was  in  Galilee  that  He 
had  most  popular  support.  To  know  "something  of  a  land  whose  air 
He  thus  breathed  so  long,  amongst  whose  people  He  was  wont  to 
mingle,  and  by  whose  best  characteristics  He  must  have  been  affected, 
almost  unconsciously,  is  essential  to  a  vivid  realization  of  His  life. 

The  province  lay  wholly  inland,  with  Phenicia  as  its  western,  and 
partly  its  northern  neighbour,  the  small  state  of  Ulatha  reaching, 
from  where  Phenicia  ended,  to  the  Sea  of  Merom,  on  the  north- 
eask;rn  border.  The  Jordan  marked  its  eastern  limit,  and  Decapolis, 
with  the  territory  of  Samaria,  defined  its  southern  border.  Its  whole 
extent  was  inconsiderable,  for  it  measured  little  more  than  seven-aud- 
twenty  miles  from  east  to  west,  and  five-and-twenty  from  north  to 
Bouth,  it3  whole    area  being  nearly  the  same  as  that  of  Bedford- 


il2  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

shire,  one  of  the  smallest  of  our  English  counties.  Its  boundaries 
varied,  indeed,  at  different  times,  but,  at  the  largest,  it  was  rather 
like  a  moderate  county  than  a  province.  The  Talmud  includes 
Ca^sarca  Philippi,  twelve  and  a  half  miles  north  of  the  Sea  of  JVIerom, 
in  it,  which  would  bring  it  in  a  line  with  the  precipitous  mountain 
bed  of  the  swift  Leontes,  where  that  river  turns  westward,  at  a  right 
angle  to  its  former  course,  and  rushes  straight  to  the  ocean.  In 
Christ's  day,  however,  Coesarea  Philippi  seems  to  have  belonged  to 
the  dominions  of  Philip,  rather  than  those  of  Antipas,  and  this  was 
the  case,  also,  with  the  neighbouring  district  of  Ulatha,  though  both 
form  the  natural  boundary  of  the  Galilseau  region. 

Under  these  steep  northern  slopes  extends  a  marshy  plain,  overgrown 
with  tall  reeds  and  swamp  grass,  and  left  uninhabited,  from  its  pesti- 
lential air.  South  of  this  the  waters  gather  to  form  Lake  JSIerom,  or 
el  Huleh,  overgrown  with  thick  reeds,  through  which  the  Jordan 
slowly  makes  its  way.  The  people  of  Galilee  came  to  this  district 
at  all,  only  to  hunt  the  wild  boar  and  the  buffalo,  which  roamed 
through  the  reed  beds,  in  troops.  It  was  shunned  on  account  of  the 
robbers  and  fugitives,  who  were  wont  to  hide  among  its  inaccessible 
morasses,  and  reed  forests.  Population  recommences  only  when  this 
region  is  passed,  increasing  as  the  point  is  reached  where  "the  caravan 
road  between  Damascus  and  Acre  crosses  the  Jordan,  near  the  spot 
now  called  Jacob's  bridge,  and  stretches  southward  towards  Ti- 
berias. 

The  Sea  of  Tiberias,  on  which  that  city  stood,  was  rightly  called 
the  Eye  of  Galilee.  In  the  days  of  Christ,  even  more  than  now,  all 
the  splendour  of  nature  in  southern  lands  was  poured  on  its  shores. 
Culture,  which  left  no  spot  unproductive,  encircled  the  blue  waters, 
even  yet  so  enchanting  a  contrast  to  the  yellow  chalk  hills  that  mostly 
fringe  them.  The  western  shore  is  still  bright  with  many-coloured 
vegetation,  while,  on  the  east,  the  steep  hiils  that  sink  to  the  water's 
edge  are  bare  and  gloomy  volcanic  rocks.  The  richest  spot  on  the 
lake  is  the  plain  of  Gennesareth,  where,  in  our  Lord's  day,  all  the 
fruits  of  Palestine  abounded.  Even  the  hills  were  then  covered  with 
trees.  Cypresses,  oaks,  almonds,  firs,  figs,  cedars,  citrons,  olives, 
myrtles,  palms,  and  balsams,  are  enumerated  by  a  contemporary  of 
Jesus  as  adorning  the  valleys  or  hills.  The  now  bare  landscape  was 
then  a  splendid  garden.  Oleander  bushes,  with  flowers  of  the  love- 
liest colours,  figs,  vines,  grain-fields,  and  soft  meadows  fringed  the 
banks,  and,  while  fruit-trees  and  olives  covered  the  hills,  the  shores 
were  dotted  with  waving  palms. 

The  lake  is  shaped  almost  like  a  pear,  the  broad  end  towards  the 
north.  Its  greatest  width  is  six  and  three-quarter  miles,  and  its  ex- 
treme length  twelve  and  a  quarter.  In  Christ's  day,  the  western  shore 
was  thickly  dotted  with  towns  and  villages,  which  the  Gospels  will, 
hereafter,  bring  repeatedly  before  us.  The  eastern  side  has  always 
been  less  populous,  but  even  it  had  towns  at  every  opening  of  the  dark. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  213 

basaltic  hills,  the  outworks  of  the  Gaulonitish  range,  which  press 
close  to  the  water's  edge. 

East  of  the  Jordan,  and  ludf-waydown  the  eastern  side  of  the  Lake, 
a  strip  of  upland  plateau,  about  four  miles  in  width,  and  thirteen 
long,  was  included  in  Galilee,  but  it  was  of  little  value.  South-west 
Qf  the  Lake,  between  the  northern  uplands  and  the  range  of  Carmel, 
vStretched  out  the  plain  of  Esdraelon,  the  market  of  Galilee.  Beyond 
other  parts  of  the  province,  this  great  plain  was  crowded  with  life, 
and  covered  with  fruitful  tields,  vineyards,  and  orchards,  in  the  days 
of  our  Lord.  Jewish  writers  are  never  tired  of  praising  Galilee  as  a 
whole.  Its  climate,  they  said,  was  a  well-nigh  perpetual  spring,  its 
soil  the  most  fertile  in  Palestine,  its  fruits  renowned  for  their  sweet- 
ness. For  sixteen  miles  round  Sepphoris,  and,  therefore,  round 
Nazareth,  its  near  neighbour,  the  land,  it  was  boasted,  flowed  with 
milk  and  honey.  The  whole  province,  in  fact,  was,  and  is,  even  still, 
full  of  verdure,  and  rich  in  shade  and  pleasantness,  the  true  country 
of  the  Song  of  Songs,  and  of  the  lays  of  the  well-beloved.  It  was  in 
a  region  where  rich  woods  crowned  the  higher  hills  and  mountains ; 
Avhere  the  uplands,  gentle  slopes,  and  broader  valleys,  were  rich  ia 
pastures,  cultivated  fields,  vineyards,  olive  groves,  and  orchards,  and 
the  palm  groves  of  whose  warmer  parts  were  praised  even  by  foreign- 
ers, that  Jesus  spent  His  life. 

The  main  products  of  this  delightful  province,  in  the  days  of  Christ, 
were  the  fish  of  Gennesareth,  and  the  wheat,  wine,  and  olive  oil, 
which  the  whole  land  yielded  so  richly.  Gischala,  a  town  in  northern 
Galilee,  owed  its  name  to  the  "fat  soil"  of  its  district,  and  the  plain 
of  Esdraelon,  on  part  of  which  Nazareth  looked  down,  was  famous 
for  its  h&avy  crops  of  wheat.  Jesus,  indeed,  lived  in  the  centre  of  a 
part  famous  for  its  grain  and  oil.  Farmers,  and  grape,  and  olive 
growers  formed  the  richer  classes  around  Him,  and  He  was  familiar 
Avith  noisy  market-days,  when  buyers  came  from  all  parts  to  the  towns 
and  villages,  to  trade  for  the  teeming  rural  wealth.  Magdala,  on  the 
Lake  of  Gennesareth,  drove  a  flourishing  trade  in  doves,  for  the  sac- 
ritices;  no  fewer  tlian  three  hundred  shops,  it  is  said,  being  devoted 
to  their  sale.  There  were  indigo  planters  also  in  its  neighbourhood, 
then,  as  still.  Woollen  clothmaking  and  dyeing  throve  in  it.  for  it 
had  eighty  clothmakers.  and  a  part  of  the  town  was  known  as  that  of 
the  dyers.  Arbcla,  not  far  off,  beside  the  hill  caves,  was  no  less 
noted"  for  its  clothmaking.  Flax  was  grown  widely,  and  woven  by 
women  into  the  finest  kinds  of  linen.  Kefr  Hananiah— the  village  of 
Hananiah— in  the  centre  of  Galilee,  was  the  pottery  district  of  tho 
province,  and  was  famous  for  its  earthenware,  and  especially  for  its 
jars  for  olive  oil,  which  were  necessarily  in  great  demand  in  so  rich 
an  oil  country. 

Shut  in  from  the  sea-coast,  as  the  Jewish  territory  had  been  in  all 
affes,  the  Galila;an  looked  down  from  his  hills,  towards  the  sea,  on  the 
home  of  another  and  a  very  different  race.     The  glittering  white  sand 


2U  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

on  the  shore,  and  the  smoking  chimneys  of  the  glass  manufactories 
rising  from  many  points;  the  dingy  buildings  of  Tyre,  a  contrast  to 
the  white  walls  of  his  own  mountain  home,  and  a  sign'of  the  busy  indus- 
tries, the  weaving,  dyeing,  and  much  else  wiiich  there  flourished ;  the 
ceaseless  traffic,  both  by  sea  and  land,  to  and  from  this  great  centre  of 
commerce,  reminded  him  that  the  Hebrew  world  ended  with  his  hills, 
and  that  on  the  sea-coast  plain  beneath  them  that  of  the  Graeco-Phoeni- 
ciau  race  began.  Yet,  there  were  many  cities,  and  market  towns,  and 
villages,  in  his  own  hills  and  valleys — Gischala  on  the  northern  slopes 
of  the  4,000  feet  high  Djebel  Djermak,  and  Rama  on  the  southern; 
Sepphoris  crowning  its  hill  of  900  feet;  the  strong  hill  fortress  of 
Jotapata,  overlooking  the  plain  of  Battauf  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Nazareth  ridge;  with  Cana  of  Galilee  on  its  northern  edge,  and  Rim- 
mon  on  its  southern.  All  these,  or  the  heights  under  which  they 
nestled,  were  every-day  sights  of  Jesus  from  the  round  summif  behind 
His  own  highland  Nazareth,  and  they  were  only  a  few  that  might  be 
named.  Looking  south,  over  the  plain  of  Esdraelon,  on  its  further 
edge  lay  Legio,  the  old  Megiddo,  where  the  good  king  Josiah  fell  in 
battle,  amidst  such  slaughter  and  lamentation,  that  Zechariah,  more 
than  a  hundred  years  later,  could  find  no  better  picture  of  "the  land 
mourning,  every  family  apart,"  than  the  "  mourning  in  the  valley  of 
Megiddon, "  and  that  even  the  Apocalypse  places  the  great  final  con- 
flict, in  Armageddon, — the  Hill  of  Megiddo.  The  windings  of  the 
torrent  Kishou  carried  with  it  the  memories  of  another  great  histori- 
cal battle,  when  the  host  of  Sisera,  thrown  helpless  by  a  sudden  flood, 
perished  before  Barak  and  Deborah.  In  the  cast  of  the  plain  rose,  on 
its  slope,  the  pleasant  Jezreel,  once  Ahab's  capital,  where  Naboth  had 
his  vineyard,  and  the  dogs  licked  the  blood  of  the  haughty  Jezebel. 
Clustered  round  a  spur  of  the  hills  of  Gilboa,  which  rose  1,800  feet 
above  the  sea-level,  half-way  between  Jezreel  and  Tabor,  lay,  on  the 
different  sides,  the  village  of  Sunem,  where  Elisha  lived  with  the 
Shunammite  widow,  and  the  birthplace  of  Abishag,  the  fairest 
maiden  in  the  kingdom  of  David — Nain,  where  the  young  man  was 
one  day  to  rise  up  again,  alive,  from  his  bier — and  Endor — "the 
fountain  of  the  people  round" — where  Saul  saw  the  shade  of  Samuel. 
Close  to  the  hill,  on  its  southern  side,  Inibbling  up  in  a  hollow  of  the 
rock,  was  the  Spring  of  Trembling,  where  Gideon's  test  sent  away  all 
but  the  stout-hearted  three  hundred  who  won  the  great  ' '  day  of 
Midian,"  the  prophetic  prototype  of  the  triumph  of  the  "Prince  of 
Peace."  On  the  south  side  of  the  ravine  down  which  the  spring 
flowed,  rose  the  hills  of  Gilboa,  where  Saul  and  his  three  sons  fell  in 
battle.  Where  the  rocky  gorge,  sinldng  steeply,  opens  a  few  miles 
beyond,  to  the  east,  into  a  pleasant  mountain  valley,  watered  by 
Harod,  now  swollen  to  a  brook,  lay  the  town  of  Bethshean  or  Scy- 
thopolis,  to  the  walls  of  which  the  bodies  of  Saul  and  of  his  three 
sons,  Jonathan  among  them,  were  hung  up  in  triumph  by  the  victori- 
ous Philistines. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  816 

^Tie  view  from  the  Nazareth  hills  swept  over  all  this  landscape, 
tjut  it  embraced  much  more.  Josephus  says  that  there  were  two  hun- 
dred and  forty  towns  and  villages  in  Galilee,  and  fifteen  fortresses. 
Tabor,  Sepphoris,  and  Jotapata,  were  among  tJiem,  in  Christ's  own 
district,  and  Safed  and  C;esarea  Philippi  within  tiie  sweep  of  His 
view.  St.  Mark  speaks  of  towns,  villages,  and  farmhouses  on  the 
Galilcean  hill-sides  Not  a  spot  of  ground  was  left  idle,  and  the  mi- 
nute division  of  the  soil,  from  the  dense  population,  had  caused  the 
plough  often  to  give  way  to  the  spade.  Pasture  land  was  turned  into 
fields,  as  more  profitable  than  cattle  or  even  flocks,  which  were  left 
to  graze  the  mountains  of  Syria,  and  the  barren  hills  of  Judea.  Th' 
rich  dark  soil  of  Esdraelon  bore  magnificent  Indian  corn  and  wheat, 
and  the  hill-slopes  on  its  sides  were  noted  for  their  wine,  and  the  rich 
yield  of  their  olive  gardens  and  vincj'ards.  The  Rabbis,  in  their 
hyperbolical  way,  say  that  one  Avaded  in  oil  in  Galilee.  "It  never 
Buffers  from  want  of  people,"  says  Josephus,  "  for  its  soil  is  rich,  with 
trees  of  all  kinds  on  it,  and  its  surpassing  fertility  yields  a  splendid 
return  to  the  farmer.  The  ground  is  ivorked  with  the  greatest  skill, 
and  not  a  spot  left  idle.  The  ease  with  which  life  is  supported  in  it, 
moreover,  has  overspread  it  with  towns  and  well-peopled  villages, 
many  of  them  strongly  fortified.  The  smallest  has  over  fifteen  thou- 
sand inhabitants.  The  ease  with  which  Josephus  levied  100,000 
Galilaean  troops  seems  to  indicate  a  population  of,  perhaps,  two  mil- 
lions, and  the  general  prosperity  is  shown  in  the  readiness  with  which 
Herod  raised  a  Roman  contribution  of  100  talents  in  Galilee,  as  com- 
pared with  Judea, 

The  pictures  in  the  Gospels  support  this  description.  Ever}^where 
the  scene  is  full  of  life.  Busy  labour  enlivens  the  vineyard,  or 
ploughs  the  field,  or  digs  the  garden.  In  the  towns,  building  is  going 
on  vigorously:  the  extra  millstone  lies  ready  beside  the  mill:  the 
barns  are  filled  and  new  ones  about  to  be  built:  vineyards  stretch 
along  the  terraced  hill-sides,  and  outside  the  town  are  seen  the  white- 
washed stones  of  the  cemeteries.  On  the  roads,  and  beside  the 
hedges,  the  blind  and  cripple  await  the  gifts  of  passers-by:  labourers 
are  being  hired  in  the  market-places,  and  the  farm  servant  wends 
homewards  in  the  evening  with  liis  plough:  the  songs  and  dance  of 
light-hearted  youth  on  the  village  green,  are  heard  from  a  distance: 
the  children  play  and  strive  in  open  places  of  the  towns:  visitor^ 
knock  at  closed  doors  even  late  in  the  night:  and  the  drunken  upper 
servant  storms  at  and  maltreats  the  maids.  From  morning  to  night 
the  hum  of  many-coloured  lusty  life  everywhere  rises:  the  busy 
crowds  have  no  time  to  think  about  higher  things.  One  has  bought 
a  field  and  must  go  to  see  it,  another  has  to  prove  a  new  j-oke  of  oxen, 
and  a  third  has  some  other  business — a  feast,  a  marriage,  or  a  funeral. 
To  use  our  Lord's  words,  they  ate,  they  drank,  they  bought,  they 
Bold,  they  planted,  they  builded,  they  married  wives  and  were  given 
in  marriage,  as  full  of  the  world  in  its  ambitions,  cares,  labours  and 
pleasures,  as  if  the  little  moment  of  their  lives  were  to  last  for  ever. 
L  of  c— >. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

TITR   GALn^iEANS  AND   THE  BORDER  LANDS. 

txATyiT^r.E  got  its  name  as  the  circle  or  region  of  the  heathen  nations, 
«,nd  iitnotr,  to  the  southern  .Jews  of  Isaiah's  days,  it  was  "the  heathen 
country."  It  included  the  districts  assigned  to  Asher,  Naphtali, 
Zebulon,  and  Issachar.  But  these  tribes  never  obtained  entire  pos- 
session of  thoir  territories,  and  contented  themselves  with  settling 
among  the  C'anaanite  population,  whom  they,  in  some  cases,  made 
tributary,— the  Jewish  colonies  remaining  centres  of  Judaism  in 
places  which  retuii>ed  their  old  heathen  names.  Kedesh  in  Naphtali, 
near  Lake  Merom,  the  birthplace  of  Barak,  with  twenty  small  cities 
lying  round  it,  was,  originally,  "the  land  of  Galilee"  in  Joshua's 
t'ime,  and  in  the  days  of  the  kings,  hom  the  population  mainly 
belonging  to  the  neighbouring  Phenicia,  but  the  mixed  character  of 
the  peop'le,  wh!c;i  was  a  necessary  consequence  of  Galilee  being  a 
border-land,  extended  the  ^name,  in  the  end,  to  the  whole  of  the  Prov 
ince.  Even  in  Solomon's  time  the  population  w  as  mixed.  The  hilly 
district,  called  Gabul— "dry,  sandy,  unfniitful"— which  he  gave  to 
Hiram,  king  of  Tyre,  as  a  niggardly  return  for  service  rendered  in  the 
building  of  the  Temple,  contained  twenty  towns,  inhabited  chiefly  by 
Phenicians,  but  was  so  worthless  that  Hiram,  in  coutcmptucus  ridi- 
cule, playing  on  the  name  of  the  district,  called  it,  in  FLenician, 
Chabalon— '^'  good  for  nothing."  The  tcparatiou  from  the  House  of 
David,  and  from  Jerusalem,  under  the  king  of  Israel,  and  the  As- 
syrian captivity  at  a  later  date,  further  affected  the  northern  popula- 
tion. To  the  prophet  Isaiah  they  were  the  people  "that  walked  in 
darkness  and  dwelt  in  the  land  of  the  shadow  of  death,"  alike  from 
their  separation  from  Jerusalem,  their  living  among  the  heathen,  and 
their  national  calamities,  though  he  anticipates  a  bright  future  for 
them  in  the  light  of  the  Messiah.  After  the  exile  two  great  changes 
took  place.  Jewish  colonists  gradually  si)read  over  the  land  once 
more,  and  the  name  Galilee  was  extended  to  the  whole  north  on  this 
side  of  the  Jordan,  so  that  the  territory  of  the  tribe  of  Issachar,  with  the 
plain  of  Esdraelon ;  Zebulon,  with  the  southern  part  of  the  Sea  of 
Gennesareth ;  and  Naphtali,  and  Asher,  were  included  in  it.  The  new 
Jewish  settlers  had  no  longer  any  political  jealousy  of  Jerusalem,  and 
once  more  frequented  the  Temple,  while  the  fact  that  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  heathen  races  made  them,  perhaps,  more  loyal  to  Judaism 
than  they  otherwise  would  have  been;  just  as  the  Protestants  of  Ire- 
land are  more  intensely  Protestant  because  surrounded  by  Romanism. 
Still,  though  faithful,  their  land  was  "defiled"  by  heathen  citizens 
and  neighbours,  and  the  narrow  bigotry  of  Judea  looked  askance  at  it 
from  this  cause.     Besides  Jews,  it  had  not  a  few  Phenicians,  Syrians,,, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  317 

Arabs,  and  Greeks  settled  over  it.  Carmel  had  hecome  almost  a 
Syrian  colony,  and  Kedesh  retained  the  mixed  population  it  had  had 
for  ages,  while  the  eastern  end  of  the  Esdraelon  valley  v.'a:^  barred  to 
the  Jew  by  the  heathen  town  of  Scythopolis, — the  ancient  Bethshean. 
Moreover,  the  great  caravan  road,  from  Damascus  to  Ptolemais, 
which  ran  over  the  hills  from  Capernaum,  through  the  heart  of  Gali- 
lee, brought  many  heathen  into  the  country.  The  great  transport  of 
goods  emploj^ed  such  numbers  of  heathen,  as  earner  drivers,  hostlers, 
labourers,  conductors,  and  the  like,  that  the  towns  facing  the  sea 
were  little  different  from  those  of  Phenicia.  Thus  Zebulon  is  de- 
scribed as  "a  town  with  many  very  tine  houses,  as  good  as  those  of 
Tyre,  or  Sidou,  or  Berytus."  The  places  created  or  beautified  by  the 
Plerods,  in  Roman  style,  could  hardly  have  been  so  if  the  population 
had  been  strict  Jews.  The  attempt  to  build  heathen  cities  like  Tibe- 
rias, or  the  restored  Sepphoris,  would  have  excited  an  insurrection  in 
Judea,  but  the  less  narrow  people  of  Galilee  let  Antipas  please  his 
fancy;  nor  was  there  ever,  apparently,  such  a  state  of  feeling  caused 
by  all  his  Roman  innovations  as  was  roused  by  the  amphitheatre  at 
Jerusalem  alone.  Separated  by  Samaria  from  the  desolate  hills  of 
Judea,  the  home  of  the  priests  and  Rabbis,  the  Galilreans  were  less 
soured  by  the  sectarian  spirit  paramount  there,  and  less  hardened  in 
Jewish  orthodoxy,  while,  in  many  respects,  they  had  caught  the  out- 
side influences  round  them  at  home.  Hence  their  Judaism  was  less 
exclusive  and  narrow  than  that  of,  perhaps,  any  other  section  of  the 
Jewish  world. 

But  though  less  bigoted  than  their  southern  brethren,  tlie  Galiloean 
Jews  were  none  the  less  faithful  to  the  Law.  They  frequented  the 
feasts  at  Jerusalem  in  great  numbers,  and  were  true  to  their  syna- 
gogues, and  to  the  hopes  of  Israel.  Pharisees,  and  "doctors  of  the 
Law"  were  settled  in  every  town,  and  their  presence  implies  an 
equally  wide  existence  of  synagogues.  In  the  south,  tradition  was 
held  in  supreme  honour,  but  in  Galilee  the  people  kept  by  th3  lav,^ 
In  Jerusalem  the  Rabbis  introduced  refmemcnts  and  ch.angcs,  but 
the  Galilseans  would  not  tolerate  novelties.  Our  Lord'o  wide  hnow!- 
edge  of  Scripture,  His  reverence  for  tlie  lav.',  and  His  scorn  cf  tra- 
dition, were  traits  of  His  countrymen  as  a  race. 

Nor  did  their  forbearance,  in  the  presence  of  heathe-i  fashions  and 
ways  of  thought,  affect  their  morals  for  evil,  any  more  than  their  re- 
ligion. In  many  respects  these  were  stricter  than  those  oi  JuJca: 
much,  for  example,  Avas  forbidden  in  Galilee,  in  the  intercourse  ex 
the  sexes,  which  was  allowed  at  Jerusalem.  Their  rcli-rion  v.-as  frorr, 
but  it  was  also  deeper;  they  had  less  of  the  form,  but  more  of  tlio 
life. 

"  Cowardice,"  says  Josephus,  "was  never  the  fault  of  the  Galilceaas. 
They  are  inured  to  war  from  their  infancy,  nor  has  the  coimtry  ever 
been  wanting  in  great  numbers  of  brave  men."  The  mountain  air  they 
breathed  made  them  patriots,  but  their  patriotism  was  guided  by  zeal 


218  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

for  tht'ir  faith.  While  warmly  loyal  to  Herod,  in  gratitude  for  hi3 
subduing  the  lawless  bands  who  had  wasted  their  country,  after  the 
civil  wars, — and  quiet  and  well-disposed  to  Antipas,  during  the  forty- 
three  years  of  his  reign,  they  were  none  the  less  fixed  in  their  abhor- 
rence of  Rome,  the  heathen  tyrant  of  their  race.  In  revolt  after  re- 
volt they  were  tlie  first  to  breast  the  Roman  armies,  and  they  were 
the  last  to  defend  the  ruins  of  Jerusalem,  stone  by  stone,  like  worthy 
sons  of  those  ancestors  who  "jeopardised  their  lives  unto  the  death  in 
the  high  places  of  the  field."  Tiiere  were  families  like  that  of  the 
Zealot,  Hezekiah,  and  Judas,  the  Galilean,  in  whom  the  hatred  of 
Rome  was  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  and  which, 
in  each  generation,  furnished  martyrs  to  the  national  cause.  A  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  of  the  youth  of  Galilee  fell  in  the  last  struggle 
with  Rome,  and  few  narratives  are  more  stirring  than  the  defence  of 
the  Galiltean  fortresses,  one  after  another,  in  the  face  of  all  odds. 
Even  Titus  appealed  to  the  magnificent  heroism  of  these  defenders  of 
their  freedom  and  their  country',  to  rouse  the  ardour  of  his  own  army. 
Nor  was  their  devotion  to  their  leaders  less  admirable.  Josephus 
boasts  of  the  heartiness  and  trust  the  Galilseans  reposed  in  him. 
Though  their  towns  were  destroyed  in  the  war,  and  their  wives  and 
children  carried  off,  they  were  more  concerned  for  the  safety  of  their 
general  than  for  (heir  OAvn  troubles. 

The  Jew  of  the  south,  wrapped  in  self-importance,  as  living  in  or 
near  the  holy  city,  amidst  the  schools  of  the. Rabbis,  and  under  the 
shadow  of  the  Temple,  and  full  of  religious  pride  in  his  assumed  supe- 
rior knowledge  of  the  Law,  and  greater  purity  as  a  member  of  a  com- 
munity nearly  wholly  Jewish,  looked  down  on  his  Galilaean  bretlrren. 
The  very  ground  he  trod  was  more  holy  than  the  soil  of  Galilee,  and 
the  repugnance  of  the  North  to  adopt  the  prescriptions  of  the  Rabbis 
was,  itself,  a  ground  of  estrangement  and  self -exaltation.  He  could 
not  believe  that  the  Messiah  could  come  from  a  part  so  inferior,  for 
"  the  Law  was  to  go  forth  from  Ziou,  and  the  word  of  the  Lord  from 
Jerusalem."  Jesus  found  willing  hearers  and  many  disciples  in  the 
cities  and  towns  of  Galilee,  but  He  made  little  impression  on  Judea. 

Yet,  Galilee,  from  the  earliest  times,  had  vindicated  its  claims  to 
honour  for  the  intellectual  vigour  of  its  people.  Not  only  physically 
end  morally,  but  even  in  mental  freshness  and  force,  it  was  before 
the  narrow  and  morbid  south,  which  had  given  itself  up  to  the  child- 
ish trilling  of  Rabbinism.  The  earliest  poetry  of  Israel  ro.se  among 
the  Galikean  hills,  when  Barak  of  Naphtali  had  triumphed  over  the 
Canaan ites.  The  Song  of  Songs  was  composed  in  Galilee  by  a  poet 
of  nature,  whose  Jieart  and  eyes  drank  in  the  inspiration  of  the  bright 
sky  and  the  opening  flowers,  and  who  could  tell  how  the  fig-tree 
put  forth  its  leaves,  and  the  vine  sprouted,  and  the  pomegranate 
opened  its  blossoms,  llosea,  the  prophet,  belonged  to  Issachar; 
Jonah  to  Zebulon,  Nahum  came  from  Elkosh  in  Galilee,  and  in  the 
Gospels  a  uoble  band  of  Galilaeans  group  themselves  round  the  central 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  219 

figure,  Peter,  the  brave  and  tender-hearted — James  and  John — An- 
drew and  Philip — and  Nafhanacl,  of  Cana,  not  to  speak  of  otJicrs,  or 
of  the  women  of  Gahlce,  who  honoured  themselves  by  ministering  to 
Christ  of  their  substanee.  It  was  from  Galilee,  moreover,  that  the 
family  of  the  great  Apostle  of  the  heathen  emigrated  to  Tarsus,  in 
Cilicia,  for  they  belonged  to  Gischala,  a  Galilean  town,  though  their 
Btock  originally  was  of  the  tribe  of  Benjamin. 

The  Talmud  sketehes,  in  a  few  words,  the  contrast  between  the 
two  provinces — "  The  Galila^an  loves  honour,  and  the  Jew  money." 
The  Kabbis  admit  that  the  Galila?aus,  in  their  comparative  poverty, 
■were  temperate,  pure,  and  religious.  Their  fidelity  to  their  faith  was 
Eho^vn  by  their  fond  and  constant  visits  to  the  Temple,  in  .<*pite  of 
the  hostile  Samaritan  territory  between,  and  it  was  through  their  zeal 
that  the  Passover  was  celebrated  for  eight  days  instead  of  seven. 
"When  Christ  appeared,  they  threw  the  same  ardour  and  tidclity  into 
His  service.  In  tlieir  midst  the  Saviour,  persecuted  elsewhere,  took 
constant  refuge.  They  threw  open  their  laud  to  Him,  as  a  safe  shelter 
from  the  rage  of  the  Jews,  almost  to  the  last.  He  went  forth  from 
among  them,  and  gathered  the  lirst-fruits  of  His  kingdom  from  them, 
and  it  was  to  a  band  of  Galilteans  that  He  delivered  the  commission  to 
spread  the  Gc^pel,  after  His  death,  through  the  world. 

The  district  of  Perea,  on  the  east  of  the  Jordan,  was  included,  with 
Galilee,  in  the  section  ruled  over  by  Herod  Antipas,  and  was  the 
scene,  in  part,  of  the  ministry,  first  of  John  tlv3  Baptist,  and  then  of 
Jesus.  It  was  larger  than  Galilee,  extending,  north  and  south,  from 
the  city  of  Pella,  to  the  fortress  of  'Machaerus — that  is,  from  opposite 
Scythopolis,  half-way  down  the  Dead  Sea,  and,  east  and  west,  from 
the  Jordan  to  Pliiladelphia,  the  ancient  Rabbath  Ammon.  It  was, 
thus,  about  seventy-five  miles  in  length,  by,  perhaps,  thirty  in  breadth, 
though  the  boundaries  seem  to  have  varied  at  different  times.  It  was 
much  less  fruitful  than  Galilee.  "  The  greater  part  of  it,"  says  Jose- 
phus,  "is  a  desert,  rough,  and  much  less  suitable  for  the  finer  kinds 
of  fruits  than  Galilee.  In  other  parts,  however,  it  has  a  moist  soil, 
and  produces  all  kinds  of  fruits,  and  its  plains  are  planted  with  trees 
of  all  sorts,  though  the  olive,  the  vine,  and  the  palm-tree  are  cultiva- 
ted most.  It  is  well  watered  in  these  parts  Avith  torrents,  which 
flow  from  the  mountains,  and  are  never  drj',  even  in  summer."  To- 
wards the  deserts,  which  hemmed  it  in  along  its  eastern  edge,  lay  the 
hill  fortress  and  town  Gerasa,  1,800  feet  above  the  sea-level.  It  was 
on  the  caravan  road  through  the  mountains,  from  Bozra,  a  place  of 
considerable  trade;  while  its  magnificent  ruins  still  show  that,  in 
Christ's  day,  it  Avas  the  finest  city  of  the  Decapolis.  Two  hundred 
and  thirty  pillars,  still  standing,  and  the  wreck  of  its  public  buildings, 
— baths,  theatres,  temples,  circus,  and  forum,  and  of  a  triumphal 
arch,  make  it  easy  to  recall  its  former  splendour.  The  line  of  the 
outer  walls  can  he  easily  traced.  From  the  triimiphal  arch,  outside 
the  city,  a  long  street  passes  through  the  city  gate  to  the  forum,  stiU 


330  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

skirted  by  fifly-seven  Ionic  columns.  Colonnades  adorned  mile  after 
mile  of  the  streets,  AvliicU  crossed,  at  right  angles,  like  those  of  an 
American  town. 

It  must  have  been  a  gay,  as  well  as  a  busy  and  splendid,  scene, 
when  Jesus  passed  through  the  country  on  His  Perean  journeys. 

But  the  tide  of  civilized  life  has  ebbed,  and  left  Gerasa  without  an 
inhabitant  for  many  centuries. 

About  twenty-five  miles  south  of  Gerasa,  and,  like  it,  between 
twenty  and  thirty  miles  east  of  the  Jordan,  lay  Philadelphia.  It  was 
the  old  capital  of  Amnion,  and  in  Christ's  day,  the  southern  frontier 
DOSt  against  the  Arabs.  Though  two  thousand  five  iiuudred  feet 
above  the  sea,  it  sheltered  itself  in  two  narrow  valleys,  each  bright- 
ened by  flowing  streams;  the  upland  "  city  of  the  waters,"  with  hills 
rising  on  all  sides  round  it.  The  main  stream,  faced  with  a  long 
stone  quay;  terraces  rising  above  it,  lined  with  rows  of  pillars;  the 
citadel,  seen  far  and  near,  on  a  height  between  the  two  valleys,  give 
us  a  glimpse  of  it.  The  old  city  which  Joab  besieged,  and  where 
UrialiTfell,  had  given  place  to  a  Roman  one.  Fine  temples,  theatres, 
and  public  and  private  buildings,  long  ruined,  were  then  alive  with 
motley  throngs,  but  the  whole  scene  has  been  utterly  deserted,  now, 
for  ages,  and  rank  vegetation  rises  in  its  long  silent  streets,  and  in  the 
courts  of  its  temples  and  mansions. 

He-sbon,  about  tifteeu  miles  nearly  south  of  Ammon,  on  the  Roman 
road  which  ran  from  Damascus,  through  Bozra  and  Ammon, — 
branching  from  Hesbon,  west,  to  Jericho,  and  south,  to  Edom,  was 
the  third  and  last  frontier  town  of  Perea.  It  lay  among  the  Pisgah 
mountaias,  three  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  amidst 
brown  hills,  fretted  with  bright  green  lines  along  the  course  of 
numerous  streamlets,  oozing  from  the  limestone  rocks.  Its  ruins  lie 
in  great  confusion,  and  serve  only  to  tell  of  wealth  and  prosperity 
long  since  passed  awaJ^  In  the  valley  below^  a  great  volume  of 
water  gushing  from  the  rock,  once  filled  the  famous  pools  of  Hesbon, 
— to  the  writer  of  the  Song  of  Songs,  like  the  laughing  eyes  of  his 
beloved.  From  Hesbon,  the  eye  ranges  over  a  wide  table-land  of 
undulating  downs,  bright  with  flowers,  or  rough  with  prickly  shrubs, 
seamed  with  gorges  sinking  abruptly  towards  the  Jordan,  and  noisy 
with  foaming  streams  which  leap  from  ledge  (o  ledge  in  their  swift 
descent,  between  banks  hidden  by  rank  vegetation. 

These  three  towns  lie  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  lofty  plateau,  east  of 
the  Jordan,  where  the  long  wall  of  the  limestone  hills  of  Gilead  and 
Ammon  begins  to  sink  towards  the  desert.  On  the  western  edge  of 
the  plateau  itself,  nearer  the  Jordan,  and  at  the  north  of  the  district, 
lay  Pella,  on  a  low  flat  hill,  only  250  feet  above  tlie  sea-level,  rich  in 
living  waters,  and  embosomed  in  other  higher  hills.  Built  as  a  mili- 
tary post,  by  veterans  of  Alexander's  army,  it  bore  the  name  of  their 
own  Macedonian  capital.  It  was  afterwards  famous  as  the  retreat  of 
the  Christians  before  the  fall  of  Jerusalem;  among  others,  of  th« 


TfiE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  231' 

relations  of  Christ,  the  last  of  whom  died  as  fifteenth  bishop  of  the 
local  church.  The  storm  of  the  great  war,  which  wasted  Perea  on 
every  side,  passed  harmlessly  by  Pella,  leaving  it  and  the  infant 
Church  untouched.  With  what  fond  regards  must  Jesus  have  often 
looked  from  across  the  Jordan,  on  the  spot  which  one  day  was  to 
shelter  His  servants. 

North  of  Pella,  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the  sea-level,  on  the 
edge  of  the  deep  cleft  through  wliich  the  Hieromax  flows  to  the  Sea 
of  Tiberias,  stood  Gadara,  a  place  famous  in  Christ's  day  for  its  hot 
sulphm-ous  baths.  It  had  been  rebuilt  by  Pompey,  after  having  lain 
for  a  time  in  ruins,  and  gloried  in  its  streets  paved  with  basalt,  its 
colonnades  of  Corinthian  pillars,  and  its  massive  buildings  in  Roman 
style,  amidst  which  Jesus  may  have  walked, — for  it  was  in  the  neigh- 
bourliood  of  this  town  that  He  cured  the  two  men  possessed  with 
devils.  Numerous  tombs  hewn  in  the  hills  around,  still  illustrate  a 
striking  feature  of  the  Gospel,  narratives. 

Gadara  and  Pella  are  both  on  the  M'estern  side  of  the  long  range  of 
the  mountains  of  Gilead — the  old  territory  of  Reuben  and  Gad — 
which  stretch  along  the  eastern  side  of  the  Jordan  valley,  till  they 
merge  in  the  Pisgah  range  at  the  north  of  the  Dead  Sea.  Rocky  glens 
and  valleys,  whose  lower  slopes  are  often  teiTaced  for  vines;  rolling 
highlands,  for  the  most  part  clothed  with  forests  of  ilex,  oak,  and 
terebinth;  open  plains  and  meadows;  rushing  streams,  fringed  with 
rich  vegetation ;  still  justify  the  choice  of  the  two  tribes.  The  liuic- 
stone  hills  are  identical  with  those  of  western  Palestine,  but  the 
abundance  of  water  makes  the  whole  region  much  richer.  Jesus 
must  often  have  wandered  amidst  its  wheat  fields,  olive  grounda, 
vineyards,  and  fig  and  pomegranate  orchards,  and  under  its  leafy 
forests, — for  He  once  and  again  visited  these  districts.  The  road 
stretches  north  from  the  ford  of  the  Jordan,  near  Jericho,  up  the 
green  Wady  Scha'ib  to  Ramoth  Gilead,  2,700  feet  above  the  sea,  past 
Djebel  Oscha,  the  hill  of  the  prophet  Hosea,  800  feet  higher,  to  Wady 
Zerka,  the  ancient  river  Jabbok — thence  to  the  heights  of  Kala'at  er 
Robad,  where  Saladin  in  after  days  built  a  castle.  Resting  here, 
Christ's  eye  would  range  over  Palestine  far  and  near,  from  ihe  north 
end  of  the  Dead  Sea,  along  the  whole  Jordan  valley,  the  river  gleam- 
ing occasionally  in  its  windings.  Part  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee  would 
be  before  Him  to  the  north,  and,  to  the  west,  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  Avith. 
Mount  Tabor,  and  the  ridge  of  Carmel  stretching  into  t!ie  far  dis- 
tance, and  the  wide  plain  of  Esdraelon.  Farther  north,  He  would 
see  the  hills  of  Safed,  bej^ond  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  and  far  away,  in  the 
blue  haze,  the  snow-sprinkled  peaks  of  Ilermon.  From  this  point 
His  road  would  lie  through  Pella,  across  the  Jordan,  on  the  farther 
side  of  which  the  steep  gorge  of  the  Wady  Farrah  led  up  to  the  plain 
of  Esdraelon  and  His  own  district. 

With  the  mountains  of  Pisgah,  on  the  east  of  the  Dead  Sea,  a  wild 
inaccessible  region  begins,  counting  among  its  peaks  Beth  Peor,  frona. 


223  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

which.  Balaam  once  blessed  Israel,  as  it  lay  encamped  below  in  the 
open  meadows  opposite  Jericho,  where  Antipas,  in  Christ's  day, 
built  the  town  of  Livias,  in  honour  of  the  Empress-mother.  Mount 
Nebo,  where  Moses  was  buried  in  an  unknown  grave,  and  the  summit 
from  which  he  surveyed  the  land  he  was  not  to  enter,  are  in  this 
range,  and  it  was  in  a  cave  in  their  secluded  valleys  that  Jewish  tradi- 
tion believed  Jeremiah  to  have  hidden  the  ark,  and  the  sacred  vessels 
of  the  Temple,  till  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  in  a  secrecy  known 
only  to  God  and  the  angels. 

The  Jewish  population  in  Perea  was  only  small,  the  heathen  element 
greatly  prevailing.  In  the  northern  parts,  the  Syrian  races  were  in 
the  majority ;  in  the  southern,  the  people  were  largely  Arab. 

The  cities  were  in  most  cases  independent,  with  a  district  belong- 
ing to  each  of  them,  and  thus,  though  in  the  territories  of  Antipas, 
were  not  part  of  his  dominions.  Under  the  name  of  the  Decapolis, — 
"the  ten  cities," — Philadelphia,  Gadara,  Hippos,  Damascus,  Rap- 
hana,  Dio,  Pclla,  Gerasa,  and  Kanatha,  were  confederated,  under 
direct  lioman  government,  with  Scythopolis,  on  the  west  side  of  the 
Jordan,  in  a  league  of  peace  and  war  against  native  robber  bands 
and  the  Bedouin  hordes ;  and  this  made  them  virtually  a  distinct 
state.  Antipas,  apparently,  had  only  so  much  of  the  district  as  did 
not  belong  to  these  cities. 

Above  Perea,  in  Christ's  day,  the  Tetrarchy  of  Philip  reached  to 
the  slopes  of  Ilcrmon  on  the  north,  and  away  to  the  desert  on  the 
cast.  It  included  the  provinces  of  Gaulonitis,  Iturea,  Trachonitis, 
Auranitis,  and  Batanea. 

Gaulonitis — still  known  as  Golan,  reached  from  Ca^sarea  Philippi,  or 
Pasias,  on  the  slopes  of  Mount  Ilcrmon,  to  the  Ilieromax,  at  the  south 
of  tlic  Sea  of  Galilee,  stretching  back  twenty  to  thirty  miles  in  barren 
uplands  cf  volcanic  origin,  to  the  green  pastures  of  Batanea  or  Bashan, 
the  oasis  of  tlie  region,  v/ilh  the  district  of  Itm-ea  on  its  north — the 
lava  plateau  of  Trachonitis  on  its  cast,  and  the  equally  waste  tract  of 
Auranilis,  or  the  llauran,  on  the  south.  Gaulonitis,  which  we  know 
Jesus  to  have  visited,  looked  over  towards  Galilee  from  a  range  of 
hills  running  parallel  with  the  Jordan,  north  and  south ;  a  second  and 
third  ridge  lising  behind,  in  their  highest  peaks,  to  the  height  of  4,000 
feet.  Besides  Caesarea  Philippi,  at  its  extreme  north,  the  province 
boasted  the  town  of  Bethsaida,  rebuilt  by  Philip,  and  called  Livias, 
after  the  daughter  of  Augustus.  It  lay  in  a  green  opening  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee.  On  the  hills  overlooking  the  lake, 
towards  its  southern  end,  lay  the  town  of  Gamala,  and  in  the  valley 
at  the  south  extremity  was  Hippos,  one  of  the  cities  of  the  Decapolis. 

Iturea — north  of  Gaulonitis,  on  the  lower  slopes  of  Hermon — was  a 
region  of  inacce»ible  mountain  fastnesses,  and  intricate  defiles,  which, 
favoured  and  helped  to  perpetuate  the  lawlessness  which  the  first 
eettlers  may  have  derived  from  their  Arab  ancestor.  In  the  south  it 
bas  a  rich  eoil,  watered  by  numerous  streams  from  Hermon,  but  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  223 

north  is  a  -vrild  region  of  jagged  rocks,  heaped  up  in  uttermost  con- 
fusion, or  j^awning  in  rents  and  chasms.  The  Itureans,  fonder  of 
plunder  than  industry,  had,  till  Herod  tamed  them,  an  evil  name,  as 
mere  robbers,  issuing  from  their  savage  retreats  to  prey  upon  th< 
caravans  passing  from  Damascus  to  the  Sea.  ' '  The  hills, "  says  Strabo. 
"are  inhabited  by  Itureans  and  Arabs,  who  are  mere  hordes  of  rob 
bers ;  the  plains  by  a  farming  population,  who  are  constantly  plun 
dered  by  the  hill  people,  and  thus  always  need  help  from  outside. 
Gathering  in  the  recesses  of  Lebanon  and  Hermon,  the  mountain  ban- 
ditti organized  raids  as  far  as  Sidon  and  Berytus  on  the  coast,  and  to 
the  gates  of  Damascus  on  the  east.  Famous  as  archers  and  bold 
riders,  they  were  largely  enrolled  in  the  Roman  army,  in  which  their 
skill  became  proverbial;  but  the  legions,  nevertheless,  looked  askance 
at  them  as  the  worst  set  in  the  service.  Their  boundaries  varied, 
like  their  fortune  in  war,  and  hence  are  seldom  described  alike. 

Trachonitis  was  the  name  given  to  the  di.strict  east  and  south  of 
Iturea,  though  the  two  seem,  at  times,  to  be  interchangeable  names 
for  nearly  the  same  region.  Iturea  often  embraces  the  tract  usually 
known  as  Trachonitis,  the  "Argob,"  or  "Stony,"  of  the  Bible,  Tra- 
chonitis being  apparently  a  mere  translation  of  this  older  name.  It 
was  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Og,  conquered  by  the  Israelites  before 
they  entered  Canaan,  and  was  assigned  to  the  half-tribe  of  Manasseh. 
It  is  about  twenty-two  miles  from  north  to  south,  and  foiu"teen  from 
east  to  west,  and  marks  tlic  focus  of  ancient  volcanic  energy  in  the 
district.  It  is  a  vast  ocean  of  basalt,  cracked  and  rent  into  innumer- 
able fissures  in  cooling,  and  offering  in  its  countless  chasms  an  almost 
impenetrable  shelter  to  whole  armies.  "In  its  rough,  and  almost 
inaccessible  rocks,"  says  Strabo,  "are  hidden  spaces  from  which  a 
thousand  men  could  assemble  for  a  foray  against  the  merchants  of 
Damascus.  The  chief  town,  Kanatha,  on  the  caravan  route,  belonged 
to  the  Decapolis,  and  was  protected  from  the  robber  population  around 
by  strong  Roman  fortilications.  As  a  whole,  it  was  a  terribly  wild 
region.  " The  inhabitants  of  the  country,"  says  Josephus,  "live  in 
a  mad  way,  and  pillage  the  district  of  the  Dama-scenes,  their  rulers  at 
times  sharing  the  plunder.  It  is  hard  to  restrain  them,  for  robbery 
has  long  been  their  profession,  and  they  have  no  other  way  of  living, 
for  they  have  neither  any  city  of  their  own,  nor  any  lands,  but  only 
some  holes  or  dens  of  the  earth,  where  they  and  their  cattle  live 
together.  Thej^  contrive,  however,  to  secure  water,  and  store  corn  in 
gi'auaries,  and  are  able  to  make  a  great  resistance  by  sudden  sallies, 
for  the  entrances  of  their  caves  are  so  narrow,  that  only  one  person 
can  enter  at  a  time,  though  they  are  incredibly  large  within.  The 
groiuid  over  their  habitations  is  not  very  high,  but  rather  a  plain, 
while  the  rocks  are  very  difficult  of  entrance  without  a  guide. "  Herod 
did  his  utmost  against  them,  but  his  success  was  only  passing,  till  at 
last  he  settled  several  military  colonies  in  the  district,  and  by  their 
iocessaut  patrols  mouaged  t*  keep  the  rubbers  in  oheck. 


224  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Soiith  of  this  fierce  and  lawless  region  lay  Auranitis,  now  known 
as  the  Hauran,  a  high  plaleau  of  treeless  downs,  of  the  richest  soil, 
stretching  from  Gilead  to  the  Desert,  and  from  the  Ledja  to  tiie  up- 
lands of  Sloab  on  the  south.  Not  a  stone  is  to  be  seen,  and  the  great 
caravans  of  well-fed  camels,  laden  witli  corn  and  barley,  constantly 
met  with  on  the  way  to  Damascus,  show  what  it'must  have  been  in 
the  days  of  Christ.  Even  yet,  however,  no  one  can  travel  through  it 
safely,  unarmed,  and  the  fellahin,  except  close  to  towns,  have  to  plough 
and  sow  with  a  musket  slung  at  their  back.  It  is  the  granary  of 
Damascus,  and  the  ruins  of  numerous  towns,  all  of  basalt,  even  to 
the  doors  of  the  houses,  show  that  the  population  must  have  been 
great. 

Batanea,  the  ancient  Bashan,  was  a  mountainous  district  of  the 
richest  type,  abounding  in  forests  of  evergreen  oaks,  and  extremely 
rich  in  its  soil.  The  hills,  which  in  some-cases  reach  a  height  of 
6,000  feet,  and  the  cattle  which  fed  in  the  rich  meadows,  are  often 
alluded  to  in  the  Old  Testament.  Desolate  now,  it  was  densely  peo- 
pled eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  as  the  ruins  of  towns  and  cities  of 
basalt,  thickly  strewn  over  its  surface,  and  still  almost  as  perfect  as 
when  they  were  built,  strikingly  prove. 

In  the  lifetime  of  Christ,  a  large  Jewish  population  lived  in  all 
these  districts,  in  the  midst  of  much  larger  numbers  of  Syrians,  Arabs, 
Greeks,  and  Phenicians,  under  the  rule  of  Philip,  the  son  of  Herod 
and  of  Cleopatra  of  Jerusalem.  He  was  between  Archelaus  and 
Antipas  in  age,  and  had  been  educated  with  them  in  Rome,  but  kept 
entirely  aloof  from  family  intrigues,  and  was  true-hearted  enough  to 
plead  the  cause  of  Archelaus  before  Augustus.  The  best  of  Herod's 
sons,  he  retained  not  only  the  good-will  of  his  family,  but  Avas  held 
in  high  esteem  by  the  Romans,  and  the  Jews  especially  honoured  him 
as  no  son  of  a  "Samaritan,  but  sprung  from  a  daughter  of  Zion. 
During  a  reign  of  thirty-seven  years,  he  was  no  less  gentle  to  his  sub- 
jects than  peaceful  towards  his  neighbours.  "  He  showed  himself," 
says  Josephus,  "  moderate  and  quiet  in  his  life  and  government.  He 
constantly  lived  in  the  country  subject  to  him,  and  used  to  travel 
through  it,  continually,  to  administer  justice;  his  official  seat — the 
sella  curulis— accompanying  him  everywhere;  always  ready  to  be  set 
down  in  the  market  place,  or  the  road,  to  hear  complaints,  without 
any  one  suffering  from  delay."  His  court  was  formetl  by  only  a  few 
friends,  whom  he  seldom  changed,  and  it  is  recorded  of  him  that  in 
his  care  for  his  people  he  levied  almost  fewer  taxes  than  he  needed. 
Modest  in  his  ambitions,  he  cared  more  for  the  peaceful  triumph  of 
discovering  the  sources  of  the  Jordan  than  for  noisy  fame.  The 
neighbourhood  of  the  romantic  city  he  built  on  the  edge  of  llermon 
was  the  scene  of  the  Transliguratiou ;  but  he  is  not  mentioned  in  the 
Gospels,  though  it  is  a  noble  tribute  to  him  that  Jesus  once  and  again 
took  refuge  in'his  territories,  from  the  craft  of  His  own  ruler,  Antipas, 
and  the  hate  of  the  Galilyean  Pharisees.     He  married  his  niece  Salome, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  225 

daughter  of  Herod-Philip,  his  uncrowned  brother,  and  of  the  too 
well  l<nown  Herodias.  Ilis  reign  continued  through  the  whole  life  of 
our  Lord,  and  he  died  childless,  at  last,  a  year  or  so  after  the  Cruci- 
fixion, in  Bcthsaida,  or  Livias,  on  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  and  was  laid 
in  a  tomb  wliich  he  himself  had  built  as  his  final  resting-place. 

On  the  southern  side  of  the  Plain  of  Esdraelon,  the  country  ris;e3 
again  into  rounded  hills,  which  extend  from  the  great  coast  plain, 
across  the  deep  chasm  of  tlie  Jordan,  till  they  sink  away  in  the 
east,  while  towards  the  south  they  end  only  in  the  wilderness  of  el 
Tih,  or  the  Wanderings.  The  northern  part  of  these  hills,  on  the 
west  of  the  Jordan,  was  the  land  of  the  Samaritans.  Their  country 
began  at  En  Gauniin — the  fountain  of  gardens — at  the  south  end  of 
Esdraelon.  and  ended,  in  the  south,  at  the  mountain  pass  of  Akrab- 
bi — or,  the  "Scorpions,"  north  of  Shiloh.  The  whole  region  is  a 
network  of  countless  valleys  running  in  every  direction,  but  mainly 
east  and  west. 

In  these  valleys  h  ved  the  descendants  of  the  Assyrian  tribes,  whom 
Esarhaddon  had  sent  to  till  the  room  left  by  the  ten  tribes  whom  he 
had  carried  away,  and  the  children  of  such  of  the  ten  tribes  them- 
selves as  escaped  deportation,  or  had  found  their  way  back,  and  of 
Jews  who  had  fled  thither  from  time  to  time,  from  any  cause,  from 
Judea.  The  growth  of  the  new  Jewi.sh  kingdom  on  the  south  had 
encroached  greatly  on  the  Samaritan  tesritory,  but  it  was  still  a  de- 
sirable land,  and  far  more  fruitful  than  Judea  itself. 

The  soft  limestone  or  chalky  hills  of  Samaria,  unlike  those  farther 
south,  are  not  without  many  springs.  Fertile  bottoms  of  black  earth 
are  not  infrequent,  and  rich  fields,  gardens,  and  orchards,  alternate 
in  the  valleys,  while  vineyards  and  trees  of  different  kinds  spread  up 
the  slopes,  and  woods  of  olives  and  walnuts  crown  the  soft  outline 
of  many  of  the  hills.  The  meadows  and  pasture  laud  cf  Samaria  were 
famous  in  Israel. 

Such  was  the  territory  which  lay  between  Christ,  in  Galilee,  and 
the  hills  of  Judea.  Of  the  people,  I  shall  have  occaaioii.  lo  speak  at  a 
future  time. 


CHAPTER  XXn. 

BEFOKE     THE     DAWN. 

No  power  ever  showed  so  great  a  genius  for  assimilating  conquered 
nations  to  itself  as  Rome.  Its  tributary  provinces  habitually  merged 
their  nf^tional  life,  erelong,  in  that  of  their  conqueror.  Her  laws, 
langiiage,  and  religion,  more  or  less  completely  took  root  wherever 
her  eagles  were  permanently  planted,  and  have  left  the  records  of 
their  triumphs  in  the  wide  extent  of  the  so-called  Latin  race,  even  at 
this  day.  But  it  was  very  different  in  Palestine.  There,  Rome  met 
a  stat«  of  things  unknown  elsewhere ;  which  she  neither  cared,  nor 
was  able  to  comprehend.  The  Spaniard  or  Gaul  had  given  no  trouble 
after  he  was  once  subdued,  but  readily  accepted  her  arts,  civiliza- 
tion, and  laws.  It  was  reserved  for  the  moimtaineers  of  Judea  to 
refuse  any  peaceable  relations  to  the  mistress  of  the  world;  to  treat 
her  proudest  sons  with  haughty  contempt,  and  to  regard  their  very 
presence  in  the  country  as  a  defilement. 

The  discipline  of  the  centuries  before  the  Roman  conquest  of  Pal- 
estine by  Pompey,  had  formed  a  nation  every  way  unique.  The 
religious  institutions  of  its  ancestors  had  become  the  object  of  a  pas- 
sionate idolatry,  which  claimed,  and  willingly  received,  the  whole  of 
life  for  its  service.  The  tragedy  of  the  Exile,  the  teaching  of  the 
leaders  of  the  Return,  and  of  their  successors,  and  the  fierce  puri- 
tanism  kindled  by  the  Syrian  persecutions,  and  deepened  by  the  Macca- 
baean  struggle,  had  formed  a  people  whose  existence  was  woven  into 
one  with  their  law;  who  would  endure  any  torture,  or  let  themselves 
be  thrown  to  beasts  in  the  circus,  rather  than  alter  a  word  which  their 
law  forbade — whose  women  would  bear  the  agonies  of  martjTdom 
rather  than  eat  unclean  food,  and  whose  men  would  let  themselves 
be  cut  down,  without  an  attempt  at  resistance,  rather  than  touch  the 
sword  on  a  Sabbath.  Their  whole  life  was  a  succession  of  rites  and 
observances,  as  sacred  in  their  eyes  as  the  details  of  his  caste  to  a 
Brahmin.  Intercourse  with  other  nations  was  possible  only  to  the 
most  limited  extent.  They  shrank  from  all  other  races  as  from 
foulness  or  leprosy.  The  common  Jew  shunned  a  heathen  or  Sa- 
maritan; the  Pharisee  shrank  from  the  common  Jew;  the  Essene 
ascetic  withdrew  from  mankind,  into  the  desert.  The  dread  of  cere- 
monial defilement  made  solitude  the  only  security,  till  the  desire  for 
it  became  morbid,  like  that  of  the  Samaritan  settlers  of  the  islands  of 
the  Red  Sea,  who  implored  any  stranger  to  keep  at  a  distance.  The  very 
country  consecrated  by  somany  purifications  was  sacred,  and  hence 
there  could  be  no  greater  shock  to  the  feelings  of  the  nation,  than  that 
any  who  were  ceremonially  unclean  should  pollute  it  by  their  pres- 
ence.   Even  among  themselves  constant  care  was  required  to  maintain 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  5^7 

or  restore  their  purity,  but  the  presence  of  heathen  among  them,  made 
daily  detilement  almost  inevitable.  What,  then,  must  have  been  the 
horror  of  the  nation,  when  even  the  Holy  of  Holies,  which  the  Hiijh 
Priest  alone  could  enter,  and  that  only  once  a  year,  after  endless 
puritications,  was  polluted  by  Pompey,  and  when,  as  in  the  days  of 
the  Prophet,  that  Name  which  a  Jew  dared  not  even  utter,  was  blas- 
phemed every  day  by  the  heathen  soldiery?  Theory  of  the  Psalmist, 
in  times  long  past,  was  once  more  that  of  every  Jew,  "  O  God,  the 
heathen  are  come  into  Thine  inheritance  :  Thy  Holy  Temple  have 
thev  defiled. " 

Such  a  calamity  could  be  regarded  only  as  a  judgment  from  Jeho- 
vah on  the  nation.  In  words  which  were  constantly  read  in  the  syn- 
aTOgues,  they  sighed  to  hear  that  "The  wrath  of  Jehovah  was  so 
kmdled  against  His  people,  because  they  were  defiled  with  their  own 
works,  that  He  abhorred  His  inheritance,  and  had  given  it  into 
the  hand  of  the  heathen,  and  let  them  that  hated  them  rule  over 
Israel."  The  very  land  seemed  under  a  curse.  It  appeared  as  if  the 
dew  of  blessing  no  lonsjer  fell;  as  if  the  fruits  had  lost  their  fragrance 
and  taste,  and  the  fields  ref  usad  their  harvests.  The  practical  Ilomaa 
could  not  understand  such  an  idealistic  race ;  with  him  law  was  no 
less  supreme  than  it  was  wit!i  the  Jew,  but  his  law  was  that  of  th3 
Empire,  the  Jew's  the  law  of  an  unseea  God;  his  had  for  its  aim 
external  order,  and  material  civilization,  the  Jew's  ignored  material 
progress,  and  was  at  war  with  the  first  conditions  of  political  sub- 
mission. Like  the  Jew,  the  Roman  started  from  the  idea  of  duty, 
but  it  was  the  duty  owed  to  the  State:  the  Jew  repudiated  any  earthly 
authority,  and  owned  allegiance  only  to  a  theocracy.  The  Roman 
cared  only  for  the  present  life;  to  tlis  Jew  the  present  was  indiffer- 
ent. The  one  worshipped  the  Visible ;  the  other  the  Unseen.  To 
the  Jew,  the  Roman  was  unclean  and  accursed ;  to  the  Romans,  the 
Jews  were  ridiculous  for  their  religion,  and  hateful  for  their  pride. 
Each  despised  the  other.  Pompey  had  begun  by  treating  their  most 
sacred  prejudices  with  contempt,  and  his  successors  followed  in  his 
steps.  The  murderer  of  their  royal  house,  and  the  friend  of  the  hated 
Samaritans,  was  made  King  in  Jerusalem,  and  at  a  later  day,  Roman 
Procurators  sucked  the  very  marrow  from  the  land,  oppressed  tha 
people  to  the  uttermost,  and  paid  no  regard  to  then-  tendcrest  sensi- 
bilities. The  government  was  as  ruthless  as  that  of  England  in 
India  would  be  if  it  trampled  under  foot,  in  the  pride  of  strength, 
every  Hindoo  prejudice  it  found  in  its  waj".  Roman  religion  was 
faith  in  the  magic  of  the  Roman  name,  and  the  irresistibleness  of 
the  Roman  arms;  a  worship  only  of  brute  force,  hard,  unfeeling, 
coarse;  which  could  not  understand  anything  transcendental  like  the 
creed  of  the  Jew,  or  the  possibility  of  men  caring  for  an  idea,  faj 
less  of  their  dying  for  it. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  the  Rabbis  saw,  in  such  a  power,  the  fourth 
beast  of  the  Book  of  Daniel — "a  beast  diverse  from  all  the  others^ 


238  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

exceeding  dreadful,  whose  teeth  were  of  iron  and  his  nails  of  brass, 
which  devoured,  brake  in  pieces,  and  stamped  the  remnant  of  God's 
people  witli  its  feet."  "  Thou  madest  the  world  for  our  sakes,"say3 
one  of  the  latest  Jewish  seers,  who  himself  had  seen  the  miseries  of 
these  times;  "As  for  the  other  people" — the  Romans  and  all  man- 
kind besides — "who  also  come  from  Adam,  Thou  hast  said  they  are 
nothing,  but  are  like  spittle,  or  the  droppings  from  a  cask.  And  now, 
O  Lorcl,  behold  these  heathen,  who  have  ever  been  counted  as  noth- 
ing, have  begun  to  be  lords  over  us,  and  to  devour  us.  But  we,  Thy 
people,  whom  Thou  hast  called  Thy  first-born,  Thy  only  begotten, 
and  the  object  of  Thy  fervent  love,  are  given  into  their  hands.  If 
the  world  now  be  made  for  our  sakes,  why  do  we  not  possess  our  in- 
heritance over  the  world?  How  long  shall  this  endure?"  "Hear, 
thou,  I  will  talk  with  thee,"  He  makes  the  Messiah  say  to  the  Roman 
Eagle,  "Art  thou  not  the  last  of  the  four  beasts  which  I  made  to 
reign  in  my  world,  who  hast  overcome  all  the  beasts  that  were  past, 
and  hast  power  over  the  world  with  great  fcarfulness,  and  much 
wicked  oppression?  For  thou  hast  afflicted  the  meek,  thou  hast  hurt 
the  peaceable,  thou  hast  loved  the  Faithless,  and  hated  the  Faithful, 
and  destroyed  tlie  towns  of  those  who  brought  forth  fruit,  and  the 
walls  of  those  who  did  thee  no  harm.  Thy  wrongful  dealings  have 
gone  up  to  the  Highest,  and  thy  pride  to  the  Mighty  One.  Therefore, 
O  eagle,  thou  shalt  perish,  with  thy  fearful  wings,  thy  baleful  winglets, 
thy  ferocious  heads,  thy  tearing  clav»^s,  and  all  th j^  foul  body ;  that 
the  earth  may  be  refreshed,  and  be  delivered  from  thy  violence,  and 
that  she  may  hope  in  the  justice  and  mercy  of  Him  that  made  her." 

Such  concentrated  hatred  and  bitter  contemptuous  scorn  from  a 
people  so  feeble  and,  in  many  ways,  to  a  Roman,  so  ridiculous,  was 
naturally  met  by  equal  dislike,  and.  if  possible,  greater  contempt.  The 
Jews  of  Rome  had  been  originally,  for  the  most  part,  slaves,  and  their 
numbers  were  increased  yearly  by  the  sales  of  the  slave  market.  But 
buyers  had  found  that  Jew  slaves  were  more  trouble  in  a  household, 
about  their  law,  than  they  were  worth,  and  hence  they  were  allowed 
to  buy  their  own  freedom  at  a  very  low  price.  A  vast  number  of 
Jewish  freedmen  had  thus  gradually  accumulated  in  Rome,  to  the 
horror  of  the  Romans  at  large,  by  whom  they  were  reckoned  one  of 
the  greatest  plagues  of  the  city.  The  Acts  of  the  Apostles  show  how 
frequent  must  have  been  the  tumults  tliey  caused.  Squalid,  dirty, 
troublesome,  repulsive,  yet  sneering  at  the  gods  and  temples  of  their 
masters,  and  constantly  aggressive  in. the  hope  of  making  proselytes, 
they  were  the  special  objects,  by  turns,  of  the  ridicule,  loathing,  and 
hatred  of  the  haughty  Romans,  and  this  hatred  was  intensified  by  the 
favoiu-  their  religion  had  found  with  some  of  their  own  wives  and 
daughters.  The  oflicials  who  went  from  Rome  to  Judea  to  rule  the 
nation,  carried  with  them,  already,  a  scorn  and  abhorrence  for  the 
nation,  which  found  its  expression  in  a  ready  belief  of  reports  so 
revolting  and  incredible  as  that  they  worshipped  the  head  of  an  ass, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  229 

as  God,  in  tlieir  Temple.  What  treatment  they  might  expect  from 
Roman  governors  is  shadowed  in  many  utterances  of  different  classes. 
Speaking  of  the  Jews  sent  to  tlie  pestilent  climate  of  Sardinia,  to  put 
down  the  robbers  there,  Tacitus  adds,  "If  tliey  perished  by  the 
climate  it  was  no  loss."  ApoUonius,  of  Tyana,  is  made  to  say  to 
Vespasian,  in  Alexandria—"  Wlieri  one  came  from  the  scene  of  war 
and  told  of  30,000  Jews  whom  you  had  killed  in  one  battle,  and  of 
50,000  in  another,  I  took  the  speaker  aside,  and  asked  him,  '  What 
are  you  talking  about;  have  you  nothing  more  worth  telling  than 
that? '  "  Even  the  calm  and  lofty  Marcus  Aurelius,  at  a  later  day,  is 
credited  with  an  expression  of  the  common  hatred  of  the  Jews,  which, 
in  its  biting  contempt,  surpasses  all  others.  "O  Marcomanni !  O 
Quadi!  O  Sarmatians!"  cried  the  Emperor,  when  he  passed  from 
Egypt  into  Palestine,  and  found  himself  among  the  Jews,  "I  have 
found  a  people,  at  last,  who  are  lower  than  you !" 

The  feelings  of  the  Jews  towards  the  Romans  had  originally  been 
those  of  admiration  and  respect,  for  their  bravery  and  great  deeds. 
Judas  Maccabsus  had  sought  their  alliance,  and,  even  so  late  as  the 
reign  of  Johannes  Hyrcanus,  the  nation  retained  kindly  feelings 
towards  them.  It  was"  the  fault  of  Pompey  that  so  great  and  sudden 
a  revulsion  took  place.  Tiie  treachery  by  which  he  got  possession  of 
the  country  and  the  capital;  the  insolent  contempt  with  which  he 
defiled  the  Holy  of  Holies,  and  the  vanity  which  led  him  to  carry  off 
the  royal  family,  who  had  put  themselves  confidingly  under  his  pro- 
tection, to  grace  his  triumph,  filled  the  race  with  an  abiding  hatred  of 
the  very  name  of  Rome.  A  writer  of  the  times  has  left  us  the  im- 
pressions made  by  such  acts:— "My  ear  heard  the  sound  of  war,  the 
clang  of  the  trumpet  which  called  to  murder  and  ruin !  Tlie  noise  of 
a  great  army,  as  of  a  mighty  rushing  wind,  like  a  gi-eat  pillar  of  fire, 
rolling  hitherward  over  the  plains!  Jehovah  brings  up  hither  a 
mighty  warrior  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  He  has  determined  war 
against  Jerusalem  and  against  His  land!  The  princes  of  the  land 
went  out  to  him  Avith  joy,  and  said,  'Thou  art  welcome,  come 
in  peace.'  They  have  made  smooth  the  rough  ways  before  the 
march  of  the  stranger;  they  opened  the  gates  of  Jerusalem.  They 
crowned  the  walls  with  garlands.  He  entered,  as  a  father  enters  the 
house  of  his  sons,  in  peace.  He  walked  abroad  in  perfect  security. 
Then  he  took  possession  of  the  towers  and  the  walls  of  Jerusalem, 
for  God  had  led  him  in  safety,  through  her  folly.  He  destroyed  her 
princes,  and  every  one  wise  in  counsel,  and  poured  out  the  blood  of 
Jerusalem  like  unclean  water.  He  led  her  sons  and  daughters  into 
captivity.  The  strange  people  have  gone  up  to  the  altar,^  and,  ia 
their  pride,  have  not  taken  off  their  shoes  in  the  holy  places." 

"In  his  haughty  pride,"  cries  the  singer  in  his  second  psalm,  which 
throws  light  on  the  corruption  of  Israel  in  the  half  century  before 
Christ,  and  on  Jewish  thought  at  large,  "the  sinner  has  broken  down 
the  strong  walls  with  the  ram,  and  Thou  hast  not  hindered.   Heathen 


S80  TEE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

aliens  have  gone  up  into  Thy  holy  place ;  they  have  walked  up  and 
down  in  it,  with  their  shoes,  in  contempt.  Because  the  sons  of  Je- 
rusalem have  defiled  the  holy  things  of  the  Lord,  and  have  profaned 
the  gifts  consecrated  to  God,  by  tlieir  transgressions  of  the  Law.  Foi 
this,  He  has  said,  '  Cast  forth  tiiese  tilings  from  me,  I  have  no  pleasur<» 
in  them.'  The  beauty  of  holiness  have  they  made  vile;  it  has  bee& 
profaned  before  God  for  ever ! 

' '  Your  sons  and  your  daughters  are  sold  into  woeful  slavery ;  thef 
are  branded,  as  slaves,  on  their  necks,  in  the  sight  of  the  heathen 
iFor  your  sins  hath  He  done  this!  Therefore  gave  He  them  up  intf 
/the  hands  of  those  that  were  stronger  than  they,  for  He  turned  awaj 
His  face  from  pitying  them, — youth,  and  old  man,  and  child  together 
because  they  all  sinned,  in  not  hearing  His  voice.  The  heaven! 
scowled  on  them,  and  the  earth  loathed  them,  for  no  man  on  it  had 
done  as  they. 

' '  God  has  made  the  sons  of  Jerusalem  a  derision.  Every  one  gave 
himself  up  to  the  sin  of  Sodom.  They  flaunted  their  wickedness 
before  the  sun.  They  committed  their  evil  deeds  before  it.  They 
made  a  show  of  their  guilt.  Even  the  daughters  of  Jerusalem  are 
profane,  according  to  Thy  Judgment,  for  they  have  defiled  them- 
selves shamelessly  with  the  heathen.  For  all  these  thicgs  my  heart 
mourns. 

"I  will  justify  Thee,  O  God,  in  uprightness  of  heart,  for  in  Thy 
judgments,  O  God,  is  seen  Thy  righteousness.  For  Thou  givest  to 
the  wicked  according  to  their  works,  according  to  the  great  evil  of 
their  doings.  Thou  hast  revealed  their  sins,  that  Thy  judgment  may 
be  seen.  Tliou  blottest  out  their  memory  from  the  earth.  The  Lord 
is  a  righteous  judge,  and  regardeth  no  man's  countenance.  He  has 
dragged  down  her  beauty  from  the  throne  of  glory.  For  Jerusalem 
has  been  put  to  shame  by  the  heathen,  when  they  trampled  it  under 
foot.  Put  on  sackcloth  for  robes  of  beautj^  a  wreath  of  twisted 
rushes  instead  of  a  crown.  God  has  taken  away  her  mitre  of  glory, 
which  he  put  on  her  brow.  Her  pride  is  cast  down  in  dishonour  on 
the  earth. 

"And  I  looked,  and  prayed  before  the  face  of  the  Lord,  and  said, 

,  Let  it  suffice  Thee,  O  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  made  heavy  Thy  hand 

]  upon  Jerusalem,  in  the  coming  against  her  of  the  heathen.     Because 

i  they  have  treated  her  with  scorn,  and  have  not  spared  in  their  wrath 

'  and  fury,  and  they  will  "not  bring  this  to  an  end,  unless  Thou,  O  Lord, 

reprovcst  them  in  Thy  wrath.     For  they  have  not  done  it  in  zeal  for 

Thee,  but  from  the  wish  of  their  heart,  to  pour  out  their  rage  against 

us  like  furies.   Delay  not,  O  God,  to  smite  tliem  on  the  head,  that  the 

haughtiness  of  the  dragon  may  sink  down  in  dishonour. 

"  I  had  Avaited  but  a  little  till  God  showed  me  his  haughty  pride 
brought  low,  on  the  shores  of  Egypt,  and  his  body  set  at  nought  by 
the  least,  alike  on  land  and  sea, — rotting  upon  the  waves  in  pitiful 
contempt,  and  having  no  one  to  bury  it.     Because  he  had  set  God  at 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  23t 

nought  and  dishonoured  Him.  He  forgot  that  he  "was  only  a  man: 
he  did  not  think  of  what  might  he  to  come.  He  said,  'I  shall  hfl 
Lord  of  sea  and  land,'  and  he  did  not  remember  that  God  is  great 
and  resistless  in  His  great  might.  He  is  King  of  Heaven,  and  the 
judge  of  kings  and  rulers,  exalting  His  servant,  and  stilling  the  proud 
in  eternal  dishonour  and  ruin  because  they  have  not  acknowledged 
Him." 

Herod's  flattery  of  Rome,  and  his  treachery,  to  what  the  patriots 
thought  the  national  cause,  only  intensified  the  bitterness  of  such 
recollections. 

Amidst  all  the  troubles  of  the  nation,  however,  their  hopes  were 
still  kept  alive  by  a  belief  which,  like  much  else  among  the  Jews,  is 
unique  in  history.  Their  sacred  books  had  from  the  earliest  days 
predicted  the  appearance  of  a  great  deliverer,  who  should  redeem 
Israel  out  of  all  his  troubles.  "  All  the  prophets,"  says  the  Talmud, 
"prophesied  only  of  the  days  of  the  Messiah."  In  later  days  this 
hope  was  intensified  by  a  new  development  of  the  national  literature. 
In  the  second  century  before  Christ,  the  Book  of  Daniel  had  created 
a  profound  sensation  by  its  predictions,  universally  current,  of  the 
destruction  of  the  heathen,  and  the  elevation  of  the  chosen  people  to 
supreme  glory,  under  the  Messiah.  These  were,  at  that  time,  inter- 
preted as  applying  to  the  disastrous  period  of  religious  persecution 
under  Antiochus  Epiphanes,  which  provoked  the  Maccabaean  revolt, 
and  ultimately  led  to  the  temporary  independence  of  the  nation,  with 
its  short,  bright  glimpse  of  prosperity,  as  if  heralding  the  Messianic 
reign.  The  heathen  were  to  "devour  the  whole  earth  for  a  time, 
and  tread  it  down  and  break  it  m  pieces."  But  "the  kingdom  and 
dominion,  and  the  greatness  of  the  rule  under  the  whole  heaven,  shall 
be  given  to  the  people  of  the  saints  of  the  Most  High,  Avhose  kingdom 
is  an  everlasting  kingdom,  and  all  dominions  shall  serve  and  obey 
Him."  In  such  words,  Israel  read  its  future  political  glory,  as  the 
seat  of  a  universal  theocracy,  which  was  to  replace  the  kings  of  the 
heathen,  and  flourish  in  perpetual  supremacy  over  all  mankind.  The 
head  of  this  world-wide  empire  they  saw  in  "  the  Son  of  Man,"  who 
was  to  "come  in  the  clouds  of  heaven;"  dominion  and  glory,  and  a 
kingdom,  that  all  people,  nations,  and  languages  should  serve  Him  for 
ever,  being  given  Him  by  the  Ancient  of  Days. 

With  the  paling  of  the  Maccabaean  glory,  after  its  short  brightness, 
and  the  decay  of  religious  enthusiasm  under  the  corrupting  influence 
of  its  later  kings, — a  reaction  not  unlike  the  license  of  the  Restora- 
tion as  contrasted  with  the  severe  Puritanism  of  the  Commonwealth, 
— a  copious  literature  sprang  up,  based  on  the  model,  which,  in  the 
Book  of  Daniel,  had  so  profoundly  affected  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
With  the  independence  of  the  nation,  prophecy  had,  long  ago, 
gradually  ceased,  for  the  sphere  of  the  prophet  was  incompatible  with, 
the  loss  of  the  freedom  of  the  nation.  Zechariah  and  Malachi  had 
appeared  after  the  return  from  exile,  but,  with  the  latter,  it  was  imi- 


232  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

versjilly  ackno'A'ledgcfl,  the  grand  roll  of  prophets  hnd  cndccl.  The 
last  of  the  order  had,  indeed,  himself,  virtually  announced  its  fi^ppen- 
siou,  in  pointing  to  the  coming  of  Elijah,  before  the  great  and  dread- 
ful day  of  Jehovah,  as  its  next  appearance.  From  that  time,  it 
became  fixed  in  the  popular  mind  that  Elijah,  and  perliaps,  also,  a 
"prophet  like  unto  Moses,"  would  hei-ald  the  Messiah  and  his  king- 
dom. The  peculiar  constitution  of  tlie  nation  inevita.l;ly  gave  this 
•^  glorious  future  a  political,  rather  than  a  spiritual  character,  for  their 
conception  of  tlie  kingdom  of  God  was  that  of  a  thcccracj^  such  as 
God  Himself  had  founded  amongst  them,  under  Moses — an  earthly 
state,  with  God  as  King,  and  His  "anointed"'  as  vicegerent,  to  carry 
out  His  written  law.  Their  only  idea  of  an  "  anointed  one,"  that  is, 
a  Messiah,  must  have  been  derived  from  the  illustrations  offeied  by 
the  earlier  history  of  the  nation.  They  knew  of  Moses,  Joshua,  the 
judges,  and  the  kings.  The  patriarchs  were  spoken  of  in  the  Scrip- 
tures as  the  anointed  of  Jehovah,  or  His  Messiahs,  and  so,  also,  were 
high  priests  and  prophets,  and  their  kings,  and  even  the  Persian  mon- 
arch, Cyrus.  Among  the  later  Jews,  of  the  ages  immediately  before 
Christ,  "The  Messiah"  had  I'.ecome  the  usual  name  of  the  Deliverer 
predicted  by  the  prophets,  and  Avas  almost  exclusively  restricted  to 
him.  But  at  no  time  liad  the  spiritual  been  separated  from  the  polit- 
ical, in  its  use.  Indeed,  the  whole  theory  of  their  national  govern- 
inent,  inevitably  joined  the  political  and  the  religious.  The  State  and 
the  Church  were,  with  it,  identical,  tlie  former  being  only  the  outward 
embodiment  of  the  latter.  Jewish  politics  were  only  Jewi.'di  religion 
in  its  public  relations,  for  God  was  the  political  as  well  as  reli<^ious 
Head  of  the  nation.  It  was,  hence,  all  but  impossible  for  a  Jew  to 
conceive  of  the  Messiah,  except  as  the  divinclj'  commissioned  vice- 
gerent of  God,  in  his  double  sphere  of  earthly  and  heavenly  kingship 
in  Israel. 

The  long  silence  of  prophets,  and  the  keen  politico-religious  enthu- 
siasm with  which  the  advent  oi  a  Messiah  was  expected — an  enthu- 
siasm resting  on  Scripture  throughout,  but  rekindled  to  a  passionate 
and  abiding  fervour  hj  the  Book  of  Daniel- — incited  some  nobler 
spirits  to  break  the  stillness,  and  keep  alive  the  national  faith  and 
hope,  by  compositions  conceived  in  the  same  spirit.  To  give  them 
greater  weight,  they  were  ascribed  to  the  most  famous  men  of  past 
ages,  and  sent  abroad  in  their  names.  A  Revelation  of  the  future 
glory  of  Israel  appeared  in  the  name  of  the  antediluvian  Enoch,  as 
one,  of  all  men,  worthy  to  have  been  favoured  with  divine  communi- 
cations. Another  consisted  of  psalms  ascribed  to  Solomon,  and  a  third 
was  said  to  have  been  written  by  the  great  Scribe,  the  second  Moses — 
Ezra.  Others  ai'e  still  pre^rved  in  the  collection  of  "Apocrypha" 
till  recently  bound  up  with  our  English  Bibles.  Of  the  whole,  the 
first  Book  of  the  Maccabees,  illustrates  the  fervent  patriotism  and  stern 
Puritanism  of  the  war  of  liberty.  The  Wisdom  of  the  Son  of  Sirach 
sets  in  a  striking  light  the  saying  of  Esdras,  Uiat,  even  in  these  dark 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  233 

days,  tliough  many  "walked  feignedly  before  God,  others  feared  His 
name  according  to  His  will,  and  taught  His  law  nobly."  No  better 
key  to  the  religious  spirit  of  an  age  can  be  had  than  its  religious  liter- 
ature. That  of  Israel,  as  the  age  of  Christ  drew  near,  was  mere  and 
more  concentrated  on  the  expected  Messiah,  and  the  preparation 
needed  for  his  coming.  The  Book  of  Enoch,  the  Psalms  of  Solo- 
mon, and  the  Fourth  Book  of  Esdras,  successively  reveal  the  whits 
heat  of  the  national  hopes  of  whicli  they  were  the  expression. 

Nothing  could  be  more  titted  to  influence  the  excitable  imagination 
of  an  Oriental  people,  accustomed  to  such  a  style  in  their  sacred  writ- 
ings— nothing  more  fitted  to  intensify  a  fanatical  spiritual  prld3  in 
themselves  as  the  favourites  of  heaven,  or  to  deepen  their  hatred  of 
all  other  nations,  than  the  mystic  chapters  of  the  Book  of  Enocit,  of 
which  the  earlier  date,  perhaps  forty  years  before  the  entrance  of  the 
Romans  into  Palestine,  while  the  whole  are  as  old  as  the  reign  of 
Herod.  In  one,  Israel  is  painted  under  the  figure  of  a  flock  of  white 
sheep,  while  the  nations  round  are  the  Egyptian  wolf,  the  Phenician 
dog,  the  black  wild  boar,  Edom,  the  Arabian  vulture,  the  Syrian 
raven,  and  the  Grecian  eagle ;  or  are  branded  as  jackals,  kites,  foxes, 
and  swine.  Hyrcanus,  the  sheep  with  the  great  horn,  drives  away 
the  Grecian  eagles,  the  Syrian  ravens,  the  Egyptian  kites,  the  Arabian 
vulture,  and  the  Philistine  dogs,  who  were  tearing  the  flesh  of  the 
sheep  of  the  House  of  Israel.  The  Lord  of  the  sheep  comes  to  His 
flock,  the  rod  of  His  wrath  in  His  hand,  and  strikes  the  earth  ti'.l  it 
quakes,  and  all  the  beasts  and  birds  flee  from  the  sheep,  and  sink  in 
the  earth,  which  closes  over  tbem.  A  great  throne  is  tlien  set  up  in 
the  beloved  land,  and  the  Lord  of  the  sheep  sits  on  it,  and  opens  the 
sealed  books.  He  will  then  drive  the  kings  from  their  thrones  and 
kingdoms,  and  wall  break  the  teeth  of  sinners,  and,  finally,  chase  out 
the  heathen  from  tiie  congregation  of  Ilis  people,  and  cast  down  the 
oppressors  of  Israel  into  a  deep  place,  "full  of  fire,  flaming,  and  fell  of 
pillars  of  fire."  A  "  great  everlasting  heaven"  will  spring  forth  frori 
the  midst  of  the  angels,  and  the  day  of  judgment  will  begin,  "when 
the  blood  of  the  sinners  will  be  as  high  as  a  horse's  breast,  and  an  a 
chariot  axle,"  and  when  legions  of  angels  shall  appear  in  the  sl:ic3, 
and  the  righteous  be  raised'f  rom  the  grave.  The  days  of  the  Jlcssiah 
— "the  Elect,"  "the  Anointed  One,"  "the  Son  of  Man," who  is  also 
"  Son  of  God" — will  then  begin. 

"The  plants  of  righteousness"  (the  Jewish  nation)  will  llcurioh  for 
ever  and  ever  under  His  reign,  for  He  is  to  come  forth  from  the 
"throne  of  the  majesty  of  God,"  and  rule  over  all,  as  the  object  of 
universal  adoration. 

The  pictures  given  of  the  blessedness  of  Israel  in  its  world-wide 
empire,  throw  liglit  on  the  nobler  side  of  the  Jewish  nature,  for  wo 
may  seek  in  vain  for  anything  so  pure  and  lofty  in  the  conceptions  of 
any  other  people.  ' '  Blessed  be  ye,  O  ye  righteous  and  elect  ones, 
for  glorious  will  be  your  lot !    The  righteous  shall  dwell  in  the  light 


234  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  the  Sun,  and  the  elect  in  the  light  of  the  Life  Eternal ;  the  days  of 
their  life  shall  have  no  end,  and  the  days  of  the  holy  ones  shall  be 
countless.  And  they  shall  seek  the  light,  and  find  righteousness 
beside  the  Lord  of  Spirits.  The  righteous  shall  have  peace  with  the 
liord  of  the  World.  They  will  dwell  beside  the  Water  of  Life,  in  the 
gardens  of  righteousness,  and  shine  like  the  light  for  ever  and  ever. 
Their  hearts  will  rejoice,  because  the  number  of  the  righteous  is  ful- 
filled, and  the  blood  of  the  righteous  avenged. " 

The  Psalms  of  Solomon,  written  at  the  time  of  Pompey's  inva- 
sion, look  forward  confidently  to  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  the 
setting  up  of  the  everlasting  kingdom  of  God,  when  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  Jerusalem  will  be  brought  back  again  from  the  east  and 
the  west,  because  Jehovah  has  had  compassion  on  her  alHiction.  The 
17th  and  18th  Psalms,  especially,  bring  before  us,  with  equal  vivid- 
ness and  beauty,  the  hopes  that  glowed  in  the  national  breast  in  the 
days  of  Christ,  and  broke  out  into  wild  violence  in  the  religious  re- 
volt of  Judas,  the  Galilsean.  Joseph,  in  his  cottage  at  Nazareth,  may 
often  have  listened  to  them,  or  read  them,  for  thej^  were  familiar  to 
every  Jew,  and  many  a  group  of  Galila;an  villagers  gathered,  from 
time  to  time,  to  hear  them  repeated,  in  Eastern  fashion,  by  some 
reader  or  reciter.     They  ran  thus : — 

' '  Lord,  Thou  alone  art  our  King  for  ever  and  ever,  and  in  Thee 
shall  our  souls  make  their  boast.  What  is  the  span  of  man's  life 
upon  earth?  According  to  the  time  fixed  by  the  Lord,  and  man's 
hope  upon  Him!  But  we  hope  in  God  our  Saviour,  because  the 
power  of  our  God  is  with  mercy,  for  ever,  and  the  kingdom  of  our 
God  is  over  the  heathen,  for  judgment,  for  ever. 

"Thou,  O  Lord,  didst  choose  for  Thyself  David,  to  be  king  over 
Israel,  and  didst  swear  to  him,  respecting  his  seed  for  ever,  that  there 
would  never  fail  a  prince  of  his  house  before  Thee,  for  ever.  But 
for  oiu-  sins,  the  wicked  have  risen  up  against  us;  they  (the  Asmo- 
nean  party),  whom  Thou  hast  not  sent  forth,  have  done  violence 
against  us,  and  have  gotten  the  power  over  us.  They  have  put  away 
Thy  name  with  violence,  and  have  not  glorified  it,  though  it  be  above 
all  in  majesty;  they  have  set  up  a  king  over  them.  Ihey  have  laid 
waste  the  throne  of  David,  with  a  haughty  shout  of  triumph.  But 
Thou,  O  Lord,  wilt  cast  them  down.  Thou  wilt  take  away  their  seed 
from  the  earth,  raising  up  against  them  an  alien,  who  is  not  of  our 
race.  After  their  sins  shalt  Thou  recompense  them,  O  God;  they 
will  receive  according  to  their  works.  According  to  their  works  will 
God  show  pity  on  them!  He  will  hunt  out  their  seed,  and  will  not 
let  them  go.  Faithful  is  the  Lord,  in  all  His  judgments  which  He 
performs  in  the  earth. 

' '  He  who  has  not  the  Law  has  desolated  our  land  of  its  inhabi- 
tants. He  has  made  the  youth,  and  the  old  man,  and  the  child  dis- 
appear together.  In  his  fury  he  has  sent  away  our  sons  to  the  west; 
And  our  princes  ke  has  made  an  open  s^w,  and  has  not  spared. 


THE  LITE  OF  CHKIST.  235 

Onr  enemy  has  done  liaiightily  in  his  alien  pride,  and  his  heart  r,  a 
stranger  to  our  God.  And  he  did  all  things,  in  Jerusalem,  as  tiio 
heathen  do  with  their  idols,  in  their  cities.  And  the  sons  of  tlio 
covenant  have  been  made  to  serve  them,  and  have  been  minrjlcd 
among  heathen  nations.  There  was  not  one  among  them  Avho 
shewed  pity  or  truth  in  Jerusalem.  Those  who  loved  the  synagogues 
of  the  saints  fled  from  them ;  they  were  driven  away  as  sparrows 
from  their  nest.  They  wandered  in  deserts,  that  their  souls  might 
be  saved  from  defilement,  and  the  wilderness  was  lovely  in  their 
sight,  in  saving  their  souls.  They  were  scattered  over  the  whole 
earth,  by  those  who  have  not  the  Law. 

"Behold,  O  Lord,  and  raise  up  to  Israel,  their  king,  the  Son  of 
David,  at  the  time  Thou,  O  God,  knowest,  to  rule  Israel,  Thy  child. 
And  gird  him,  O  Lord,  with  strength,  that  he  may  break  in  pieces 
the  unjust  rulers.  Cleanse  Jerusalem,  in  wisdom  and  righteousness, 
from  the  heathen  who  tread  it  under  foot.  Thrust  out  the  sinners 
from  Thine  inheritance ;  grind  to  dust  the  haughtiness  of  the  trans- 
gressors; shatter  in  pieces  all  their  strength,  as  a  potter's  vessel  is 
shattered  by  a  rod  of  iron.  Destroy  utterlv,  wuth  the  word  of  Thy 
mouth,  the  heathen  that  have  broken  ThylLaw;  at  His  coming  let 
the  heathen  flee  before  His  face,  and  confotmd  Thou  the  sinners  in 
the  thoughts  of  their  hearts.  And  He  shall  bring  together«the  holy 
race,  and  shall  lead  them  in  righteousness,  and  He  shall  judge  the 
tribes  of  the  holy  people,  for  the  Lord,  His  God.  And  He  will  not 
suffer  unrighteousness  to  dwell  in  the  midst  of  them,  nor  will  any 
wicked  man  be  let  dwell  among  them.  For  He  will  take  knowledge 
that  they  are  all  sons  of  God,  and  He  will  portion  them  out  in  their 
tribes,  over  the  land.  And  the  stranger  and  the  foreigner  will  dwell 
among  them  no  more.  He  will  judge  the  people  and  the  heathen,  in 
the  wisdom  of  His  righteousness. 

"And  He  will  bring  the  peoples  of  the  heathen  under  His  yoke, 
to  serve  Him,  and  He  will  exalt  the  Lord  exceedingly  in  all  the 
earth.  And  He  will  cleanse  Jerusalem  in  righteousness,  so  that,  as  it 
was  in  the  beginning,  the  heathen  shall  come  from  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth,  to  see  His  glory,  and  her  weary,  wasted  sons  shall 
return,  bearing  gifts,  to  see  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  with  which  God 
has  glorified  her.  And  He  shall  l)e  a  righteous  king  over  them, 
taught  of  God.  And  there  shall  be  no  unrighteousness  in  their  midst 
in  His  days,  because  they  are  a'l  holy,  and  their  king  is  the  Christ,  the 
Lord.  For  He  shall  not  trust  ia  the  horse,  or  the  chariot,  or  in  the 
bow;  neither  shall  He  gather  to  Himself  silver  and  gold  for  war,  and 
He  shall  not  trust  in  numbers,  in  the  day  of  battle.  The  Lord,  Him- 
self, is  His  king,  and  His  trust,  in  the  IVIighty  God,  and  HE  .shall  set 
all  the  heathen  in  terror  before  Him.  For  He  shall  rule  all  the  earth, 
by  the  word  of  His  mouth,  for  ever.  He  shall  make  the  people  of  the 
Lord  blessed,  in  wisdom  and  in  joy.  And  He,  being  pure  from  eio. 
for  the  ruling  of  a  great  people,  will  rebuke  kings,  and  will  cut  oS 


236  TBGE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

transgressors  by  the  might  of  His  word.  And  He  shall  not  want 
help  from  God,  in  His  days.  For  the  Lord  shall  make  Him  mighty 
in  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  wise  in  counsel,  and  strong,  and  righteous. 
And  the  favour  of  tlae  Lord  shall  be  His  strength,  and  He  shall  not 
be  weak.  His  hope  is  in  the  Lord,  and  who  can  do  anything  against 
Him?  Mighty  in  His  doings,  and  strong  in  the  fear  of  God:  feeding, 
as  a  shepherd,  the  flock  of  the  Lord,  in  faith  and  righteousness,  He 
Avill  let  no  one  among  them  fail  in  the  Law.  He  will  lead  them  all 
in  holiness,  and  there  will  be  no  haughty  oppressing  of  them  in  His 
rule. 

"  This  is  the  glorious  excellence  of  the  King  of  Israel,  which  is 
known  to  God.  He  shall  raise  Him  over  the  house  of  Israel,  to  in- 
struct it.  His  words  are  purer  than  the  most  pure  gold.  He  will 
judge  the  people  in  the  synagogues — the  tribes  of  the  saints.  His 
words  will  be  like  words  of  the  holy  ones,  in  the  midst  of  the  holy 
multitudes.  Blessed  are  those  who  shall  live  in  those  days,  to  see  the 
good  things  which  God  shall  do  for  Israel,  in  the  gathering  together 
of  her  tribes.  God  .shall  hasten  His  mercy  toAvards  Israel.  He  shall 
purge  us  from  the  defilement  cf  the  presence  of  our  enemies,  the 
proiaue.     The  Lord,  He  is  King,  for  ever  and  ever! 

"  O  Lord,  Thy  mercy  is  on  the  Avcrks  of  Thy  hands  for  ever  and 
ever!  TPhy  goodness  to  Israel  is  a  gift  beyond  price.  Thine  eyes  look 
on,  and  nothing  will  fail  of  Thy  premises.  Thine  ears  will  attend 
to  the  supplication  of  the  needy  who  trusts  in  Thee.  Thy  judg- 
ments are  in  all  the  earth,  in  mercy,  and  Thy  love  is  towards  the  seed 
of  Abraham,  the  sons  of  Israel.  Thou  hast  Thyself  taught  us,  as 
Thy  Son,  Thine  only  begotten.  Thy  first-born,  so  that  we  may  turn 
an  obedient  lieart  aAvay  from  ignorance  and  sin. 

"God  shall  purify  Israel,  against  the  day  of  mercy  and  blessing, 
against  the  day  of  the  calling  forth  of  His  Christ  (Anointed)  to  rule. 
Blessed  are  those  who  shall  live  in  those  days!" 

In  the  FoTiRTH  Book  of  Espras,  which  was  circulating  among  the 
people  at  the  birth  of  Christ,  the  nation  found  its  strength  and 
Aveakness,  alike,  reflected,  and  all  its  religious  hopes  fiattered  to  the 
utmost.  "If  Thou  for  us  hast  created  the  world,  wherefore  is  it 
that  Ave  do  not  possess  our  world?"  asks  the  supposed  Ezra.  In  the 
fifth  of  a  series  of  "  Visions  of  the  Night,"  for  which  he  had  pre- 
pared by  long  fasting,  he  sees  an  angel  rise  from  the  sea,  Avith  tAA'eh'e 
Avings  and  three  heads,  the  mystic  symbol  of  the  trivmiphant  heathen 
poAver  of  the  Sj^'o-  and  Egypto-Macedonian  kings,  and  of  that  of 
Rome,  under  Ctesar,  Antony,  and  Octavian,  with  whom  remained 
final  victory,  and  universal  monarchy.  After  a  time,  he,  Octavian 
(Augustus)  alone,  as  the  one-headed  eagle,  remains.  But  noAV  appears 
a  mighty  Lion — the  Messiah — Avho  calls  to  the  eagle,  Avith  a  human 
voice,  "Art  thou  not  he  Avho  remainest  of  the  four  beasts  (the  four 
heathen  Avorld-empircs  of  Daniel),  which  I  crralrd  that  thej'  might 
rule  in  my  Avorkl,  that  the  end  of  times  might  come  through  them? 


THE  LIFE  OF  eHKIST.  237 

Thou  hast  judgeri  the  earth,  but  not  in  truth,  for  thou  hast  troubled 
the  peaceful,  and  wronged  the  unoffending;  thou  hast  loved  liars, 
and  hast  overthrown  tlie  cities  of  the  industrious,  and  hast  razed 
their  walls,  though  they  did  thee  no  harm.  Thy  wrongful  deal- 
ing has  risen  to  the  Highest,  and  thy  pride  to  the  Mighty  One. 
The  Most  High,  also,  has  remembered  His  times,  and,  behold,  they 
are  closed,  and  the  ages  are  ended.  Therefore,  begone,  O  thou 
eagle,  and  be  seen  no  more — with  tby  fearful  wings,  thy  baleful  wing- 
lets,  thy  ferocious  heads,  thy  tearing  claws,  and  all  thy  foid  body, 
that  the  earth  may  be  refreshed,  and  may  recover  itself,  when  freed 
from  thy  violence,  and  that  she  may  hope  in  the  justice  and  pity  of 
Him  who  made  her!"  "And  I  looked,  and,  behold,  the  eagle  was 
DO  more  seen,  and  all  its  bodj^  was  burned  up,  and  the  earth  gi'ew 
pale  with  fear."  Rome,  then  just  entering  on  its  long  imperial 
history,  and  in  the  heiglit  of  its  greatness,  was  to  be  blotted  out  from 
the  earth  by  the  Messiah.  Past  generations  had  thought  the  SjTian 
persecutions  must  be  the  tribulation  which  was  to  heraid  the  coming 
of  the  Messiah,  and  to  end  heathen  domination  on  the  earth;  then 
the  persecutions  and  Avars  of  the  later  Maccabees;  then  the  huge 
w^orld-turmoil  of  the  Roman  civil  wars,  in  succession,  seemed  to 
proclaim  His  approach.  But,  now,  the  supposed  Ezra  looked  for  it 
in  the  reign  of  Augustus,  as  men,  a  little  later,  expected  it  on  the 
death  of  Herod.  The  Lion,  rising  from  the  forest,  would  rebuke 
the  haughty  Roman  eagle,  and  would  sit  in  judgment  on  the  heathen, 
free  His  holy  people,  and  bless  them  till  the  coming  of  the  end. 

Nor  was  this  the  only  vision  of  the  Messiah,  presented  by  the  sup- 
posed Ezra.  "Behold,"  says  he,  "a  wind  rose  from  the  heart  of  the 
sea,  and  in  it  the  form  of  a  man" (the  Son  of  God),  "and  all  its  waves 
were  troubled.  And  I  saw,  and  behold  the  man  came  on  tlic  clouds 
of  heaven,  and  wheresoever  he  turned  his  face  and  looked,  all  things 
trembled  before  him,  and  all  that  heard  His  voice  melted  like  Avax  in 
the  flame.  But  a  countless  host  from  all  parts  of  the  earth  came  up 
to  make  war  against  Him.  And  He  cut  out  for  Himself,  by  His 
word,  a  great  moimtain — which  is  Mount  Zion — and  stood  on  the  top 
of  it,  an^  when  the  multitude  pressed  with  trembling  against  Ilim, 
He  lifted  against  them  neither  hand  nor  weapon,  but  consumed  them 
utterly  with  a  Hood  of  lire  from  His  mouth,  and  the  lightning  Hashes 
of  the  storm  from  His  lips,  and  nothing  remained  of  them  but  smoke 
and  ashes.  Then  He  rose  and  came  down  from  the  mountain,  and 
called  to  Him  a  peaceful  multitude,  some  glad  and  some  sorry,  some 
bound  as  captives,  some  bearing  gifts,  and  these  were  the  ten  tribes, 
whom  He  had  brought  from  their  hiding-place  in  a  land  beyond  As- 
syria, where  never  man  else  dv/elt,  cleaving  the  Euphrates  to  let  them 
pass  over,  and  gathering  them  to  their  own  laud  again,  that  their 
brethren  there,  and  they  from  afar,  might  rejoice  evermore  together.'' 

To  Esdras  the  reign  of  the  Idumean  Herod  over  the  Jewish  people, 
6«em3  a  second  note  of  the  culmination  ©f  heathen  iiile  and  its  speedy 


838"'  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

ovcrthroT^.  "The  end  of  this  age,"  says  he,  "is  Esau,  and  Jacob  i* 
the  beginning  of  that  which  is  to  come ;"  the  death  of  the  Edomite 
was  to  mark  the  opening  of  the  reign  of  the  sons  of  Jacob.  "During 
his  life,  or  «t  his  death,"  says  another  vision,  "the  Messias  (or  Son  of 
God)  will  d:scend  from  heaven  with  those  men  who  have  not  tasted 
of  death,  and  the  books  will  be  opened  before  the  face  of  the  sky,  and 
all  shall  see  them,  and  the  tnmapet  shall  sound,  and  every  cheek  wili 
grow  pale  at  the  hearing  it.  And  friends  will  fight  at  that  time 
ugainst  friends,  and  the  earth  shall  tremble  and  all  who  dwell  on  it, 
and  the  springs  and  fountains  shall  cease  running  for  three  hours. 
And  the  hearts  of  the  people  shall  be  changed,  and  they  will  be  turned 
into  other  men.  For  all  sin  and  wickedness  will  be  destroyed,  and 
faith  will  flourish,  and  corruption  shall  be  rooted  out,  and  truth,  which 
had  been  lost  for  a  long  time,  will  reign."  Regions  hitherto  unknown 
and  barren  will  be  planted,  to  shame  the  heathen,  by  showing  the 
greater  glory  of  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  than  of  theirs.  Yet, 
this  golden  age  is  to  last  only  400  years,  at  the  end  of  which  the 
Messiah  will  die.  The  earth  will  then  pass  away.  The  dead  will  be 
raised,  and  the  great  judgment  held,  after  which  "the  righteous  shall 
go  into  the  presence  of  God,  and  shine  like  the  sun,  and  dwell  in  the 
midst  of  His  everlasting  light,  and  die  no  more,  and  a  single  day  shall 
be  as  seventy  years,  and  they  shall  live  for  ever  and  ever.  But  the 
wicked  shall  go  to  everlasting  fire." 

Such  a  literature,  widely  diffused,  penetrated  the  nation  with  its 
spirit,  and  coloured  its  destiny.  Nor  were  the  books  quoted  the  only 
writings  of  a  similar  tone  that  eve  ly where  formed  the  reading,  and 
fired  the  soul  of  the  contemporaries  of  Jesus.  A  succession  of  these 
heralds  of  the  Messiah  perpetuated  the  theme.  After  the  Psalms  of 
Solomon  and  the  Book  of  Esdras,  we  have  the  anticipations  of  the 
Targums,  and  of  Philo,  and  the  pictures  of  the  Book  of  Jubilees.  In 
the  Messiah's  time  we  read  in  the  latter,  "the  daj's  will  begin  to 
lengthen,  and  the  children  of  men  will  live  longer,  from  generation  to 
generation,  and  from  day  to  day,  till  their  lives  come  nigh  to  a  thou- 
sand years.  And  there  will  be  no  more  any  old,  or  any  weary  of 
life,  but  they  will  all  be  like  children  and  boys,  and  will  fulttl  all  their 
days  in  peace  and  joy,  and  there  will  be  no  accuser  amongst  them,  or 
any  corrupter.  For  all  their  days  will  be  days  of  blessing. " 
'  The  result  of  ipfluences  so  unique,  was  almost  beyond  imagination, 
in  an  age  so  cold  and  practical  as  our  own.  A  parallel  may,  perhaps, 
be  found  in  the  universal  excitement  which  pervaded  Christendom  at 
the  end  of  the  tenth  century,  when  the  1,000  years  of  the  Book  of 
Revelation  were  thought  to  be  closing,  and  the  end  of  the  world  was 
believed  at  hand.  The  consternation  that  then  seized  mankind  made 
men  give  up  everything  to  be  ready  for  the  descent  of  the  judge.  I' 
was  tiie  one  thought.  'Countless  pilgrims  sold  all,  and  set  oflE  to  the 
Holy  Land  to  await  the  expected  Saviour.  Not  less  deep  or  universa/ 
VBos  tlie  expectation  of  the  Messiah  in  the  days  of  Christ,  rousing 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  259 

men,  even  against  hope,  once  and  again,  in  the  literal  use  of  the  words 
of  the  Maccabeean  psalm — to  take  a  two-edged  sword  in  their  hand, 
to  execute  vengeance  on  the  heathun,  and  punishments  on  the  nations; 
to  bind  their  kings  with  chains,  and  their  nobles  Avith  links  of  iron: 
to  execute  upon  them  the  judgments  written.  This  was  an  honour 
granted  to  all  the  Saints." 

Tlie  effect  of  the  long  reign  of  Tlerod  on  Jewish  parties  was  im- 
mense. Sprung  from  a  race  which  the  Jews  detested,  and  the  sou 
of  a  hated  father,  he  had  owed  it  to  tlie  Roman  Senate  tliat  he  was 
able  to  crush  the  national  liberties  under  foot,  and  usurp  the  title  of 
King  of  Judea,  which  no  stranger  before  him  had  borne.  His  instincts 
•were  cruel  and  harsh;  his  life  and  tastes  pagan  and  sensual;  his  whole 
nature  opposed  to  everything  Jewish.  He  had  murdered  member 
after  member  of  his  family,  and  among  others  the  last  of  the  native 
roj'al  race,  which  the  people  venerated :  he  liad  put  to  death  most  of 
the  leading  Ilabbis;  he  had  filled  the  land  with  heathen  architecture: 
he  had  defiled  Jerusalem  by  a  circus  and  theatre ;  he  had  degraded 
the  pontificate  by  putting  two  high  priests  to  death,  after  deposing 
them;  he  had  violated  the  tomb  of  David,  in  search  of  treasure;  ha 
had  burned  the  national  registers,  so  essential  to  a  people  among 
whom  so  much  in  their  priesthood  and  common  life  turned  on  their 
descent;  he  had  burned  alive,  in  his  old  age,  two  famous  Rabbis,  and 
slain  many  of  the  youth  of  Jerusalem,  for  their  zeal  for  the  Law ;  and, 
when  dying,  he  had  left  a  command,  to  murder,  in  cold  blood,  tha 
collected  elders  of  the  nation,  to  fill  the  land  with  sorrow  for  them« 
selves,  if  not  for  him,  when  he  was  gone. 

Against  such  a  master  the  two  great  parties,  Pharisees  and  Sad» 
ducees, — notwithstanding  tlieir  differences,  above  all  things  Jews, — ■ 
felt  for  the  time  drawn  closer  together.  Except  the  high  priests, 
•who  were  Herod's  creatures,  the  courtiers  who  worshipped  the  power 
of  the  day,  and  the  soldiers  loyal  to  a  warlike  king,  few  were  for 
Herod.  The  Sadducees  forsook  the  Court;  the  High  Priesthood  was 
for  the  time  taken  from  their  party.  An  Alexandrian  family  into 
which  Herod  had  married,  received  it  to  ennoble  them, — men  sus- 
pected of  foreign  views,  royalists  by  alliance,  and  opposed  to  tl^e 
people  by  their  origin.  For  the  first  time  we  hear  of  preachers. 
The  last  martyrs  under  Herod — Judas,  son  of  Saripheus,  and  Matta- 
thias,  son  of  Margalouth, — were  in  reality  tribunes  of  the  people,  to 
whose  stirring  addresses,  the  great  riot,  in  which  the  golden  eagle  it 
the  Temple  was  thrown  down,  was  due.  They  were  burned  alive, 
but  men  of  the  same  mould  took  their  place,  allies  and  friends  of  tht, 
multitudes  who  fled  to  the  hills,  to  emerge  from  time  to  time  from 
their  hiding  places,  to  harass  the  troops  of  Herod.  Revolutionary 
times  always  produce  such  men,  whom  time  servers  of  their  day 
have  been  wont  to  denounce  as  brigands  or  robbers.  They  were, 
however,  in  reality  the  Maccabees  of  their  age.  "  The  followers  of 
Judas,  the  Galila;an,"  says  Josephus,  "in  all  their  opinions  are  at 


S40  THE  LITE  OF  CITRIST. 

one  "Willi  the  Pharisees, — that  is,  with  the  nation, — bx;t  they  have  an 
incxiingiiishable  passion  for  liberty,  and  will  own  none  but  God  aa 
Master;  they  count  any  tortures  that  they  may  endvire,  however  dread- 
ful, as  nothing,  nor  do  they  heed  the  sufferings  their  parents  or  friends 
nay  bear  for  their  sakes" — for  they  were  pimished  if  the  offenders 
themselves  were  not  caught, — "but  nothing  will  make  them  call  any 
man  Master."  It  was  for  putting  Hezekiah,  the  father  of  Judas,  to 
deatli,  in  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  that  the  Sanhedrim,  then  still 
extant,  tried  to  bring  Herod  to  trial,  which  Ihey  never  would  have 
done  liad  he  been  a  mere  "robber."  AVhat  the  nation  thought  of  his 
son  Judas  is  shown  in  the  words  of  a  Eabbi,  "  In  the  world  to  come, 
God  will  gathei  round  Judas  a  multitude  like  him,  and  will  s-^t  them 
before  His  face. "  Men  of  the  same  type  had  appeared  before  i-'ompey 
at  Damascus,  pleading  the  cause  neither  of  Hyrcanus  or  Aristobulus, 
but  of  the  people  of  God,  whose  institutions  had  never  favoured 
royalty.  But  it  was  under  Herod,  and  immediately  after  his  death, 
that  these  ideas  first  became  the  cry  of  any  organized  party.  The 
people  had  tired  of  the  dry  and  lifeless  discussions  of  the  Rabbis. 
Their  subtleties  and  legal  distinctions  left  their  hearts  untouched.  But 
men  had  risen  like  Hezekiah,  Judas  of  Galilee,  Mattathias,  and  Judas, 
son  of  Saripheus,  whose  harangues  set  their  souls  on  fire.  These 
earnest  spirits  did  not  trouble  with  barren  decisicns;  they  preached 
and  roused  They  did  not  dispute  about  some  obscure  chapter  of 
Exodus  or  Leviticus;  their  texts  v, ere  the  inspired  words  of  the 
prophets,  the  burning  and  eloquent  exhortations  of  Isaiah  and  Jere- 
miah. These  they  recited,  commented  on,  and  enlarged,  before  mul- 
titudes eager  to  hear  them.  The  voice  of  the  Ancient  Oracles  bad 
retained  all  its  freshness,  and  suited  the  passing  times  as  if  written 
respecting  them.  For  Jehoiakim  men  read  Hercd;  Bome  took  the 
place  of  Babylon;  and  the  gloomy  prophecies  of  Jeremiah  seemed 
about  to  be  fulfilled  anew  on  the  second  Temple.  For  the  last  time, 
the  almost  withered  tree  of  Jewish  nationality  seemed  to  live  again. 
In  the  soil  of  the  Word  of  God  it  grew  green  once  more,  and  pushed 
out  some  last  branches,  but  all  the  prophets  through  Avhose  impulse  it 
thus  revived,  paid  for  the  dangerous  glory  by  a  violent  death. 

In  the  lifetime  of  Jesus  parties  had  thus  become  transformed.  The 
Bo6thusians,  or  Alexandrians,  raised  to  the  pontificate  by  Herod, 
became  the  rbj'alists.  They  hoped  to  be  able,  under  him  and  the 
Romans,  to  maintain  ecclesiastical  matters  as  they  were,  and  keep 
hold  of  their  privileges.  They  were  the  high-priestly  families  whose 
harshness  and  violence  are  handed  down  to  us  in  the  Talmud.  "A 
curse  on  the  family  of  Boethos,  a  cvu'se  on  their  spears" — was  the 
anametha  muttered  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem — "a  curse  on  the 
family  of  Hanan!  a  curse  on  their  viper-like  hissings!  A  curse  on 
the  family  of  Kanthera!  a  curse  on  their  fine  feathers!  A  curse  on  the 
family  of  Ismael  Ben  Phabi!  a  cvnse  on  their  fists!  They  are  high 
priests  themselves,  their  sons  keep  the  money,  their  sons-in-law  axe 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  241 

captains,  and  their  scrvivnts  smite  tlie  people  with  their  staves!"  "The 
approaches  of  the  sanctuary,"  continues  the  Tahnurl,  "echo  with 
four  cries — '  Depart  lience,  ye  sons  of  Eli,  you  poUute  the  Temple  of 
the  Eternal-'  '  Depart  hence,  Issachar  Kefr  Barkai.  wiio  think  only 
of  yourself,  and  profane  the  consecrated  victims,' — for  he  wore  silkca 
gloves  to  protect  liis  hands  in  his  ministrations.  Then,  ia  keen  ironj", 
comes  tlie  cry — 'Open  your  gates,  O  Temple,  and  let  Ismael  Ecu 
Phabi,  the  disciple  of  Phinehas,  enter,  that  he  may  perform  the  higli- 
priestly  rites!  and,  finally,  a  fourth  voice — '  Open  wide,  ye  gates!  and 
let  Johanan,  the  son  of  Nebedai,  the  disciple  of  gluttons  and  gour- 
mands, enter,  that  he  may  gorge  on  the  sacrilices! ' "  No  wonder  this 
last  pupil  of  his  Roman  masters  won  such  a  name,  if  the  Talmud  may 
be  believed  in  its  statement,  that  he  had  three  hundred  calves,  and  as 
many  casks  of  wine,  and  forty  seahs  of  pigeons,  set  apart  for  hi3 
kitchen. 

The  luxury  and  audacity  of  some  of  the  high  priests  were  pushed 
so  far,  that  it  is  related  of  "Ismael  Ben  Phabi  that  his  motlicr  made  a 
tunic  for  him,  that  cost  a  hundred  minae— about  £i]SO.  The  mother 
of  Eliezer  Ben  Harsom  had  a  similar  robe  made  for  him,  if  we  may 
credit  it,  at  a  cost  of  20,000  minse— £66,000,  but  it  was  so  fine  that  the 
other  priests  would  not  let  him  wear  it,  because  he  seemed  naked  from 
its  transparency.  The  exaggeration  is,  doubtless,  great,  for  the  for. 
tune  of  this  Pontifical  millionaire  is  a  favourite  theme  of  Rabbinicr.! 
fancy,  but  such  exaggeration  itself  springs  only  from  truth,  striking 
enough  to  arrest  the  imagination.  The  high  priesthood  had,  in  fact, 
sunk  to  the  extremest  corruption.  "To  what  time,"  asks  Rabbi 
Johanan,  "do  the  words  refer — 'The  fear  of  the  Lord  prolongctli 
life?'  To  that  of  the  first  Temple,  which  stood  about  four  hundred 
and  ten  years,  and  had  only  eighteen  high  priests  from  first  to  la3t? 
And  to  what  time  do  the  other  words  refer — 'And  the  years^  of  th3 
wicked  .shall  be  shortened?'  To  that  of  the  second  Temple,  which 
stood  four  hundred  and  twenty  years,  and  had  more  tlian  three  hun- 
dred high  priests:  for,  deducting  eighty-five  years  for  five  exceptional 
reigns,  less  than  a  single  year  is  left  for  each  of  all  the  other  high 
priests." 

The  Pharisees  and  Sadducees,  in  these  dark  years,  had  to  withdraw 
completely  from  political  life,  and  seek  consolation  in  the  study  of  tlie 
Law,  andln  attracting  the  people  to  the  schools  where  they  taught  or 
discussed.  The  extreme  party  among  the  former — the  Zealots,  t!:o 
Jacobins  of  the  age,  or  rather  its  Maccabees — were  enthusiastically 
popular  wdth  the  youth  of  the  nation.  Stern  puritans,  who  knew  no 
compromise,  they  "dreamed  of  triumphing  in  their  weakness,  by  tho 
help  of  God,  for  whom  they  believed  they  fought,  over  the  armies  of 
the  mistress  of  the  world.  No  danger  appalled  their  magnillcent 
devotion,  no  sacrifice  daunted  their  heroism.  They  were  the  rising 
party,  from  the  time  of  Herod's  death. 

Thus,  from  about  the  time  of  Christ's  birth,  religion  became,  once 


246  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

more,  the  great  factor  of  Jewisli  national  life.     The  bloody  king  had 
died  in  the  midst  of  rumours  of  the  close  approach  of  the  Messiah. 

The  visit  of  the  Magi,  almost  immediately  before,  must  have  fanned 
the  popular  excitement  still  more,  nor  would  the  massacre  at  Bethle- 
hem be  without  its  influence  on  the  public  mind.  The  insurrection  of 
Mattathias  and  Judas,  at  the  head  of  the  youth  of  the  city,  which, 
also,  marked  these  eventful  months,  had  only  anticipated  the  theocratic 
movement,  to  be  made,  as  all  hoped,  with  success,  as  soon  as  the  tyrant 
was  dead.  The  wild  outbreaks  headed  by  Simon,  the  slave  of  Herod, 
Judas  the  Galilaean,  and  Athronges,  the  Perean  shepherd,  were  all, 
more  or  less,  connected  with  religion.  The  deputation  of  fifty  Jews, 
sent  to  Rome  to  petition  Augustus  to  set  aside  the  Herods,  and  permit 
the  restoration  of  the  old  theocracy,  had  aroused  the  Jewish  popula- 
tion of  Rome  itself.  The  Rabbis,  martyred  for  destroying  the  golden 
eagle,  and  Judas  and  his  colleague,  Zadok,  the  Rabbi,  had,  moreover, 
by  their  inspiring  harangues  and  appeals  to  Scripture,  as  well  as  by 
their  heroism  and  the  lofty  grandeur  of  their  aims,  given  such  an 
impulse  to  religious  enthusiasm,  and  created  such  an  ideal  of  patriotic 
devotion,  that  the  youth  so  the  country,  henceforth,  pressed  ever  more 
zealously  in  their  steps.  Even  the  old  looked  on  them  as  the  glory  of 
their  age.  Patriotism  became  more  and  niore  identified  with  fiery 
zeal  for  the  Law,  and  war  with  the  heathen  for  its  sake  became  the 
religious  creed  of  the  multitude. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Tins  KINGDOM   OF   HEAVEN   13  AT  HAND. 

TimiTT  years  of  the  life  of  Christ  had  passed  in  the  seclusion  of 
Kazarcth.  In  early  youth  He  had  learned  Joseph's  trade,  and  had 
spent  the  long  years  that  had  intervened,  in  the  duties  of  His  humble 
calling,  for  humble  it  must  have  been  in  a  provincial  town,  where 
there  could  be  no  demand  for  the  skill  required  in  great  communi- 
ties, in  that  age  of  civic  embellishment.  It  is  well  for  mankind  that 
He  chose  such  a  lowly  lot.  He  could  sympathise  more  keenly  with 
the  humble  poor,  from  having .  Himself  shared  their  burden.  Nor 
could  labour  have  been  more  supremely  honoured  than  by  the  Saviour- 
giving  Himself  to  life-long  toil.  Work — the  condition  of  health,  the 
law  of  progress,  the  primal  duty  in  Eden,  and  the  safeguard  of  every 
virtue  in  all  ages,  is  touched  with  a  grand  nobility  by  the  spectacle  of 
the  Carpenter  of  Nazareth,  Idleness,  in  any  rank,  becomes  doubly  a 
vice  from  the  remembrance  of  such  a  lesson. 

How  these  thirty  years  of  obscurity  were  passed  is  left  untold, 
beyond  the  incidental  mention  of  the  calling  Jesus  pursued.  Joseph, 
according  to  old  tradition,  died  when  Jesus  vras  eighteen  years  old, 
and  it  seems  certain,  from  the  fact  that  he  is  not  mentioned  in  tba 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  243 

Gk)3pels  during  Christ's  public  life,  that  he  died  at  least  before  that 
began.  From  the  time  of  his  death,  we  are  told,  doubtless  coiTCctly, 
Jesus  supported  His  mother  by  the  work  of  His  hands,  at  least,  iu 
common  with  the  others  of  the  household.  It  is  added  that  He  had 
grown  up  with  four  brothers,  James,  Joseph,  Simon,  and  Jude,  and 
at  least  two  sisters,  whose  names  are  said  to  have  been  Esther  and 
Tamar;  but  Jude  and  Simon,  and  both  the  sisters,  we  are  told,  mar- 
ried before  Joseph's  death,  and  settled  in  the  town  of  Nazareth.  Some 
think  that  Salome,  the  mother  of  James  and  John,  and  wife  of  Zebe- 
dee,  was  Mary's  eldest  sister;  others  identify  her  with  the  Mary  who 
married  Clopas-Alphaeus,  a  townsman,  but  he,  like  Joseph,  seems  to 
have  died  before  Jesus  began  His  ministr}'.  This  couple  seem  to 
have  had  two  sons,  James  and  Joses,  but  it  is  not  told  us  whether 
they  had  any  daughters.  The  two  households  formed  the  family 
circle  of  which  Jesus  was  the  wondrous  centre.  Tradition  fills  up 
the  outline  of  one  or  two  of  those  thus  honoured — notably  of  James, 
afterwards  the  saintly  head  of  the  Church  of  Jerusalem — a  Nazarito 
from  his  childhood,  and  a  martj^r  ia  his  old  age.  Christ's  brothers, 
Simon  and  Jude,  are  also  mentioned  incidentally;  the  one  as  head  of 
the  Church  of  Jerusalem  after  James'  death;  the  other  as  having  left 
descendants  who  were  cited  before  Domitian,  as  belonging  to  the 
kingly  race  of  David.  ' '  There  were  yet  living  of  the  family  of  our 
Lord,"  saj^s  Eusebius,  from  Hegesippug,  who  wrote  about  the  year 
160,  "the  grand-children  of  Judas,  called  the  brother  of  our  Lord, 
according  to  the  flesh.  These  were  reported  as  being  of  the  family 
of  David,  and  were  brought  to  Domitian.  For  the  emperor  was  as 
much  alarmed  at  the  appearance  of  Christ  as  Herod  had  been.  He 
put  the  question,  whether  they  were  of  David's  race,  and  they  con- 
fessed that  they  were.  He  then  asked  them  what  property  they  had, 
or  how  much  money  they  owned.  And  both  of  them  answered,  that 
they  had  between  them  only  nine  thousand  denarii  (under  three  hun- 
dred pounds),  and  this  they  had,  not  in  silver,  but  in  the  value  of  a 
piece  of  laud,  containing  only  thirty-nine  acres,  from  which  they 
raised  their  ta.ves,  and  supported  themselves  by  their  own  labour. 
They  also  began  to  show  their  hands,  how  they  were  hard  and  rough 
with  dailj'  toil."  Domitian  then  asked  them  some  questions  about 
Christ,  and,  after  hearins:  their  answers,  dismissed  them  in  contemptu. 
ous  silence,  as  simple  fools  whom  it  was  not  worth  while  to  trouble. 
The  momentarj'  glimpses  still  left  us  of  the  home  circle  of  Nazareth 
thus  show  us  a  group  of  brothers,  partly  working  a  small  farm,  but 
all  in  humble  life,  and  all,  alike,  marked  by  so  strict  an  observance  ot 
the  Law,  that,  even  in  their  old  age,  the  Jews  themselves,  and  the 
lewish  Christians,  held  them  in  honour  on  this  account. 

Communion  with  His  own  heart ;  the  quiet  gathering  in  of  all  the 
'essons  of  life  and  nature  around;  deep  .study  of  the  thoughts  and 
hearts  of  men;  a  silent  mastery  of  the  religious  ideas  of  the  day,  and 
ft  deep  knowledge  of  the  religious  parties  of  the  people,  were  daily 


344  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

advancing  with  Jesus.  Lut  in.  His  spiritual  life,  in  these  years,  as  to 
the  end,  solitary  prayer  and  long  continued  communion  with  God, 
"where  no  eye  saw  and  no  car  heard  Ilim,  were,  doubtless,  His  con- 
stant characteristics.  The  Scriptures  read  in  the  synagogues,  or 
studied  in  the  household,  were  llis  habitual  study,  till  His  intellect 
and  heart  were  so  saturated  with  their  words  and  spirit,  that  He  knew 
them  better  tlian  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  v'ho  claimed  to  make 
them  their  whole  study. 

He  must  have  been  a  mystery  to  His  household.  lie  had  been  so 
even  to  His  mother  from  the  time  of  the  Temple  visit,  and  He  must 
have  become  more  and  more  so  as  lie  Vv'cnt  on  His  ov/n  way,  joining 
no  party,  silent,  thoughtful,  self-contained,  given  to  solitude,  and  with 
a  light  in  His  great  eyes  that  seemed  as  if  they  saw  into  the  very  soul 
of  those  on  whom  they  were  turned.  His  brothers  and  sisters  could 
not  imderstand  Him,  even  after  lie  had  become  a  public  teacher. 
Alone  in  that  beautiful  world  of  Galilee,  v/ith  its  skies  filled  with 
light — its  gi-een  jjlains  and  valleys,  wooded  hiils,  and  sh.ining  sea; 
amidst  a  brave,  bright,  fiery,  noble  people,  and  yet  so  difi'erent  from 
them — a  faithful  son,  a  patient  worker  at  Ills  daily  tcil,  a  friend  of 
children  and  of  the  poor  and  needy,  gentle,  loving,  pure,  and  yet  so 
wholly  apart  by  His  very  perfection — we  may  almost  think  lie  must 
Lave  been  avoided  rather  than  sought. 

Taught  by  Joseph  and  Mary,  and  in  the  Synagogue  school.  Jesus 
had  learned  the  Ilcbrev/,  which  had  long  ceased  to  be  a  spoken  lan- 
guage, so  as  both  to  read  and  write  it.  Syro-Chaldaic  was  the  lan- 
guage of  the  people,  and  thus  His  mother  tongue;  but  He  must  also 
have  gained  knowledge  enough  of  Greek,  from  its  being  spoken  by  so 
many  in  the  dilTerent^  toAvns  of  the  country,  to  converse  with  those 
who'knew  no  other  tongue  used  in  Palestine — such  as  the  centurion 
or  Pilate,  or  the  GreeksVho  sought  an  interview  with  Him  in  the  last 
week  of  His  life. 

Amidst  the  homely  engagements  of  life  in  such  a  sphere,  year  after 
year  passed  quietly  and  obscurely  away.  Events  around,  and  in 
Judea,  were  not  Avanting  to  keep  tongues  busy  in  the  market  place  or 
in  the  streets,  and  thoughtful  hearts  grew  daily  more  so,  as  to  the 
issue  of  all  that  reached  them  from  thegreat  world  outside  their  hills. 
Meanwhile,  the  house  of  Mary  must  have  ])een  the  ideal  of  a  happy 
home  in  its  relations  with  lier  mj'sterious  Son.  His  childlike  humil- 
ity, sunny  contentment,  stainless  purity,  watchful  tenderness,  and 
transparent  simplicity  of  soul,  would  find  expression  in  an  ever-ready 
delight  in  pleasing,  an  infinite  patience,  an  attractive  meekness,  and  a 
constant  industry.  The  discipline  by  which  His  human  character 
was  perfected  was  not  confined  to  the  cl:>sing  years  of  His  life,  when 
He  came  before  men  at  large,  but  began  with  His  childhood  and 
lasted  to  the  end.  We  grow  firm  and  strong  to  resist  and  to  do;  we 
gain  the  mastery  of  ourselves  which  brings  superiority,  by  a  patient 
use  of  the  incidents  of  daily  life.     To  rule  one's  own  spirit  on  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  245 

petty  theatre  of  a  private  sphere,  creates  a  power  which  goes  w\th  us 
to  wider  fields  of  action.  The  principles  and  graces  which  stand  tha 
storms  of  public  life  must  have  been  trained  in  the  school  of  our  daily 
world.  Even  to  have  to  wait  for  thirty  years  before  the  time  came 
to  begin  His  great  work,  was  itself  a  discipline  to  a  holy  soul.  How 
must  He  have  sighed  over  the  evils  of  the  times;  over  the  sufferings  of 
His  fellow  men;  over  the  loss  of  apparent  opportunities;  over  the  long- 
permitted  reign  of  evil.  Enthusiasm  burns  to  go  out  on  its  mission, 
and  frets  at  delay,  blaming  itself  if  ;i  moment  appear  to  be  lost.  But 
Jesus  learned  at  Nazareth  to  wait  His  Father's  time.  Till  "  His  hour 
was  come"  He  could  control  His  longings,  and  wait  for  the  divine 
sanction,  in  obscurity  so  complete,  that  even  Nathanael,  at  Cana,  only 
a  few  miles  off,  never  heard  of  Him  till  His  public  ministry  had 
begun,  and  His  fellow-townsmen  had  no  suspicion  of  His  being  more 
than  Jesus,  the  carpenter. 

Thus,  although  retired,  these  years  were  in  no  measure  lost.  The 
divine  wisdom,  which  marks  out  the  life  of  all  men,  must  have 
especially  watched  and  planned  that  of  the  Perfect  One  of  Nazareth. 
These  unknown  secluded  years  teach  us  that  the  noblest  lives  may 
yet  be  the  most  obscure;  that  life,  in  the  highest  sense,  is  not  mere 
action,  but  the  calm  reign  of  love  and  duty,  towards  God  and  man,  in 
our  allotted  sphere — that  the  truest  and  holiest  joy  is  not  necessarily 
that  of  public  activity,  far  less  that  of  excitement  and  noise,  but, 
rather,  where  the  calni  around  lets  God  and  heaven  be  mirrored  in  an 
untroubled  spirit.  Compared  with  the  last  years  of  His  life,  with 
their  agitation  and  ceaseless  labour,  Jesus,  doubtless,  often  looked 
back  fondly  on  the  quiet  life  of  Nazareth,  where  the  skies,  filled  with 
cloudless  light,  or  the  silent  splendour  of  the  stars,  or  the  dream  of 
loveliness  in  all  nature,  far  and  near,  were  only  emblems  of  the  heaven 
of  His  own  soul. 

With  the  growth  in  years.  His  riper  faculties  would  find  a  growing 
delight  in  the  highest  knowledge.  Even  as  a  boy.  He  had  shown  a 
divine  love  of  truth,  and  a  supreme  devotion  to  God,  which  found  its 
natural  joy  in  "  seeking  and  asking"  wherever  He  could  hope  to  learn, 
whether  in  the  school  of  the  liabbis,  in  the  Temple,  or  from  towns- 
men of  Nazareth.  He  had  doubtless  a  premonition  of  His  calling, 
which  urged  Him  on.  Each  day  more  loveablc.  He  would  each  day 
become  more  thoughtful.  He  might  gather  much  from  without,  but 
His  soul  developed  itself  mainly  from  within. 

Meanwhile,  the  time  Avas  drawing  near  for  His  manifestation  to 
Israel. 

Political  oppression,  by  a  natural  reaction,  had  waked  the  hopes  of 
a  great  national  future  to  an  intensity  unknown  before,  even  in 
Israel.  But  while,  at  other  times,  similar  hopes  had  affected  only 
the  narrow  bounds  of  Judea,  they  now  went  beyond  it,  and  agitated 
the  whole  world.  They  fell  in  with  the  instinctive  feeling  which  in 
that  age  pervaded  all  countries,  that  the  existing  state  of  things  could 
not  continue. 


248  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  reign  of  evil  throughout  the  world  seemed  to  have  reached  its 
height.  In  Rome,  the  infamous  Sejanus,  long  the  favourite  of 
Tiberius,  had  at  last  fallen,  but  not  till  his  career  had  tilled  the  world 
with  horror.  The  enforcement  of  obsolete  usury  laws  had  spread 
financial  ruin  over  the  empire.  Forced  sales  made  property  almost 
worthless.  Bankruptcy  spread  far  and  near.  The  courts  were  filled 
with  men  imploring  a  repeal  of  the  obnoxious  laws,  and,  meanwhile, 
the  capitahsts  kept  back  their  money.  Business  was  paralyzed 
throughout  the  world.  Many  of  the  rich  were  reduced  to  beggary, 
and  the  misery  of  the  poor  became  more  intense.  To  add  to  the 
universal  ruin,  informers  reigned  supreme  at  Home,  and  even  the 
forms  of  law  were  forgotten.  Multitudes,  both  innocent  and  guilty, 
perished  in  the  Roman  jails, — men,  women,  and  children — their 
bodies  being  thrown  into  the  Tiber.  To  add  to  all,  the  vices  of 
Tiberius,  fraught  with  evil  to  the  world,  grew  daily  more  monstrous. 
Old  age  and  debauchery  had  bent  his  body,  and  covered  his  face 
with  ugly  blotches,  but  his  taste  for  obscene  pleasures  steadily  in- 
creased, and,  to  indulge  them,  he  shut  himself  up  in  loathsome 
retirement.  Virtue  and  life  were  alike  at  his  mercy :  no  one  was  safe 
from  infamous  informers.  A  reign  of  terror  prevailed.  Legal  mur- 
ders and  remorseless  confiscations  were  increasing;  immorality  and 
crime  held  high  carnival.  The  most  distant  countries  trembled  be- 
fore Rome,  but  its  rule  may  be  judged  by  the  guilt,  cruelty,  and  cor- 
ruption at  the  centre. 

The  misgoverned  East,  was  deeply  agitated  by  the  uneasy  pre- 
sentiment of  an  impending  change.  Not  only  Judea,  but  the  neigh- 
bouring countries,  were  full  of  restless  expectation. 

Thus,  in  perhaps  the  very  year  in  ■v\iiich  John  the  Baptist  appeared, 
the  Egyptian  priests  announced  that  the  bird  known  as  the  Phcenix 
had  once  more  been  seen.  Originally  the  mj'thological  emblem  of 
the  sun,  it  had  gradually  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  representative  of 
the  cycles  of  the  history  of  the  world,  appearing  at  regular  intervals, 
to  consume  itself,  and  rise  anew  from  its  asL'^s,  in  mystic  indication 
of  the  end  of  one  great  period  and  the  opening  of  another.  It  had 
appeared  under  Sesostris,  under  Amasis,  ana  under  Ptolemy,  the 
third  king  of  the  Macedonian  dynasty.  That  it  should  appear 
now  seemed  strange,  as  the  intervals  of  its  return  had  hitherto  been 
1,461  and  500  years,  but  it  was  only  250  since  Ptolemy.  Meanwhile, 
the  sacred  colleges  of  the  capital  confirmed  what  was  announced  by 
the  Egyptian  priests.  If  the  Egyptian  consoled  himself,  amidst  the 
oppressions  of  the  dark  Tiberius  days,  by  the  fond  belief  that  the 
mysterious  bird  was  about  to  bear  away  the  expiring  age,  the  priestly 
college  of  Rome  reckoned  that  the  great  world-year  was  about  to  end, 
and  the  age  of  Saturn  to  return.  According  to  the  Augurs,  the 
ninth  world-month,  and,  with  it,  the  reign  of  l3iana,  had  closed  with 
Caesar's  death,  and  the  last  month,  that  of  Apollo,  had  begun.  As, 
moreover,  the  secular  months  were  of  imequal  length,  it  seemed  as  if 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  247 

the  end  of  all  thinirs  were  at  hand.  Virgil,  in  the  generation  before 
Christ,  had  alread}^  written  his  Fourth  Eclogue,  with  its  pictures  of 
the  coming  golden  age,  borrowed  from  Isaiah,  through  the  medium 
of  the  Je^vish  Sibylline  poems,  then  widely  circulated  through  the 
world.  It  seems  a  satire  on  his  visions  of  future  happj^  years,  tliat 
the  child,  of  whom  he  wrote  in  such  lofty  strains,  not  only  failed  to 
bring  in  a  golden  age,  but  died  of  hunger,  under  Tiberius,  in  the  very 
year  in  which,  it  would  seem,  Jesus  was  crucified.  The  l«gcnd  of 
the  death  of  the  great  god.  Pan,  which,  according  to  Plutarch, 
happened  in  the  days  of  Tiberius,  shows  the  same  deep  and  boding 
presentiment,  in  the  ancient  world,  that  a  gi-eat  change  was  at  hand. 
"  At  that  time,"  it  relates,  "■  a  ship,  when  off  Corfu,  was  strangely 
becalmed,  and,  forthwith,  the  Eg\T)tian  helmsman,  Thamnus,  beards 
a  loud  voice  from,  the  Echinadian  Islands  call  liim  by  name,  and  bid 
him  say,  when  he  got  to  Palodes,  that  the  great  god,  Pan,  was  dead. 
The  Egyptian  did  as  he  was  bidden,  but  scarcely  had  be  called  out 
his  message  over  the  shore  that  had  been  named  to  him,  when  there 
rose,  around,  a  great  sighing,  and  a  sound  as  of  wonder,  that  tilled 
the  passengers  with  awe;  the  sttny,  when  it  was  told  in  Rome, 
troubling  the  Emperor  Tiberius  and  the  peo]>le  not  a  little."  The 
great  Pan  was,  indeed,  dead,  and  the  other  gods  wailed  over  his  bier. 
The  oracles  and  sacred  utterances  of  the  time  breathe  a  dark  dread 
of  a  coming  world-catastrophe.  The  bright  day  of  the  xVugustaa 
age  had  long  passed.  The  air  over  Rome  smelt  of  blood.  Mur- 
der and  suicide  were  the  fashion,  and  even  women  were  not  safe 
from  the  dagger.  Financial  distress  brought  want  to  the  mass. 
Even  the  provinces  suffered  by  the  a^vful  monetary  crisis.  In  Pales- 
tine, men  saw  their  future  king,  Agrippa,  reduced  to  the  greatest 
straits  for  money,  borrowing  where  he  could,  glad  to  accept  funds 
secretl}' offered  to  gain  his  influence, — for  a  time  dependent  for  his 
very  food  on  Herod  Antipas,  and,  in  the  end,  a  fugitive  from  his 
usurious  creditors.  The  debtor,  the  creditor,  and  the  jail,  which 
recur  so  often  in  the  parables,  were  illustrations  only  too  vividly 
realized  by  the  people  at  large.  It  was  a  time  of  change,  transition, 
universal  doubt,  uncertainty,  and  expectation.  In  the  heathen  woi'ld, 
men  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  the  future;  in  Judea,  they 
looked  for  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Messiah.  The  di^ama  of 
ancient  society  had  been  played  out;  a  vast  empire  had  lisen  on  the 
ruins  of  the  nationalities  that  had,  hitherto,  kept  men  apart,  and  its 
triumphs  had  discredited  the  local  gods,  to  whom  men  had  every- 
where looked  for  protection,  A  calm  had  followed  ages  of  universal 
war  between  city  and  city,  and  State  and  State,  and  had  revolution- 
ized life.  Corruption  and  oppression  had  followed  in  the^wake  of 
dominion,  and  had  filled  the  world  with  vague  longings  for  a  higher 
morality,  and  the  hopes  of  a  nobler  religion  than  the  decayed  systems 
around  them.  The  very  triumph  of  one  power  over  all  others  had, 
iiideed,  before  all  things  besides,  opened  the  way  for  the  new  faith  oi 

I,  of  c— 9. 


248  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Christ.  The  isolation  of  hostile  races  had  been  broken  down,  and 
the  dim  but  magniticent  conception  of  a  brotherhood  of  men,  though, 
as  yet,  only  as  subjects  of  a  universal  despotism,  had  risen  in  the 
mind  of  all  peoples.  The  highways  of  Eome  invited  comm\mica- 
tion  with  all  lands;  her  government  and  laws  guaranteed  order  and 
safety,  wherever  they  obtained ;  but,  above  all,  she  had  prepared  the 
world  for  a  religion  which  shoidd  address  all  humanity,  by  levelling 
the  innumerable  barriers  of  rival  nationality — with  their  jealousies 
and  impenetrable  prejudices,  and  linking  all  races  into  a  single  grand 
federation,  with  common  sympathies,  and  as  fellow-citizens  of  the 
same  great  dominion. 

It  was  amidst  such  a  state  of  things,  when  the  fabric  of  society 
^seemed  dissolving,  and  the  new  world  had  not  yet  risen  from  the 
chaos  of  the  old,  that  the  destined  herald  of  a  new  moral  order  was 
born,  apparently,  in  Hebron.  The  son  of  a  pure  and  worthy  priest, 
John,  the  future  Baptist,  was,  from  his  birth,  surrounded  by  the 
influences  most  fitted  to  develope  a  saintly  character.  Of  priestly 
descent,  en  his  mother's  side  as  well  as  his  father's,  he  began  life  with 
all  the  advantages  cf  an  ancient  ancestry,  every  link  of  which,  in  the 
eyes  of  his  race,  was  noble.  In  the  society  of  Hebron,  his  parents 
would  have  a  prcmirtnt  position,  and  their  young  son  must  have 
been  surrounded,  on  their  account,  with  the  respect  which  insensibly 
educates  and  refines.  His  early  education,  received  at  the  hands  of 
his  father  and  mother,  would  take  the  colour  of  their  position  and 
training.  The  child  would  hear,  from  his  infancy,  the  history  of  his 
people,  and  of  the  great  priestly  race  whose  bleed  ran  in  his  veins. 
His  genealogy  was  no  doubtful  conjecture,  but  clear  and  well  estab- 
lished through  foiu'tcen  centuries,  lighted  up,  at  intervals,  by  tradi- 
tions of  famous  names,  and  as  famous  deeds.  The  child  of  strict 
observers  of  the  Law,  he  would  grow  up  with  a  religious  reverence 
for  its  minutest  prescriptions,  its  feasts  and  fasts,  its  Sabbaths,  and 
new  moons,  its  ten  thousand  rules  on  meats  and  drinks,  dress,  furni- 
ture, dishes,  conversation,  reading,  travelling,  meeting,  parting,  buy- 
ing, selling,  cooking,  the  washing  of  pots,  cups,  tables,  aLd  person— 
that  slavery  of  ritualism  to  which  pious  Jews  gave  a  tremliling  and 
anxious  obedience.  From  his  earliest  years  he  would  feel  that  ht 
could  not  eat,  drink,  clothe  himself,  wash  his  hands  or  feet,  bathe,  ol 
jHrform  the  most  secret  function,  except  by  set  rules.  He  woult 
grow  up  in  the  ideas  of  the  system  into  which  he  had  been  born 
which  mapped  out  his  ever)'  act,  and  word,  and  thought,  and  de- 
nounced every  deviation  from  the  all-embracing  rules  of  Rabbinisia 
as  a  sin,  fatal  to  his  caste  as  a  Jew. 

As  the^on  of  a  priest,  and,  as  such,  liimself  a  destined  priest  here- 
after, John  would  earl}'  learn  all  the  details  of  the  Temple  servicfc, 
ai'd,  doubtless,  often  went  with  his  parents  to  the  Temple,  the  glitter 
ing  pinnacles  of  wiiich  he  could  see  from  Hebron.  The  couutles» 
pilgrims  at  the  gi'eat  feasts:  th«  solemnities  cf  the  altar,  with  its  tur- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  249 

baned,  white-robed,  bare-footed  priests:  the  swelling  music  of  the 
Levites,  who,  each  morning,  sang  the  psalms  of  the  day,  in  the  inner 
court,  to  the  accompaniment  of  citterns,  harps,  and  cymbals,  and  the 
deep  I'oU  of  the  great  Temple  organ,  whose  music  the  Kal)bis,  with 
fond  exaggeration,  spoke  of  as  heard  at  Jericho, — would  be  familiar 
and  dear  to  him,  and  the  splendour  of  the  newly  built  Temple,  re- 
splendent in  snowy  marble  and  gold,  would  kindle  at  once  his  pride 
and  affection.  He  would,  necessarily,  rise  to  manhood  coloured  by 
the  influences  around  him,  and  these  all  tended  to  the  narrowqgt 
Judaism.  Living  almost  under  the  shadoAV  of  :he  Temple,  he  was 
in  the  centre  of  all  that  was  most  rigid  and  intolerant ;  unlike  Jesus, 
whose  GaliliBau  home  kept  Him  in  a  freer  air,  far  from  the  dead  con- 
servatism of  the  Temple  city,  and  from  the  bigotry  of  its  schools  and  -c 
people. 

But  tliough  thus,  by  birth,  education,  and  circumstances,  naturally, 
a  strict  and  rigid  Jew,  higher'  influences  surrounded  John,  from  his 
birth,  than  those  of  mere  formalism.  His  father  and  mother  were 
both  righteous  before  God,  in  a  higher  sense  than  that  of  Rabbinical 
blamelessness.  Their  religion  was  deep  and  sincere,  for  they  were 
f.niong  the  remnant  in  Israel  who  fulfilled  the  sacred  ideal  of  the 
divine  requirements:  they  did  justly,  loved  mercy,  and  walked  hum- 
bly with  their  God.  Their  son  inherited  their  finest  characteristics. 
Even  from  childhood  he  showed  his  religious  bias.  The  only  son  of 
a  priest,  he  might  have  passed  through  life  with  flattering  respect,  in 
the  enjoyment  of  a  modest  plenty,  but  he  early  caught  the  spirit  of 
the  heroes  of  his  race,  of  whom  he  heard  and  read  so  much  in  the 
ancient  Scriptures.  Disdaining  self-indulgent  ease,  his  soul  kindled 
under  the  influences  of  home,  of  the  times,  and  of  religion,  into  a 
fervent  enthusiasm,  which  formed  its  loftiest  conception  of  life  in 
asceticism  and  joyful  self-sacrifice.  Always  more  or  less  in  favour 
with  his  race,  this  tendency  was  more  frequent  in  the  Jewish  priest- 
hood than  in  any  other  of  antiquity.  Feeling  the  pulses  of  the 
spiritual  excitement  which  throbbed  through  the  people  around  him: 
pondering  their  sufferings,  their  sins,  and  their  hopes,  John  gave  him- 
self up,  though  born  a  pi'iest.  to  the  higher  mission  of  a  prophet,  and 
devoted  his  life  to  the  reform  of  the  evils  he  so  deeply  deplored,  and 
to  the  re^^val  of  the  religion  of  his  fathers. 

His  course  was,  doubtless,  in  some  measure,  determined  by  an  act 
of  his  parents,  before  his  birth.  They  had  made  a  vow  in  his  name 
that  he  should  be  a  Kazarite  all  his  life,  and  had  thus  marked  him 
out  as  one  formally  devoted  to  God,  and  he  freely  adopted  the  vow. 
The  Nazarite,  among  the  Jews,  was  one,  of  either  sex,  consecrated  to 
God  as  peculiarly  His.  The  conception  was  the  natural  develop- 
ment, in  earnest  spirit,  of  the  self-mortification,  for  religious  ends, 
by  fasts  and  the  like,  common  to  all  Eastern  races.  It  had  been 
practised  in  Israel  from  the  earliest  times,  and  is  already  formulated 
as  a  recognized  institution  in  the  Book  of  Numbers.      The  Nazarito 


350  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

was  required  to  abstain  altogether  from  wine  and  intoxicating  drinks; 
even  from  vinegar,  or  any  syrup  or  preparation  of  tLie  grape,  and 
from  grapes  themselves,  and  raisins.  All  the  days  of  his  Nazarite- 
ship  he  was  to  eat  nothing  made  of  the  vine,  from  the  kernels  to  the 
Lusk.  "  No  razor  was  to  come  upon  his  head;"  he  was  to  "be  holy," 
and  to  let  the  locks  of  the  hair  of  his  head  grow.  To  guard  against 
any  legal  detilement  from  a  corpse,  he  was  to  go  near  no  dead  body, 
even  if  it  were  that  of  his  father,  mother,  brother,  or  sister,  because 
thf  consecration  of  God  was  on  his  head;  and  if,  by  chance,  death 
came  where  he  was,  the  defilement  could  only  be  removed  by  a  seven 
idaj's'  "  uncleanness,"  to  be  followed  by  shaving  his  head,  and  pre- 
senting a  speciid  trespass-offering.  His  vow  was,  moreover,  regarded 
as  broken,  and  he  had  to  begin  its  fulfilment  again. 

A  Nazarite  vow  was  coimnonly  made  for  a  fixed  time,  but  parents 
might  vow  for  their  infant,  or  even  unborn  children,  that  they  should 
be  Nazarites  for  life.  It  was  thus  in  the  case  of  John;  it  had  been 
so  Avith  Samuel  and  Samson,  and,  according  to  ti'adition,  in  the  case 
of  James  the  Just,  the  brother  of  our  Lord.  But  though  consecrated 
to  God,  and  marked  as  such  by  .special  signs,  the  Nazarite  was  not  a 
monk,  who  withdrew  wholly  from  family,  social,  or  civil  life,  and 
thus  shut  himself  out  from  all  usefid  activity.  The  sound  sense  of 
early  antiquity  had  no  conception  of  such  selfish  devotion.  He  only 
shunned  certain  aspects  or  parts  of  common  life,  though  some,  of 
their  own  accord,  carried  self-denial  farther.  Not  a  few  retired  into 
the  desolation  of  the  hills  of  southern  Judea,  and  lived  rudely  in 
caves,  allowing  themselves  only  the  rough  fare  of  the  wilderness,  and 
the  coarsest  clothing.  Others,  like  James  the  Just,  used  no  oil  for 
aaointing,  though  almost  a  necessary  of  life  in  warm  countries,  and 
ale  no  llesh.  The  shrinking  avoidance  of  all  levitical  defilement, 
which  dictated  such  mortifications,  was  held  due  to  their  special  con- 
secration to  God,  whom  such  rigid  ceremonial  purity  was  supposed 
to  honour.  The  shunning  the  sight  of  the  dead  was  but  a  repetition 
of  what  was  required  from  the  levitically  holiest  man  of  the  nation — 
the  high  priest.  The  abstaining  from  wine  and  strong  drink  guarded 
against  an  offence  doiibly  evil  in  one  who  had  given  himself  to  God, 
and  was  a  security  for  vigour  and  clearness  of  mind  in  His  service. 
The  uacut  hair  was,  perhaps,  a  visible  sign  of  the  sacred  and  invio- 
lable surrender  of  the  \*hole  man  to  Jehovah.  The  hah-  was  the 
sjTnbol  of  manly  vigour,  its  crown  and  ornament;  and  its  vmtouchcd 
locks  thus  symbolized  the  consecration  of  the  reason  and  higher 
powers  to  God.  Thus  especially  "holy,"  the  life-long  Nazarite  stood 
on  an  equality  with  a  priest,  and  might  enter  the  inner  Temple,  as  we 
see  in  the  instance  of  James  the  Just. 

The  Nazarite  vow  was  often  taken  to  attain  some  wish — for  health, 
eafety,  or  success — from  God.  But  where  it  was  for  life,  no  such 
Bclfish  aims  could  be  cherished.  In  lower  cases,  like  that  of  Samson, 
there  might  be  a  vague  craving  for  special  favour  from  God,  but  ia 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  251 

siich  as  that  of  John,  the  impelling;  motive  was  intense  desire  after 
the  hiiiliest  religious  attainment,-..  It  was  in  liim  a  visible  and  endur- 
m^  protest  against  the  worldhncss  and  spiritual  indifference  of  man- 
land  at  large. 

The  time  of  Samson  and  Samuel,  towards  the  close  of  the  period 
of  the  Judges,  seems  to  have  been  that  of  the  greatest  glory  of  Naz- 
;  rilism,  which  prepared  the  way  for  the  grander  era  of  the  prophets, 
beginning  with  Sanniel,  and  lor  the  great  spiritual  movement  of  the 
rc-ign  of  the  first  kings.  Less  than  two  hundred  years  after  David, 
however,  Amos  laments  the  mockery  with  which  the  people  treate  J 
it.  Yet  Nazarites  must  always  have  been  numerous  in  Israel,  fc( 
the  duplicity  of  the  Rabbi  Simeon  Ben  Schelach,  in  regard  to  tli ) 
sacrifices  required  to  discharge  three  hundred  Nazarites  from  theif 
vow,  was  the  first  cause  of  his  disastrous  quarrel  with  Alexander  Jau- 
na.'us.  Even  two  hundred  years  before,  the  vitality  of  the  institution 
must  have  declined.  "  I  never,  through  life, "said  Simeon  the  Just, 
at  that  time,  "liked  to  taste  the  trespass-offering  of  a  Nazarite. 
Once,  however,  a  man  of  the  South  came  to  me  who  had  made  the 
IS'azarite  vow.  I  looked  at  him.  lie  had  glorious  ej'es,  a  noble  face, 
and  his  hair  fell  over  his  slioulders  in  great  waving  masses.  '  Why 
do  you  wish  to  cut  off  this  magnificent  hair,  and  be  a  Nazarite  no 
longer?  '  I  asked  him.  '  I  am  shepherd  to  my  father,'  said  he,  '  in  the 
town  where  I  live.  One  day,  in  drawing  water  from  the  spring,  I 
saw  my  likeness  below,  and  felt  a  secret  pride.  An  evil  thought 
began  to  lay  hold  on  me  and  destroy  me.  Then,  I  said.  Wicked 
creature!  you  would  fain  be  proud  of  what  is  not  }"ours,  and  ought 
to  l)e  no  more  to  you  than  dust  and  worthlessness;  I  vow  to  my  God 
that  I  shall  cut  off  my  hair  for  His  glory.' "  "  Forthwith, "continued 
Simeon,  "I  embraced  him  and  said,  '  Would  that  we  had  many  Naz- 
arites like  thee  in  Israel.'" 

The  iu.stinct  which  has  led  men,  in  every  religion,  and  in  all  ages, 
to  adopt  an  ascetic  life,  doubtless  springs"  from  the  belief,  that  self- 
denial  and  the  subjugation  of  the  l)ody,"leave  the  soul  more  free  to 
attend  to  its  special  interests.  Buddhism  is  a  system  of  self-mor- 
tification, and  Brahmauism  has  its  Yogus,  or  devotees,  who  aspire,  by 
the  renunciation  of  all  that  can  make  life  pleasant,  to  attain  union 
with  the  Supreme  Spirit.  Mohannnedanism  has  its  fakirs,  wlio 
seek  to  subdue  the  flesh  by  their  austerities,  and  to  strengtlien  tlie 
soul  by  contemplation  and  prayer.  The  Egyptian  ])riests  passi'd 
their  novitiate  in  the  deserts,  where,  like  John,  they  lived  in  caves 
"  The  priests  in  Heliopolis,"  says  Plutarch,  "  bring  no  wine  into  the 
tejiiple,  as  it  is  not  seemly  to  drink  by  day,  whilst  the  Lord  ami  King, 
Helios  (the  sun),  looks  on ;  the  others  drink  wine,  but  very  little. 
They  have  many  fasts,  during  which  they  refrain  from  wine,  and 
continuously  meditate  on  divine  things,  learn,  and  teach  them." 

Reaction  from  the  corruption  around,  the  weariness  of  the  world, 
natural  in  a  period  of  universal  unquiet  and  uncertainty,  and  tha  wisJ* 


253  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

to  follow  out  the  letter  of  the  law  exactly,  had  led  to  the  adoption  of 
an  austere  life  by  many  in  Palestine.  As  the  Nazarites  strove  to  at- 
tain ideal  ceremonial  purity  in  rude  isolation,  others  sought  it  in 
brotherhoods.  Josephus  classes  as  one  of  the  four  great  parties  of 
his  day,  the  Essenes,  an  order  numbering  about  4,000  members,  in 
Syria  and  Palestine,  more  or  less  devoted  to  an  ascetic  life.  Like  the 
Pharisees,  they  were  a  development  of  the  zeal  for  the  Law  which 
had  tirst  marked  the  Hasidim,  in  the  Maccaba-an  wars.  The  feverish 
anxiety  to  avoid  levitical  defilement,  which  had  already  given  rise  to 
Pharisaism,  found  its  extreme  expression  in  these  ultra  Vigid  legalists, 
who  hoped,  by  isolation,  to  attain  ceremonial  righteousness  impossi- 
ble in  the  open  world.  The  strictness  and  asceticism  of  others,  ap- 
peared only  a  hypocritical  effeminacy  in  their  severer  eyes.  But, 
even  with  tliem,  "there  were  grades  of  strictness,  for  only  the  most 
rigid  withdrew  from  society.  The  Pharisees  had  had  brotherhoods 
and  unions  for  generations,  and  in  Egypt  there  were  colonies  of 
"Therapeutae,"  who  lived  a  lonely,  contemplative,  idle  life,  in  the 
desert,  coming  together  only  for  common  worship  and  lif)ly  meals. 
But  the  Essenes  were  as  far  from  the  s-aintly  idleness  of  (he  one,  as 
from  the  restless  demagogue  activity  of  tlse  olliers.  The  Pharisees, 
as  years  passed  on,  had  become  constantly  less  entitled  to  the  name  of 
the  Separated,  since  they  eagerly  courted  the  multitude,  and  com- 
passed sea  and  land  to  make  a  pro.selyte,  and  frequented  the  corners 
and  public  places,  to  make  a  show  cf  their  piety.  Ideal  legal  purity 
could  not  be  attained  by  such  a  life,  and  lience  members  who  aspired 
to  a  higher  standard,  withdrew,  to  form  sacred  colonies  by  them- 
selves. 

The  rise  of  these  desert  colonies  is  not  known,  but  the  wanderer 
over  the  district  between  Jerusalem  and  the  Dead  Sea,  in  the  days  of 
John,  came,  every  here  and  there,  on  sucli  settlements,  in  the  narrow, 
shady  wadys,  sometimes  green  in  their  hollows,  which  sink  in  great 
numbers  from  the  high  stony  plateau,  to^\  ards  the  Eead  Sea.  Their 
sad  appearance,  their  life  strictly  regulated  by  the  law,  in  the  least  de- 
tail, gave  them  the  air  of  people  weary  of  life,  who  had  witlidrawn 
from  the  world  to  prepare  for  death.  They  seemed  to  have  given 
themselves  up  to  a  life-long  penance,  in  hope  of  gaining  heaven. 

The  upper  valley  of  Engedi,  where  Pliny  tells  us  most  of  the  Es- 
senes had  settled,  was  exactly  suited  for  the  monkish  life  they  hpd 
chosen.  A  zigzag  path  leads  from  the  wilderness  of  Judea,  about 
three  hours  north  of  Masada,  by  a  steep  descent  of  fully  l.TOO  feet, 
over  loose  rocks  and  stones,  to  a  rich  spring,  which  makes  its  way  un- 
der a  luxuriant  growth  of  shrubs  and  bushes,  to  the  Dead  Sea.  Tlie 
name  Engedi,  the  goat's  spring,  ma}'  well  have  been  given  from  the 
wild  goats  having  first  found  out  and  used  the  steep  path.  A  tropical 
vegetation  supplies  the  simple  Avants  of  life  almost  without  labour. 
In  the  upper  parts  of  the  wady,  and  in  others  running  parallel  with  it, 
the  Essenes  found  exactly  the  localities  that  suited  them.     Each  col- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  253 

ony  had  its  own  synagogue,  its  common  hall  for  meals  and  assemblies, 
and  its  provision  for  dailj^  baths  in  running  water.  Besides  these 
settlers,  there  were  lonely  hermits,  living  beside  solitary  mountain 
springs,  to  be  able  to  secure  their  ceremonial  purity  still  better  than 
their  brethren,  by  more  frequent  J)athing.  These  anchorets,  the  pre- 
cursors of  the  Christian  monks,  lived  solely  on  the  wild  plants  of  the 
hill-sides,  but,  yet,  were  frequently  surrounded  by  large  numbers  of 
disciples,  who  adopted  their  painful  discipline.  "  Colonies  were  also 
formed  in  various  outlying  towns  of  Judea,  the  members  maintaining 
the  same  rites  as  their  brethren,  and  having  alwa3's  ceremonially  pure 
accommodation  for  them  when  they  wandered  from  the  hills.  It 
seems  as  if  the  order  had  originally  lived  wholly  among  men,  and  had 
only  gradually  retired  to  more  or  less  complete  seclusion,  as  dread  of 
detilement  grew  more  intense. 

Their  whole  day  was  spent  in  labour  in  the  field,  or  in  the  care  of 
cattle,  or  in  that  of  bees,  and  in  other  useful  industries.  They  thus 
provided  nearly  all  they  wanted,  buving  what  little  they  required 
besides,  through  a  special  officer.  I'hey  neither  bought  nor  sold 
among  themselves,  but  exchanged  as  each  required,  and  they  would 
hardly  use  coin,  from  its  bearing  an  image. 

Tlie  supreme  end  of  their  retirement,  either  in  associations  or  as 
solitary  hermits,  was  to  keep  the  Mosaic  law  with  all  possible  strict- 
ness. They  read  it  not  only  on  Sabbath,  but  day  and  night,  all 
other  reading  bein^  forbidden.  To  blaspheme  the"^  name  of  Moses 
was  the  highest  crime,  punishable  with  death,  and  to  give  up  his 
Books  was  a  treachery  which  no  Essene  would  commit,  even  under 
the  agonies  of  torture  or  death. 

The  superstitious  di'ead  of  defilement,  which  required  the  cups  and 
platters  of  one  company  of  Pharisees  to  be  cleaned  for  the  use  of 
another,  was  carried  even  farther  by  the  Essenes.  In  imitation  of  the 
priestly  meals  in  the  Temple,  from  which  the  "unclean"  were  scru- 
pulously excluded,  they  had  common  meals,  morning  and  evening, 
before  and  after  the  day's  work;  all  novices  till  the  third  year,  and 
all  who  were  not  of  the  order,  being  excluded  as  levitically  unclean. 
The  dining  hall  was  as  sacred  as  a  synagogue,  the  vessels  and  dishes 
purified  with  sleepless  care,  and  even  the  clothing  worn  during  the 
meals  was  counted  holy.  Priests  invoked  a  blessing  over  the  food, 
and  it  was  eaten  in  reverent  silence.  Whoever  became  members  of 
the  order,  gave  up  all  they  possessed  to  it,  and  the  common  stock  tluis 
obtained,  added  to  the  fruit  and  earnings  of  the  general  labour,  were 
shared  by  all;  the  old  and  sick  receiving  the  tenderesl  care. 

The  earnestness  of  the  order  showed^  itself  in  its  principles.  The 
novices  had  to  promise  "to  honour  God,  to  be  righteous  towards 
man,  to  injure  no  one,  either  at  the  bidding  of  another  or  of  their  own 
ficcord,  to  hate  evil,  to  pnnnote  good,  to  l)e  faithful  to  every  one, 
especially  those  in  authority,  to  love  the  truth,  to  unmask  liars,  and 
to  keep  the  hand  from  theft,  and  the  conscience  from  unrighteous 


254  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

gain."  Slavery  was  forbidden,  and  no  oaths  permitted,  save  those  by 
^vhich  members  were  admitted  to  the  order.  War,  and  even  tha 
manufacture  of  weapons,  was  lield  unlawful,  nor  would  they  even  use 
animal  food,  since  the  Lav,-  said,  "Thou  shalt  not  kill."  Trade,  ex- 
cept so  far  as  their  simple  wants  required,  was  discountenanced. 

But  if  their  morality,  drawn  from  the  Old  Testament,  was  pure  and 
lofty,  their  slavish  devotion  to  ceremonial  ol)servances  marked  them 
as  the  most  superstitious  of  their  nation.  There  were  four  urade*  of 
levitical  "cleanness,"  through  which  the  novice  rose  only  by  a  long 
and  stern  probation,  and  it  was  defilement  that  needed  to  be  washed 
away  by  a  bath,  for  the  member  of  a  higher  grade  to  be  touched  by 
one  of  a  lower.  Priests  washed  their  hands  and  feet  before  any  sacred 
rite,  but  the  Essenes  bathed  their  whole  body  in  cold  Avater  before 
every  ireal,  and  all  they  ate  must  be  prepared  by  one  of  their  own 
number.  They  bathed,  also,  each  morning,  before  uttering  the  name 
of  God.  On  Sabbaths,  they  would  not  even  move  any  vessel  from  its 
place,  and  they  prepared  all  their  food  on  Friday,  to  avoid  kindling 
a  fire  on  the  sacred  day.  They  refused  to  eat  flesh  or  wine,  partly 
from  fear  of  defilement,  partly  because  they  wished  to  reproduce  in 
their  whole  lives  the  strictness  of  the  Nazarites,  of  the  priests  during 
their  ministrations,  and  of  tlie  old  Rechabites.  Thus,  their  only  food 
was  that  prescribed  to  others  for  fasts.  They  kept  aloof  from  the 
Temple,  though  they  sent  the  usual  gifts — for  the  presentation  of  an 
offering  involved  partaking  in  a  sacrificial  meal,  which  would  laave 
defiled  them.  In  some  of  their  colonies  women  were  not  suffered, 
from  the  same  dread  of  uncleauness,  and  though  they  did  not  wholly 
forbid  marriage,  the  wife  was  required  to  undergo  even  more  cere- 
monial cleansings  than  the  brethren.  They  kept  a  watchful  gi.;ard 
that  no  one  was  defiled  by  the  spittle  of  another,  and  that  it  did  not 
fall  on  the  right  side.  The  anointing  oil,  which  was  to  other  Jews  a 
festal  luxury,  in  which  the  Psalmist  had  gloried,  as  dropping  from 
Aaron's  beard,  was,  to  the  Essene,  an  uncleanness,  Avliich  needed  to 
be  washed  away;  a  brother,  expelled  from  the  order,  would  rather 
etarve  to  death,  than  touch  food  prepared  by  a  common  Jew,  ncv 
would  any  Roman  torture  force  him  to  lose  his  caste.  The  Avhole  life 
of  an  E.ssene  was  a  long  terror  of  defilement.  The  work  of  the  colony 
began  before  sunrise,  with  psalms  and  hymns,  followed  by  prayer  and 
washing.  They  then  went  to  their  day's  work.  At  eleven — the  1  t'th 
hour — the  scattered  labourers  gathered  again  for  a  common  bath  in 
cold  water.  The  woollen  dress  in  which  they  worked  was  now  laid 
aside,  and  the  consecrated  dress  of  the  order  put  on,  in  preparation 
for  tlieir  eating  together,  and  their  meal,  which  consisted  only  of 
■bread  and  a  single  kind  of  vegetable,  was  eaten  with  prayer,  in  solemn 
Btillness.  The  holy  dress  was  then  laid  aside,  and  work  resumed.  In 
the  evening,  the  second  meal  was  taken,  with  the  same  solemnities 
and  rites,  and  worship  closed  the  day,  that  only  pure  thoughts  might 
fill  their  souls  as  they  retired  to  rest.     One  day  followed  another, 


THE  Llt^E  OF  CHRIST.  255 

■with  the  monotony  of  pendulum  beats,  in  precisely  the  same  round 
of  imbending  forms. 

The  Esseues,  as  the  mystics  of  Judaism,  naturally  gave  themselves 
to  metaphysical  speculations,  and,  like  the  liabbis,  they  revelled  in 
fantastic  allegorizing  of  Scripture.  From  the  philosophic  Judaism  of 
Alexandria,  they  borrowed  notions  on  free  will  and  fate,  and  from 
Persia  and  Greece,  with  both  of  which  their  race  had  been,  for  long 
periods,  in  contact,  they  adopted  various  dogmas.  Tlie  soul,  they 
iiuagined,  was  a  subtle  ether,  of  heavenly  origin,  drawn  down  to  earth 
by  a  fell  necessity,  and  imprisoned  in  the  body  till  set  free  at  death. 
It  was  then  borne  away,  if  pure,  beyond  the  ocean,  to  a  region  where 
storms  were  unknown,  and  where  the  heat  was  tempered  by  a  gentle 
west  wind,  perpetually  blowing  from  the  ocean.  If  it  had  neglected 
the  Law,  however,  it  was  carried  off  to  a  dark,  wintry  abyss,  to  dwell 
there  for  ever.  Every  morning,  the  Essene.s  paid  homage  to  the  Sun, 
and  they  would  not,  at  any  time,  let  its  beams  fall  on  anything  leviti- 
cally  unclean. 

The  community  of  goods  among  them  was  a  necessity  of  their  mode 
of  life,  since  the  order  aione  could  supply  the  wants  of  its  members. 
It  had  the  result  of  enforcing  simplicity.  An  under  garment,  without 
sleeves,  was  their  only  clothing  in  summer,  and  a  rough  mantle  their 
prophet-like  winter  garb.  The  inter-relation  of  the  different  colonies 
made  money  useless  in  travelling,  for  there  was  no  need  of  it  when, 
at  each  resting  place,  their  frugal  wants  were  freely  supplied  by  any 
brother.  They  had  no  servants,  and,  as  they  recognized  no  distinction 
but  that  of  "clean  and  unclean,"  they  could  have  no  slaves. 

The  grand  aun  of  this  amazing  system  of  self-denial  and  ascetic  en- 
durance is  told  by  Josephus,  in  a  brief  sentence.  "  Consecrated,  from 
childhood,  by  many  purifications,  and  familiar,  beyond  thought,  with 
the  Holy  Books,  and  the  utterances  of  the  prophets,  they  claim  to  see 
into  the  future,  and,  in  truth,  there  is  scarcely  an  instance  in  which 
their  projihecies  have  been  found  false."  The  belief  that  they  could 
attain  direct  communion  with  God,  by  intense  legal  puritication  and 
mystic  contemplation,  and  even  pass,  in  the  end,  to  such  transcen- 
dental vision  as  would  reveal  to  them  the  secrets  of  the  future,  was 
the  supreme  motive  to  endure  a  life  of  so  much  privation  and  self- 
denial.  A  similar  course  had  been  followed  before  their  day,  as  a 
means  of  preparation  for  divine  visions,  and  communion  with  higher 
powers.  "In  those  days,"  says  Daniel,  "I  was  moiyning  three  full 
weeks.  I  ate  no  pleas;mt  bread,  neither  came  flesh  or  wine  in  my 
mouth,  neither  did  I  anoint  myself  at  all,  till  three  whole  weeks  were 
fultilled.  And  on  the  four-and-twentieth  day  of  the  mouth,  as  I  was 
by  the  side  of  the  great  river,  which  is  Hiddekel,  then  I  lifted  up  mine 
eyes,  and  looked,  and  behold  a  certain  man  clothed  in  linen,  whose 
loins  were  girded  with  tine  gold  of  Uphaz."  In  the  same  way,  Esdras 
prepared  Jiimself,  beforehand,  for  his  visions — "Go  to  the  flowery 
open,  where  there  is  no  house,"  said  the  angel  to  him,  "and  eat  only 


256  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  herbs  of  the  field ;  taste  no  flesh,  drink  no  wine,  but  cat  herbs 
only,  and  pray  unto  the  Highest  continually;  then  will  I  come  and 
talk  with  thee." 

It  was  universally  believed  that  the  future  was  open  before  the  aired 
members  of  the  order,  who  had  laboured  after  "  purity"  through  life. 
Their  souls  were  supposed  to  be  well-nigh  freed  from  the  lionds  of  the 
flesh,  and  able  to  wander  forth  to  the  world  beyond.  Thus  an  Es- 
sene  was  said  to  have  prophesied  his  miserable  death  to  tlie  brother 
of  the  first  Aristolnilus;  and  another  to  have  predicted  to  the  boy 
Herod  that  he  would  be  king,  and  that  he  Avould  have  a  long  reign, 
after  he  had  gained  the  crown.  This  gift  of  prophecy  was  believed 
by  Herod  and  his  sons,  no  less  than  among  the  people,  and  hence  an 
Essene  was  often  sent  for  when  a  bad  dream  disturbed  royaly,  or  anxiety 
for  the  future  troubled  it.  With  such  mystic  claims,  the  expectations 
of  Israel  must  have  been  their  chief  thouglit.  Their  old  men  dreamed 
dreams,  their  young  men  saw  visions,  and  their  sons  and  daughters 
prophesied,  as  if  in  fulfilment  of  the  prophet's  signs  of  the  coming  of 
the  Messiah.  Yet  we  have  no  proof  that  they  anticipated  it  as  near, 
or  applied  themselves  in  any  practical  way  to  a  preparation  of  Israel  for 
it.  It  was  only  a  fond  and  airy  vision  of  the  ideal  future.  Thej^  were 
rigid  Predestinarians,  believing  that  all  things,  in  the  coiu'se  of  nature 
and  in  the  life  of  man,  are  fixed  by  fate.  Where  there  was  no  moral 
freedom,  it  was  idle  either  to  preach  or  teach,  and  so  they  did  neither. 

As  was  natural  with  minds  occupied  mainly  with  subjects  above 
human  gra.sp.  the  speculations  of  the  order  became  wild,  and  often 
monstrous.  The  novice  was  required  by  a  fearful  oath  to  conceal  the 
secret  names  of  the  angels,  which  were  known  to  the  brotherhood, 
and  gave  him  who  learned  them  power,  by  pronouncing  them,  to 
draAV  down  these  awful  beings  from  heaven.  The  Apocryphal  litera- 
ture of  the  day  boasted  of  long  lists  of  the  names  of  angels,  with 
their  powers  and  offices;  and  the  Essenes.  like  the  Rabbis,  believed 
that  by  secret  spells,  in  which  these  names  played  a  foremost  part, 
they  could  command  their  services  for  good  or  evil,  as  the  services  of 
the  genii  are  at  the  command  of  the  magicians  in  the  Arabian  Nights. 
They  believed  also,  in  common  with  the  age,  in  the  secret  magic 
powers  of  plants  and  stones,  and  they  had  much,  besides,  the  dis- 
closure of  which  was  the  greatest  of  crimes.  Secrecy  was,  indeed,  u 
characteristic  of  the  order.  The  neophyte  bound  himself  by  a  terrible 
oath,  "neither  to  conceal  anything  from  the  brotherhood,  nor  to  dis- 
cover any  of  their  doctrines  to  others,  even  if  he  should  have  to  die 
for  his  refusal.  He  had,  moreover,  to  swear  that  he  would  communi- 
cate their  doctrines  to  no  one,  except  as  he  himself  had  received  them, 
and  that  he  would  keep  inviolably  secret  the  books  of  the  order,  and 
the  names  of  the  angels." 

The  influence  of  Essenism  on  the  age,  however,  was  small,  for  its 
members  were  few  in  proportion  to  the  teeming  pop\i]ation,«nd  made 
BO  attempt  at  propagandism,  but  lived  entirely  apart  from  men.     The 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  257 

natural  product  of  tlie  times,  with  its  Messianic  hopes,  its  striving 
after  Iciral  rigiiteouflncss,  its  glorification  of  tlie  past,  and  its  contact 
■\vit!i  heathen  su[)erstition,  it  served  the  purpose,  in  some  measure,  of 
drawing  away  the  tlioughts  from  tlie  dream  of  national  political 
glory,  and  of  preparing  the  soil  for  the  more  spiritual  conception  of 
the  Messiah,  whicli  John  and  Jesus  were  to  introduce.  The  Essenes 
came  in  contact  with  the  people  as  healers,  prophets,  dream-inter- 
preters, and  exorcists,  not  as  teachers  or  preachers.  Their  religion.^ 
exercises  and  pure  ideas  were  cherished  in  thecommimity  without  an 
attempt  to  spread  them  through  the  nation; — in  marked  contrast  to 
the  Baptist,  whose  life  was  a  fervent  ministry  to  tlie  masses  of  his 
countryiuau,  and,  still  more,  to  Jesus, — for  he  lived  in  constant  con- 
tact with  men,  even  those  shunned  alike  by  Essene  and  Rabbi,  as 
unclean:  showed  the  most  perfect  superiority  to  all  ritual  narrow- 
ness; set  light  by  ceremonial  purit}",  or  supei'stitious  Sabbath  laws; 
discarded  fasting;  took  part  in  the  social  enjoyment  gf  feasts,  and 
meals,  and  marriages,  and  left  a  new  code  of  ndcs  and  ma.xims  for 
His  disciples.  Essenism  was,  at  best,  only  the  vivid  culmination  of 
tlie  p.i^l,  doomed  to  pass  away,  and  wholly  until  to  create. 

From  their  lofty  morality,  the  Essenes  have  been  assigned  a  rank 
among  the  spiritual  forces  of  thcii*  age,  to  which  in  reaUty  they  had 
no  claim.  If  their  moral  purity  and  spiritual  depth,  breathed  of  the 
prophets  rather  than  the  theocracy,  and  made  their  order,  in  so  far,  a 
herald  of  Christianity,  their  exaggerated  ceremonialism,  their  harsh 
austerity,  and  their  fantastic  and  half-heathen  superstitions  neutral- 
ized, to  a  large  extent,  this  healthy  influence.  Still,  in  some  directions, 
tiie}^  surpassed  in  true  morality  anything  in  the  last  centuries  of  Jew- 
ish life.  It  gives  even  their  harsh  asceticism  a  higher  dignity,  that  it 
was  not,  like  that  of  the  Phari-sees,  a  mercenarj'  service  for  external 
reward,  but  a  self-denying  attempt  to  keep  out  evil  from  the  soul, 
and  thus  prepare  it  for  that  high  communion  with  God,  in  whose 
sa?red  calm  the  still  small  voice  of  divine  revelations  grows  audible. 
For  the  first  time  since  the  prophets,  the  spiritual  condition  of  the 
soul  was  declared  to  be  the  end  of  religion.  While  the  Rabbis  dis- 
tracted the  age  with  tlieir  fierce  party  strifes  about  the  merely  external, 
another  kind  of  life  ripened  in  the  seclusion  of  the  colonies  of  Essenes, 
which  bore  better  fruit,  because  it  concerned  itself  with  the  need  of 
a  New  Birth,  and  the  circumcision  of  the  heart,  not  with  the  theoc- 
ra -y,  the  Temple,  or  politics.  The  likeness  to  Christianity,  where  it 
e.xists  in  Essenism,  was  not  in  its  institutions,  but  in  the  quiet  and 
m^'ditative  frame  that  breathed  through  the  communitj'  in  its  religioui  i 
seriousness  and  priestly  consecration  of  life — the  "daily  keeping  of 
Sabbath"  which  was  also  the  ideal  of  the  first  Christian  communions. 
These  characteristics  of  the  order  were,  in  some  degree,  common  also 
to  those  who,  after  them,  were  "the  quiet  and  peaceful  in  the  land," 
although  its  doctrines  and  ideas  offered,  otherwise,  rather  a  contrast 
to  Christianity  than  a  resemblance. 


CHAPTER  XXIT. 

THE  VOICE  IK  THE  WILDERNESS. 

No  one  is  unaffected  by  the  spirit  of  his  age.  It  is  not  surpn&mg, 
tlierefore,  that  at  a  time  when  religious  earnestness  fouiad  expression 
in  the  ascetic  self-denial  and  retirement  from  the  world  of  JSiazarites, 
Ilssencs,  and  even  of  others,  not  connected  with  either,  the  young 
enthusiast  of  Hebron  withdrew  from  his  family  and  mankind,  to  tlio 
caves  of  the  wilderness  stretching  away  from  his  native  town.  In  an 
age  so  troubled  in  politics  and  religion,  the  peaceful  simplicity  of 
Buch  a  hermit  life  was  irresistible,  and  in  its  calm  retirement  men 
could  work  ovit  their  salvation  by  prayer,  fasts,  washings,  and  rigid 
zeal  for  the  Law,  with  no  one  to  make  them  afraid.  The  weary 
heart  found  repose  in  a  solitude,  where  the  great  world,  with  its  die- 
cord,  turmoil,  and  confusion,  its  cruelty,  sebishness,  and  treachery, 
Tras  shut  out.  The  psalm-singing,  the  ceremonies,  and  the  quiet  in- 
dustry of  the  colonies  of  Esscncs,  sent  strange  emotions  of  gentle- 
ness and  awe  into  men's  hearts,  in  an  age  when,  everywhere  else, 
wickedness  reigned  triumphant.  In  such  dark  days  these  spots  shono 
with  a  holy  light.  Having  fled,  in  horror,  from  prevalent  violence 
and  sin, — by  the  natural  law  of  reaction,  the  fugitives  sought  to  ex- 
tinguish in  themselves  the  simplest  instincts  of  human  nature.  It  was 
thus,  afterwards,  in  the  aAvful  times  of  the  dissolution  of  the  Ecman 
empire.  The  deserts  of  Egypt  and  Syria  were  filled  with  a  strange 
population,  fleeing  from  the  wild  tumult  and  commotion  under  which 
the  earth  reeled.  It  was  thus,  also,  in  the  fierce  and  lawless  middle 
ages,  when  the  cloister  was  like  a  speck  of  blue  in  a  heaven  of  storm. 
Asceticism,  in  these  different  periods,  as  in  that  of  the  Gospel  histo- 
ry, was  the  only  protest  which  told  with  sulHcicnt  force  against  the 
rampant  evil  around.  Eleven  centuries  after  Christ,  a  similar  state  of 
society  made  the  ascetic  life  the  ideal  of  the  noblest  souls,  even  -where 
they  did  not  withdraw  from  the  world.  St.  Bernard's  saintly  mother, 
the  model  of  Christian  charity  and  lowliness,  could  not  rest  satisfied 
with  these  graces.  By  scantiness  of  food,  by  simplicity  of  dress,  by 
the  avoidance  of  worldly  pleasures,  by  fasting,  prayer,  and  vigils,  she 
Etrove  after  that  vLsion  of  self-sacrifice  and  humility,  which  alone  was 
attractive  in  that  age.  Asceticism  is  not  needed  now.  Its  place  has 
been  more  nobly  filled  by  the  claims  of  Christian  work  for  others,  but 
in  John  the  Baptist's  day,  and  for  long  centuries  after,  it  was  a  nat- 
ural tendency. 

The  wilderness  to  which  John  withdrew  stretches,  far  and  near, 
over  the  whole  eastern  part  of  Judea,  beginning  almost  at  Jerusalcra, 
and  reaching  away,  under  different  names,  to  the  Dead  Sea  and  the 
gouthern  desert,  as  ita  distant  limits.     It  is  a  dreary  waste  of  rocliy 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  259 

valleys;  in  some  parts  stern  and  terrible — the  rocks  cleft  and  shattered 
by  earthquakes  and  convulsions,  into  rifts  and  gor2:es  sometimes  a 
thousand  feet  in  depth,  though  only  thirty  or  forty  in  width;  in 
others,  stretching  out  in  bare  chalk  hills  full  of  caves,  or  in  white, 
flint-bound  ridges,  and  winding,  muddy  wadys,  with  an  occasional 
reservoir,  hewn  in  the  hard  limestone,  to  supply  water  in  a  country 
destitute  of  springs.  One  may  travel  all  day,  and  see  no  other  life 
than  the  desert  partridge,  and  a  chance  fox  or  vulture.  Only  the  dry 
and  fleshy  plants,  which  require  no  water,  grow  on  the  hills,  and  in 
the  valleys  the  most  luxuriant  vegetati®n  is  the  white  broom  bushes, 
which  blossom  in  March  and  April.  The  whole  district  is,  in  fact, 
the  slope  of  the  midland  chalk  and  limestone  hills,  from  their  highest 
point  of  nearly  3,000  feet,  near  Hebron,  to  1,000  or  1,500  feet,  at  the 
valley  of  the  Dead  Sea.  The  Hebrews  fitly  call  it  Jeshimon— "  tha 
appaUing  desolation,"  or  "horror" — for  it  is  not  possible  to  conceive 
a'more  desolate  region.  Parts  of  it  are  deserted  even  by  the  Arabs. 
Oa  the  northern  side,  valleys  of  great  depth,  sinking  towards  ths 
D3ad  Sea,  almost  preclude  travelliag  except  in  their  troughs,  and  far- 
ther south,  the  country  is  absolutely  impassable.  Huge  perpendic- 
ular gorges,  of  from  a  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  depth,  and 
i,i  some  places  nearly  a  mile  in  width,  have  been  hollowed  out  by  the 
g'-cat  torrents,  rushing  in  winter  over  the  precipices,  towards  the  Dead 
S'ja.  Tlie  only  natural  site  for  a  town,  in  the  whole  district,  is  the 
opening  at  the  foot  of  the  pass  of  Eagedi,  the  spring  of  the  wild 
goats,  above  the  shores  of  the  sea,  and  thi«  is  reached  only  by  a  nar- 
row, serpent-like  path,  down  cliffs  twelve  hundred  feet  high, — well 
named  by  the  Hebrews,  the  rocks  of  the  wild  goats, — which  only  un- 
loaded beasts,  by  an  hour's  slow  care,  can  descend  in  safety.  Except- 
ing in  the  spring,  at  this  spot,  water  is  to  be  found  only  in  hollows  of 
the  rocks,  or  in  the  very  rare  water-cisterns,  hewn  in  past  ages_  in 
the  limestone,  which  catch  some  of  the  few  passing  showers  which 
visit  this  region. 

This  "Spring  of  Engedi"— or  "  Ain  Jidy,"  gushes  from  beneath  a 
rock  on  a  little  plateau,  503  feet  above  the  Dead  Sea,  and  1,300  feet 
below  the  top  of  the  cliffs.  The  water  is  sweet  and  clear,  but  unpleas- 
antly warm  to  the  taste.  The  stream  flows  in  a  long  cascade  over  the 
steep  face  of  the  cliff,  and  is  lost  in  channels  for  irrigation,  beneath, — 
low  bushes,  bending  rushes,  and  the  gigantic  leaves  of  the  osher,  the 
yellow  berries  of  the  apple  of  Sodom,  and  the  flat  cedar-like  tops  of  the 
thorny  Darda'ra,  rising  in  a  thicket  along  its  course.  Bulbuls  and 
ho'rping  thrushes  court  this  shelter,  and  black  grakl«s,  with  golden 
wings,  and  melodious  note,  flit  to  and  fro  on  the  cliffs  above.  On 
eveiy  side,  below  the  spring,  ruined  garden  walls,  and  terraces,  and 
a  large  terraced  mound,  show  the  site  of  an  ancient  town,  which  had, 
perhaps,  a  thousand  inhabitants.  The  scenery  along  the  shore  in 
magnificent  in  its  wild  and  desolate  grandeur.  Beneath,  is  the  blu3 
water  of  the  Dead  Sea;  above,  rise  the  tall  crags  and  castellated  prec- 


260  THE  LIFE  OP  CHKIST. 

ipiccs  of  the  gi-eat  rock-wall,  ivhich  nins,  ever  higher  and  steeper, 
nearly  to  the  fortress  of  JMasada,  the  scjuare  isolated  mass  of  which, 
more  than  1,500  feet  aliove  the  Dead  Sea,  forms  a  great  plateau,  cut 
off  on  every  side  by  deep  gorges,  and  vertical  walls  of  rock,  and  seen 
from  Engedi.  On  the  east,  beyond  the  deep  gorges  of  the  Arnon,  and 
lesser  streams  of  the  Blue  JNlountains,  the  white  towers  of  Kerak 
look  down  from  a  great  cliff  whicli  seems  to  defy  approach. 

The  town  of  Engedi  was  the  one  minute  living  spot  in  the  whole 
region,  for  the  only  human  habitations  in  the  wild  region  above  were 
the  liill  caves,  in  which  liermits  sought  a  miserable  shelter.  Some- 
where in  the  gorge  leading  down  to  the  spring,  the  Essenes  had  their 
little  colony  in  John's  day,  but  their  strict  isolation  left  the  lonely 
anchorite  in  a  deeper  solitude.  In  the  neighbouring  wilderness,  where 
the  venomous  desert  viper  glided  among  the  stones,  and  the  scorpion, 
the  fox,  the  vulture,  or  the  raven,  were  almost  the  only  signs  of  life: 
where  drought  reigned,  and  the  waterless  hills  and  stony  valleys  were 
symbols  of  utter  desolation, — in  some  cave,  perhaps,  in  the  depth  of 
a  deep  and  narrow  gorge,  that  at  least  gave  shelter  from  the  pitiless 
-heat  and  glare  of  an  eastern  sun,  J<Jin  took  up  his  abode,  to  be  alone 
with  God  and  his  own  f  cul,  and,  thus,  the  belter  able  to  fultil  the  life- 
long vow  which  separate  d  him  from  men.  Bred  up  a  strict  Jew,  and 
trained,  like  St.  Paul,  in  Ibc  perfect  knowledge  and  observance  of  the 
Law,  he  Avas,  doubtless,  like  him,  a  zealot  towaids  Gcd  in  all  things 
respecting  it.  At  what  age  he  retired  from  Hebron  to  this  hermit 
life,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but  he  had,  apparently,  lived  for 
many  years  apart  from  men  befci'e  his  public  appearance.  Thp  Gospels 
furnish  us  with  vivid  glimpses  of  his  appearance  and  mode  of  life.  His 
hair  hung  long  about  him,  like  Sampson's,  for  it  had  never  been  cut 
from  his  Inrth.  His  only  food  was  tlie  locusts  which  leaped  or  flew  on 
the  bare  hills,  and  the  honey  of  wild  bees  which  he  found,  here  and 
there,  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  and  his  only  drink  a  draught  of  water 
from  some  rocky  hollow.  Locusts  are  still  the  food  of  the  poor  in  many 
parts  of  the  East.  "All  the  Bedouins  of  Arabia,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  towns  in  Nedj  and  Hedjaz,  are  accustomed  to  eat  them,"  says 
Burckhardt.  "I  have  seen  at  Medina  and  Tayf,  locust  shops,  where 
the}'  are  sold  by  measure.  In  Egypt  and  Kubia  Ihey  are  eaten  only 
by  the  poorest  beggars.  The  Arabs,  in  preparing  them  for  eating, 
throw  them  alive  into  boiling  water,  with  which  a  good  deal  of  salt 
has  been  mi.xed,  taking  them  out  after  a  few  minutes,  and  drying 
them  in  the  sun.  The  head,  feet,  and  wings,  are  then  torn  off,  the 
bodies  cleansed  from  the  salt,  and  perfectly  dried.  They  are  some- 
times eaten  boiled  in  butter,  or  spread  on  unleavened  bread  mixed 
with  butter."  In  Palestine,  the}'^  are  eaten  only  by  the  Arabs  on  the 
extreme  frontiers;  elsewhere  they  are  looked  on  with  disgust  and 
loathing,  and  only  the  very  poorest  use  them.  Tristram,  however, 
speaks  of  them  as  "very  palatable."  "I  found  them  very  good," 
says  he>    "when  eaten  after  the  Arab  fashion,  stewed  with  butter. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  261 

They  tasted  somewhat  like  shrimps,  but  wipi  less  flavoxir."  In  the 
wilderness  of  Judca,  various  kinds  abound  at  all  seasons,  and  spring 
up  with  a  drumminsj;  sound,  at  every  step,  suddenly  spreading  their 
bright  hind  wings,  of  scarlet,  crimson,  blue,  yellow,  white,  green,  or 
brown,  according  to  the  species.  They  were  "clean,"  under  the  Mo- 
saic Law%  and  hence  could  he  eaten  by  John  without  offence.  The 
wild  bees  in  Palestine  are  far  more  numerous  than  those  kept  in  hivet;, 
and  the  greater  part  of  the  lioney  sold  in  the  southern  districts  is  ob- 
tained from  wild  swarms.  Few  countries,  indeed,  are  better  adapted 
for  bees.  The  dry  climate,  and  the  stunted  but  varied  flora,  consist- 
ing largely  of  aromatic  thymes,  mints,  and  other  similar  plants,  with 
crocuses  in  the  spring,  are  very  favourable  to  them,  while  the  dry 
recesses  of  the  limestone  rocks  everywhere  afford  them  shelter  and 
protection  for  their  combs.  In  the  wilderness  of  Judea,  bees  are  far 
more  numerous  than  in  any  other  part  of  Palestine,  and  it  is,  to  this 
day,  part  of  the  homely  diet  of  the  Bedouins,  who  squeeze  it  from  the 
combs  and  store  it  in  skins. 

John's  dress  was  in  keeping  with  the  austerity  of  his  life.  A  bur- 
nouse of  rough,  rudely  woven  cloth  of  coarse  camels'  hair,  such  as 
the  Bedouins  "still  wear,  bound  round  his  body  by  the  common  leath- 
ern girdle  still  in  use  among  the  very  poor,  was  apparent-y  his 
only  clothing.  His  head-dress,  if  he  had  any,  Avas  the  triangular 
head-cloth,  kept  in  its  place  by  a  cord,  as  is  still  the  custom  among 
the  Arabs,  and  his  feet  were  shod  with  coarse  sandals.  In  Hebron 
he  had  had  around  him  all  that  could  make  life  pleasant — a  saintly 
home,  loving  parents,  social  consideration,  modest  comforts,  and  an 
easy  outlook  for  the  future.  But  the  burden  of  life  had  weighed 
heavy  on  him,  and  his  heart  was  sad,  and  drove  him  forth  from  men. 
The  "enemies  of  his  people  were  strong,  and  the  hand  of  them  that 
hated  them  lay  sore  upon  them.  The  cry  of  the  faithful  in  the  land 
rose  to  God,  "that  He  would  remember  His  holy  covenant  and 
deliver  them.  They  sighed  to  be  free  from  the  presence  of 
the  heathen,  that,  once  more  imder  God  as  their  only  king,  witli 
their  country  to  themselves,  they  might  serve  Him  without  fear,  in 
tlie  homage  of  the  Temple,  and  the  rites  of  the  Law.  Israel  had  long 
eat  in  darkness,  with  no  break  of  light  from  heaven.  The  promises 
seemed  to  tarry.  The  godly  sighed  to  have  their  feet  guided  into  the 
way  of  peace,  but  no  Messiah  had  ap])eared  to  lead  them. 

But  if  the  sorrows  of  the  nation  pressed  on  the  heart  of  John,  so, 
also,  did  their  sins.  If  the  "  shadow  of  death"  thus  lay  on  them,  it 
was  through  their  own  sins  and  degeneracy,  for  God  had  onlj'  for- 
saken them  because  they  had  first  forsaken  Him.  The  courts  of 
His  Temple  had  been  turned  into  a  den  of  thieves;  the  spiritual  guides 
of  the  multitude  were  deceitful  and  deadly  as  the  viper  of  the  desert ;, 
blind  leaders  of  a  blind  people.  They  who  should  have  been  the 
holiest  of  the  holy — God's  priests— were  a  scorn  and  derision  for  their 
unwortliiuess.     Before  John  reached  his  majority,  he  had  seen  the 


S63  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

sacred  mitre  changed  nine  times,  at  the  will  of  Archelaus,  or  of 
a  heathen  governor  from  Rome,  and  the  puppet  high  prie;-ts  had  des- 
ecrated its  awful  dignity  by  personal  vice,  or  time-serving  policy,  or 
intliiference  to  its  highest  obligations,  or  shameful  luxury  and 
Jtiaughty  pride.  Two  of  the  family  of  Boethos  of  Alexandria,  raised 
by  llerod  to  dignify  his  marriage  into  the  house,  had  worn  the  high 
piiests'  robes,  but  the  people  muttered  curses  on  them,  for  having 
surrounded  themselves  with  courtly  show  aad  military  violence.  Is- 
n  ael,  the  son  of  Phabi,  had  worn  them,  but  the  clubs  of  his  retainers 
h;id  become  a  by-word  in  Jerusalem,  as  had  his  own  shameful  per- 
sonal luxury.  Three  members  of  the  family  of  Hannas  had  worn 
them — Ilannas  himself,  Eleazar,  his  son,  and,  now,  Caiaphas.  his  son- 
in-law, — and  Hannas  was  still  the  foremost  man  in  Jerusalem,  but  they 
hated  the  people,  and  the  people  hated  them,  and  maintained  that  they 
hissed  at  them  like  vipers,  in  their  proud  malignity,  or  glided  to  their 
evil  ends,  like  the  snake.  Their  families  were  branded  as  Sons  of 
Eli.  Iniquity  filled  the  high  places  of  the  Hill  of  God.  Nor  were 
the  people  themselves  innocent,  for  He  who  was  meek  and  lowly  in 
spirit  denounced  them,  a  year  or  two  later,  as  an  evil  and  adulterous 
generation,  more  hardened  and  hopeless  than  Nineveh,  or  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah,  which  God  had  cursed.  Earnest  sotds,  in  such  circum- 
stances,  with  the  earth  dark  around  them,  and  no  light  in  the 
heavens;  feeling  that  hope  could  only  come  with  national  contrition, 
and  awakened  spiritual  life,  might  well,  in  loving,  sad  despair, 
withdraw  themselves  from  mankind. 

But  with  John  there  was  also  a  conviction  that  the  Messiah,  long 
expected,  must  be  near  at  hand,  and  that  the  fit  preparation  for 
His  advent  was  a  self-denial  and  humiliation,  which  surrendered 
the  whole  present,  and  gave  itself  up  to  prayer  and  watching,  in 
desert  solitudes.  It  was  the  idea  of  his  age,  and  John  could  be 
satisfied  Avith  nothing  less.  A  great  sorrow  and  a  great  ideal  alike 
drove  him  to  "  keep  his  body  under,"  as  if  the  least  pleasure  were  sin, 
and  the  flesh  the  enemy  of  the  soul. 

Joscphus  gives  us  a  sketch  of  one  of  the  recluses  of  the  desert, 
vith  whom  he  himself  lived  for  three  years.  "His  name  was 
Eanus,  his  home  the  desert,  his  only  clothing  the  leaves  or  bark  of 
tiees.  his  only  food  wiiat  grew  of  its  own  accord,  his  only  drink 
the  brook,  and  his  daily  and  nightly  practice,  to  bathe  in  cold  water." 
Not  a  few  such,  no  doubt,  buried  themselves  in  the  dens  and  caves 
of  the  lonely  hills  round  John,  weary  of  the  world,  as  Pliny  says, 
a'-id  seeking,  by  a  life  of  penitence,  as  he  calls  it,  to  cleanse  away 
the  defilements  of  the  flesh. 

With  many,  the  great  motive  might  be  to  save  themselves  in  the 
shipwreck  of  all  besides,  but  no  such  unworthy  impulse  actuated 
John.  He  sought  the  wilderness,  at  once  to  secure  perfect  levitical 
purity,  for  he  was  a  strict  Jew — to  ponder  over  the  mysteries  of  the 
long-delayed  kingdom  of  God,  and  to  aid  in  bringing  about  its  ac- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  3G3 

complishment.  TTis  life,  so  earnostly  Rtrivin,<T  for  moot'-ess  fir  the 
now  Messianic  kin£rdoin,  was  no  vacant  and  idle  soiiMide.  He  had 
nothin<2;  of  the  Eastern  mystic,  whose  cell  witnesses  only  dreamy  a:id 
selfish  meditation.  The  sfruirdesof  soul,  in  all  natureslike  his,  were 
imspeakalily  real,  and  we  cannot  doubt  that  his  days  and  nigiits  saw 
him  pleadimr,  by  long  earnest  prayer,  with  many  tears  and  sore  fast- 
inc:,  that  God,  in  His  mercy,  would,  at  last,  send  t!ie  Messiali  to  His 
people.  We  know  how  even  Christ,  "in  the  daj's  of  His  flesh,  offered 
up  prayers  and  sup])lications,  with  strong-  cryiui^  and  tears;"  how  He 
sijihed  deeply  in  His  spirit,  and  spent  wholc"niG:hts  in  the-  hills,  or  in 
the  desert,  in  lonely  prayer,  and  His  herald  must  have  felt,  in  his 
measure,  the  same  all-absorbing  zeal.  The  prophets  and  Rabbis,  alike, 
(aught  that  the  "  Kingdom  of  Heaven"  could  onlj^  come  when  Israel 
had  prepared  it.self  by  humiliation  and  repentance,  and  John  sought 
to  rouse  men  at  large  to  feel  this,  by  the  protest  against  their  sins, 
embodied  in  his  example.  To  rebuke  love  of  riches  would  have 
been  idle,  had  he  lived  in  comfort ;  to  condemn  the  holiowness  and 
unreality  of  life,  he  nnist  be  clear  of  all  suspicion  of  them  himself. 
Men  involuntarily  do  homage  to  self-denying  sincerity,  and  there  could 
be  no  question  as  to  that  of  John.  It  was  felt  that  he  was  real. 
Religion  had  become  a  thing  of  forms.  Men  had  settled  into  a 
round  of  externals,  as  if  all  religion  centred  in  these.  Decencies 
and  proprieties  formed  the  substance  of  human  life.  But  John 
showed  that  there  was,  at  least,  one  man  with  whom  religion  was 
an  everlasting  reality. 

A  soul  lost  in  the  greatness  of  eternal  truths,  like  that  of  John, 
may  well  have  risen  to  an  indifference  to  the  comforts,  or  even  or- 
dinary wants  of  the  body,  otherwise  almost  impossible.  We  have  no 
recora  of  his  daily  life,  but  that  of  one  who,  in  saintline.ss  of  spirit, 
trod  in  his  steps,  it  still  preserved.  Saint  Antony,  in  the  deserts  of 
Eaypt,  was  wont  to  pass  whole  nights  in  prayer,  and  that  not  once, 
but  often,  to  the  astonishment  of  men.  He  ate  once  a  day,  after  the 
setting  of  the  sun ;  his  food  was  bread  with  salt,  his  drink  nothing 
l)ut  water.  Flesh  and  wine  he  never  tasted.  When  he  slept,  he  was 
content  with  a  rush  mat,  but  mostly  he  lay  on  the  bare  ground.  He 
would  not  anoint  liimself  with  oil,  saying  that  it  was  more  fit  for 
young  men  to  be  earnest  in  subduing  the  body,  than  to  seek  things 
which  softened  it.  Forgetting  the  past,  he,  daily,  as  if  beginning 
afiesh,  took  more  pains  to  improve,  saying  over  to  himself,  continu- 
ally, Ihe  Apostle's  words — "Forgetting  what  is  behind;  stretching 
forth  to  what  is  before;"  and  mindful,  too,  of  Elijah's  saying,  "The 
Lord  liveth,  before  whom  I  stand" — he  said,  in  himself,  that  the 
ascetic  oiight  ever  to  be  learning  his  own  life  from  that  of  the  great 
Elias,  as  from  a  mirror.  The  picture  may  not  suit  in  some  particu- 
lars, but  as  a  glimpse  of  the  mortified  life  of  the  desert,  in  its  best 
aspect,  it  may  serve  to  realize  that  of  John,  in  the  loneliness  of  tbfi 
rough  wilderness  ef  Judca. 


264  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

In  its  rugged  solitudes,  his  soul  gradually  rose  to  the  consciousneas 
of  a  great  mission.  He  believed  that  the  wrath  of  God  was  near  at 
hand,  to  take  vengeance  on  the  unrighteousness  of  men,  but  he  knew 
that  the  God  of  Abraham,  even  in  wrath,  remembers  merc.y,  and  that, 
with  the  judgments,  there  would  come  the  long-promised  deliverer. 
His  impetuous  nature,  and  a  heart  that  never  feared  the  face  of  man, 
raised  him  to  the  level  of  the  old  prophets,  and  impelled  him,  like 
them,  to  address  his  generation.  Instinct  with  the  deepest  religious 
feeling;  of  a  transparent  simplicity,  and  reverend  truthfulness  of 
word  and  bearing;  glowing  with  energy:  a  living  embodiment  ot 
sincerity  and  self-denial,  and  in  the  best  position,  from  his  earliest 
years,  to  know  the  age,  he  was,  above  all  men,  fitted  to  rouse  the 
sleeping  conscience  of  Israel,  and  to  lay  bare  the  self-deceptions 
and  sins  of  even  the  religionists  of  the  daJ^  Though  a  hereditary 
priest,  he  had  stood  aloof  from  the  Temple  service,  for  its  mechanicjil 
rites  gave  him  no  inner  peace. 

From  the  Temple  aristocracy  he  shrank  with  a  special  aversion, 
for  the  guilt  of  the  nation  culminated  in  them.  Under  the  mantle 
of  legal  purity,  and  behind  the  cheap  popular  sanctity  of  the  Phari- 
sees, his  quick  eye  saw%  at  a  glance,  hateful  ambition,  greed,  and 
hypocrisJ^  The  nation  itself  stirred  his  soul,  as  he  saw  it,  in  a  time 
so  earnest,  contenting  itself  with  Pharisaic  righteousness,  and  trust- 
ing, with  insane  self-complacency,  to  its  being  the  people  of  God.  In 
his  loneliness,  his  soul  had  communed  much  with  the  prophets  of  the 
Old  Covenant,  and  found  in  their  holy  zeal  for  Israel  and  God;  in 
their  demand  for  a  higher  righteousness  of  the  heart  and  life,  instead 
of  sacritices  of  beasts ;  in  their  lofty  announcement  of  a  divine  future 
for  his  nation,  if  it  prepared  itself  for  it,  the  prophetic  longing  and 
prophecy  of  liis  own  spirit.  That  he  never  names  Moses,  shows  that 
he  must  have  passed  beyond  the  Law,  to  the  prophets.  Isaiah,  es- 
pecially, had  excited  in  him  a  faith  so  deep  and  intelligent  that  Jesus 
rebuked  his  fears,  when  perplexed  and  doubting,  by  a  quotation  from 
that  prophet's  IMessianic  predictions.  The  fcAv  fragments  left  of  his 
preaching  abound  in  figures  borrowed  from  this,  his  favourite  Book — 
the  viper  brood,  the  trees  of  God's  vineyard,  the  felling  that  which 
was  barren,  the  consuming  fire,  the  threshing  floor  and  the  winnow- 
ing shovel,  and  the  giving  bread  and  clothing  to  the  poor. 

John's  life  in  the  wilderness  seems  to  have  been  no  short  retire- 
ment. His  whole  later  bearing,  his  mode  of  life,  his  sad  passionate 
earnestness,  and  even  his  lofty  resolve  to  come  forth  as  a  prophet, 
imply  a  long  abode  in  the  solemn  freedom  of  the  desert,  far  from  the 
distracting  aud  enfeebling  tumult  of  life.  But,  though  in  the  same 
wilderness,  he  was  no  Essene  His  relation  to  the  people  at  large, 
his  conception  of  a  kingdom  of  God  in  their  midst,  his  later  preaching 
to  them,  his  Sympathy^  even  for  publicans  and  sinners,  from  whom 
the  Essenes  and  Pharisees  shrank  as  pollution ;  even  his  food,  which, 
tihough  simple,  was  still,  in  part,  of  flesh,  show  that  he  was  in  no  way 


TPIE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  S65 

»,onnected  with  that  order.  Like  its  members,  lie  was  unmarried; 
like  them,  he  denied  himself  all  indulgence,  and  showed  a  prophet- 
like grandeur  in  his  standard  of  aim  and  practice.  But  though  their 
settlements  were  close  at  hand,  and  were  open  to  him,  he  chose  to 
live  free  and  alone.  It  was  well  he  did  so,  for  this  freedom  created 
an  impulse  before  which  the  nation  trembled  and  lived,  while  Essen- 
ism,  with  no  vital  power  beyond  itself,  left  it  to  lie  dead. 

The  fundamental  principle  in  John's  seclusion  was,  in  fact,  exactly 
the  reverse  of  that  of  the  recluses  of  his  day.  They  dwelt  apart  from 
men,  to  seek  their  own  spiritual  good  with  a  pious  and  cynical  selfish- 
ness. John  sought  the  wilderness  by  an  impulse  which  seemed  like 
the  voice  of  God,  to  seek,  in  its  loneliness,  a  loftier  spiritual  life  than 
seemed  possible  amidst  the  religious  decay  of  the  time.  As  a  Jew,  he 
had  not  risen  above  the  external  and  material  in  religion.  An  earnest, 
strong,  all-embracing  heroism  of  self-denial,  which  proved  its  depth 
by  its  self-iufiictions;  a  rejection  of  all  temptations  of  society  and 
culture,  with  their  threatening  possibilities  of  defilement;  a  strenuous 
war  against  nature,  in  every  appetite,  to  the  extent  of  endvn'ing  the 
privations  of  hunger,  homelessness,  and  exposiu-e,  were,  at  once,  the 
aiscipline  by  which  he  struggled  against  the  "  uncleanness"  he  still 
lamented,  and  the  aids  by  which  he  hoped  to  attain  nearness  to  God. 
Yet  he  was  far  from  caring  onl}^  for  himself.  His  future  career,  and 
his  very  clothing,  which  was  that  of  an  ancient  prophet,  showed  that 
he  carried  the  burden  of  his  people  on  his  soul,  and  had  fled  from 
the  crowd  to  entreat  God  for  them,  b}'  prayer  and  penitence,  and,  in 
accordance  with  the  ideas  of  his  time,  to  prepare,  on  behalf  of  all,  by 
holy  fasts,  for  gracious  revelations  from  heaven. 

This  revelation,  he,  in  fact,  received.  He  already  saw  that  the 
times  were  ripe  for  the  judgments  of  God.  The  slavery  to  heathen 
Home  had  followed  the  agony  of  the  days  of  Herod,  and  had  dis- 
pelled every  hope.  For  nearly  a  generation  he  had  seen  nothing  but 
misery  in  the  laud.  In  his  boyhood  the  census  of  Quirinius  had 
drenched  the  country  in  blood,  and  had  been  followed  by  such  op- 
pression as  had,  already,  in  his  early  manhood,  exhausted  the  resources 
of  the  nation,  and  caused  a  despairing  appeal  to  Rome  for  relief. 
Rapacious  and  unjust  governors,  true  Roman  knights,  seeking  only 
their  own  fortune,  and  rioting  in  the  abuse  of  their  power,  had  added 
burdens  on  their  own  account;  the  officials  and  soldiers  had  only  too 
faithfully  copied  their  lawless  violence ;  heathen  garrisons  occuiiied 
the  Holy  City  and  the  Temple;  the  high-priesthood  had  become  a 
mere  sport  of  those  in  i)o\ver,  and  all  the  sanctities  of  the  national  life 
had  been  mocked  and  outraged  in  turn.  Since  the  year  20,  Pontius 
Pilate  had  been  governor,  a  man  to  be  compared  only  to  Gessius 
Florus,  the  last  Roman  Procurator,  whose  enormities  at  last  roused 
the  war  of  desjxiir  in  which  Jerusalem  perished.  Pilate  wilfully  set 
himself  to  insult  and  violate  tlie  sacred  customs.  It  was  beneathhim 
to  study  the  people  he  ruled.     Not  merely  harsh,  and  hot-headed; 


265  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

carrying  mntters  haughtily  even  toAvards  Antipas  and  the  sons  of 
Herod — he  was  malevolent,  and  ever  on  the  watch  to  gratifj',  by  cun- 
ning and  venomous  threats,  the  hatred  rankling  in  his  breast  against 
a  race  he  did  not  understand,  and  who  defied" him.  The  people  of 
Jerusalem  suffered  at  his  hands  a  series  of  provocations  without  end, 
of  malicious  injuries,  brawls,  and  massacres.  So  envenomed  was  he, 
indeed,  that  even  when  he  saw  his  mistake  and  trembled  before  Ti- 
berius, he  would  not  3  icld,  because  he  could  not  consent  te  do  his 
subjects  a  pleasure.  Philo,  his  contemporary,  charges  him  with  ac- 
cepting bribes,  with  acts  of  wanton  violence,  with  robberies,  vrilh 
sliameful  treatment  of  many,  wanton  insults  and  threats,  continual 
executions  contrary  to  law,  and  aimless  and  grievous  cruelties.  "  He 
was  a  malicious  and  furious  man,"  says  Philo,  "unwilling  to  do  any- 
thing that  he  thought  would  please  his  subjects."  The  nation  looked 
back  even  on  Herod's  days  with  regret,  so  much  worse  had  become 
its  stale,  now  that  it  was  trodden  under  foot  by  the  Romans,  and  saw 
no  hope  of  relief.  John  had  noted  all  this.  Living  close  to  Jerusa- 
lem, he  had  been  amidst  it  all;  unlike  Jesus,  who  had  lived  far  off  in 
Galilee.  lie  had  shuddered  at  the  spectacle  of  inlidel  high  priests- 
mere  Sadduccecs,  culminating  now  in  Caiaphas,  wbom  the  people 
hated,  but  Pilate  liked,  or,  at  least,  endured.  He  had  learned  to 
despise  the  bulk  of  the  R.bbis,  who  tamely  bowed  to  the  shameful 
yoke  they  had  invoked,  and  submitted  to  it  from  interest.  N-r  were 
the  people  better  than  their  leaders.  They  lived  in  the  day  dreams  of  a 
merely  outward  piety,  with  proud  and  mercenary  hopes  of  a  rich 
earthly  reward  for  it  from  the  Messiah. 

Amidst  such  mingled  crime,  wickedness  and  corruption,  the  soul 
of  .John  Avas  filled  with  humiliation  and  grief.  The  Holy  Law,  given 
})t  Sinai,  had  sunk  to  a  superstitious  creed,  and  was  only  tolerated  by 
Uome:  the  sceptre  of  the  nation  was  broken  in  pieces,  though  it  had 
been  promised  that  it  would  be  everlasting  :  the  holy  hill  had  become 
the  citadel  of  an  uncircumcised  soldiery,  and  the  streets,  which  had 
echoed  to  the  minstrelsy  of  David  and  his  sacred  choir,  were  invaded 
by  the  ensisrns  and  music  of  a  Gentile  nation.  It  seemed  as  if  God 
must  presently  appear.  Ho  had  never  before  remained  for  centuries 
without  baring  Ills  Mighty  Arm:  He  had  never  before  endured,* thus, 
the  derision  of  the  heathen,  or  the  sin  of  His  people:  He  had  never 
before  left  them  to  perish  as  now.  For  His  own  name  sake  He 
would  assuredly  appear.  The  prophecies  of  Daniel  had  predicted 
only  a  short  triumph  to  the  iron  kingdom,  Eome,  and  it  had  noT 
lis:ed  for  a  generation.  But  even  in  these  last  days,  had  nottls 
curse  on  the  house,  of  the  Idiimean,  the  destruction  of  Antijiatir 
Phasael,  Herod,  Archelaue,  and  many  others  of  the  hated  race,  shown 
that  the  wrath  of  God  was  kindled,  and  that  His  avengina:  judgments 
were  on  the  way?  The  judgmt-nts  of  God,  foretold  by'  the  prophets, 
must/ speedily  fall,  alike  on  tipostate  Israel,  and  on  her  cm^mies. 

What  John   had  foreboded  in  Hebron  or  Jerusalem  became  a  cer« 


THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRIST.  267 

tainty  to  him  in  the  wilderness.  The  lonel.y  vastness  raised  him  above 
anxious  contrasts  of  the  weakness  of  Israel  and  the  might  of  Rome, 
which  might  have  paralyzed  resolution,  and  bidden  hope  despair. 
The  solemn  stillness  of  "the  hills,  and  the  boundless  sweep  of  the 
daily  and  nightly  heavens,  effaced  the  thought  of  man,  and  tilled  his 
Kouf  with  the  majesty  of  God.  What  was  man,  whose  days  were  a 
handbreadth,  and  whose  foundation  was  in  the  dust,  before  the  Mighty 
IMaker  of  Heaven  and  Earth — the  rock  of  Israel?  He  had  often 
appeared  to  deliver  His  people  when  their  case  seemed  hopeless. 
And  did  not  the  judgments  of  God,  in  the  prophets,  always  come 
laden  with  hidden  good?  Were  not  cvn-sing  and  blessing,  smiting 
and  healing,  death  and  resurrection,  always  joined  in  His  visitations? 
John's  own  history  in  the  wilderness  gave  him  hope  for  his  race. 
His  prayers,  his  penitence,  his  renunciation  of  the  world,  his  life 
devotedto  God,  had  removed  the  burden  and  agony  of  his  soul,  and 
he  had  found  peace,  and  rest,  and  grace,  and  heavenly  light.  What 
he  had  felt  was  possible  for  all  Israel.  If  they  could  only  be  brought 
to  resolve,  to  turn,  to  repent,  to  live  a  new  life,  their  repentance  wovdd 
biing  down  showers  of  blessings,  as  it  had  always  done  in  the  past, 
and  the  lightnings  and  tliunders  of  judgment  would  break  in  wrath 
on  their  foes,  but  in  heavenly  help  to  themselves.  The  repentance  of 
Israel  would  bring  the  Messiah.  He  knew  He  was  near.  It  had  been 
revealed  even  before  his  birth  that  he  himself  was  to  go  before  Him, 
in  the  spirit  and  power  of  Elias,  to  make  ready  a  people  prepared  for 
the  Lord.  The  call  of  God  rang  in  his  soul  like  a  trumpet,  to  go 
forth  and  preach  to  the  people  the  coming  of  the  expected  Deliverer, 
in  judgment  to  the  impenitent,  and  grace  to  the  contrite.  Led  by 
the  Divine  Spirit,  through  long  years  of  spiritual  struggle — his  soul 
turned  inward  on  itself  and  upward  to  God — his  body  subdued  by 
lon^  exposure  and  privation,  and  his  whole  being  raised  to  a  lofty 
invincibility  of  purjiose,  untamed  by  customs,  unweakened  by  com- 
pliances, but  tilled  with  meditation  and  high  religious  life — he  had, 
at  length,  felt  ecpial  to  taking  the  sublimest  and  most  terrible  position 
into  whicli  a  frail  man  could  be  raised  by  the  Almighty — that  of  the 
herald  predicted  by  his  favourite  Isaiah,  to  pioneer  the  way  for  the 
Messiah  of  God.  He  was  to  till  up  the  valleys,  and  piake  low  the 
moimtains  and  hills,  to  make  the  crooked  places  straight,  and  the 
routih  places  even;  that  is,  to  rebuke  the  lofty  and  proud,  to  raise  up 
the  humble  and  oppn^ssed;  to  spare  none  of  the  crooked  policies 
and  ways  of  men,  and  to  smooth  down  their  roughness  by  a  hearty 
repentance,  .so  as  to  tit  them  for  the  peaceful  entrance  of  the  Chri.st. 

The  kingdom  of  God,  as  thus  realized  by  John,  was  far  higher  and 
grander  than  previous  conceptions.  In  his  infancy,  Judas,  the  son 
of  Saripheus,  and  Mattathias,  had  sought  to  bring  in  the  reign  of  the 
Messiah  by  a  i)olilical  rising,  which  had  been  quenched  in  l)lood. 
In  his  boyhood,  Judas,  the  Galilgean,  had,  in  the  same  way.  appealed 
to  force,  for  the  same  end,  but  had  only  covered  the   land  with 


S68  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

mourning.  Yet  the  party  with  whom  a  religious  war  with  Eome  had 
become. a  fanatical  creed,  was  daily  increasing.  Even  in  Samaria,  it 
was  proclaimed  that  the  kingdom  of  God  was  about  to  come,  and 
that  it  would  take  an  outward  political  form.  The  misoy  that  had 
roused  Judea  had  also  pressed  heavily  on  the  Samaritans,  and  their 
national  jealousy  of  the  Jews  anticipated  a  share  in  the  expected 
Messianic  glory.  In  their  opinion,  they,  and  not  the  Jews,  held  the 
real  Holy  Land  promised  to  Abraham — the  land  where  the  patriarchs 
had  fed  their  flocks:  they  had  the  true  Temple  Mount,  and  the  true 
Law,  free  from  the  corruptions  of  the  prophets;  upon  their  holy 
mountain  Moses  had  buried  the  true  vessels  of  the  Tabernacle,  which 
the  Jews  claimed  to  have  possessed  imder  the  Temple  of  Solomon, 
and  which,  they  asserted,  liad  been  miraculously  hidden,  after  the 
Temple  had  been  destroyed  by  the  Chaldeans.  The  possession  of  these 
vessels- was  all  important,  for,  with  the  fondness  for  outward  embodi- 
ments of  belief  common  to  the  East,  it  was  held  that  the  place  where 
■they  were  hidden  would  be  the  scene  of  the  proclamation  of  the 
Messiah.  A  cherished  promise,  they  avowed,  announced  that  ■when 
the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  was  set  up,  the  Ark,  and  these  sacred 
vessels,  would  be  rgain  brought  forth.  Jeremiah,  so  ran  the  Jewish 
tradition,  being  warned  of  God,  commanded  the  Tabernacle  and  the 
Ark  to  go  with  him  to  Mount  Nebo,  and  there  he  hid  them  and  the 
altar  of  incense  in  a  hollow  cave,  and  stopped  the  door,  ■«  hich  none 
who  went  with  him  could  afterwards  find.  Jeremiah  thereon  told 
them  that  it  would  be  "unknown  till  the  time  when  God  gathers 
His  people  again  together,  and  receives  them  to  mercy.  Then  shall 
the  Lord  show  them  these  things  again,  and  the  glory  of  the  Lord 
shall  appear,  and  the  clrud  also,  as  it  was  shown  unto  Moees."  A 
fuller  version  of  this  tradition  introduced  an  angel  as  the  chief  actor, 
instead  of  Jeremiah.  Shortly  before  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem.,  it 
went  on,  this  heavenly  being  descended  to  Jerusalem,  alighting  on 
the  Temple,  to  save  it."  Having  prepared  the  Tabernacle,  the  Ephod 
of  the  High  Priest,  the  Ark,  the  Two  Tables  of  Stone  from  Sinai, 
the  Golden  Rolics  of  the  High  Priest,  the  Altar  of  Incense,  the  Urim 
and  Thummim,  and  the  holy  vessels,  for  removal,  he  carried  them  to 
a  secret  place,  and  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  "  O  earth,  earth,  earth! 
hear  the  word  of  the  mighty  Lord,  and  receive  what  I  commit  to 
thee,  and  keep  it  to  the  endof  the  times,  to  restore  it  again  when 
thou  art  commanded,  that  the  stranger  get  not  possession  of  these 
things.  For  the  time  will  come  when  Jerusalem  shall  arise  again,  to 
endure  for  ever!"  Then  the  earth  opened  her  mouth,  and  swallowed 
up  all.  A  third  version,  used  tigurativcl_y  in  the  Apocalypse,  sup- 
poses the  holy  vessels  to  have  been  taken  to  heaven  and  hidden  there. 
He  who  overcomes  is  to  eat  of  the  manna  which  is  hidden  in  Heaven, 
and  when  ' '  the  Temple  of  God  was  opened  above,  there  was  seen  in 
it  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant." 

The  Samaritans,  treasuring  these  fancies  no  less  warmly  than  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.        .  260 

Jews,  gave  them  a  local  colour,  and  had  persuaded  thercteelves  that 
the  true  place  of  the  mysteriously  hidden  treasures  wa.i  the  top  of 
Gerizim,  heside  their  own  city — the  hill  from  whose  top  tlie  tribes  of 
Israel  had  sounded  the  blessings  of  the  Law,  ou  the  entrance  of  Joshua 
into  Canaan. 

How  intensely  such  thoughts  were  fermenting  in  the  minds  of  the 
Samaritans  in  those  years  was  shown  a  little  later,  when  John's  mis- 
sion had  closed  without  bringing  them  the  results  they  had  expected; 
for  what  then  took  place  was^only  the  final  outburst  of  feelings  long 
pent  up.  "A  man,"  says  Josephus,  "who  made  nothing  of  false- 
hood, and  tickled  the  multitude  by  whatever  seemed  likely  to  please 
them,"  had  determined,  if  he  could,  to  raise  a  popular  movement, 
like  that  of  John's,  which  had  swept  over  Judea  and  Galilee,  with  the 
hope,  most  probably,  of  iK-ing  able  to  turn  it  to  political  account. 
Sending  abroad  a  report  through  the  valleys  of  Samaria,  that"  a  new 
prophet  would  reveal,  on  a  fixed  day,  on  Mount  Gerizim,  the  place 
where  Moses  had  hidden  the  vessels  of  the  Tabernacle,  he  raised  an 
uncontrollable  excitement.  The  announcement  implied  that  the  king- 
dom of  God  would  on  that  day  appear,  for  the  sacred  vessels  were  to 
renjain  hidden  till  it  was  to  begin.  It  was  a  crafty  scheme,  to  transfer 
to  Samaria  the  boastful  hopes  which  had  been  the  glory  of  Judea,  by 
making  open  claim  to  the  possession  of  the  mysterious  treasures,  and 
of  the  Law  in  its  purity.  Thousands  gathered  on  the  day  appointed, 
between  Ebal  and  Gerizim.  New  caravans  continually  brought  fresh 
numbers  to  Tirabatha,  the  village  named  by  the  prophet  as  the  ren- 
dezvous, til  the  matter  became  serious  in  its  possible  political  results, 
since  the  "elders"  of  the  people  identitied  themselves  with  the  move- 
ment. Pilate  was  alarmed,  fearing  that  the  multitude  might  be  easily 
led  from  a  search  for  the  sacred  vessels  to  open  sedition.  His  brutality 
had,  in  fact,  already  made  them  ready  for  it.  He  therefore  forbade 
the  pilgrimage,  and  placed  posts  of  foot  and  horse  at  all  the  approaches 
to  Gerizim,  to  prevent  them  a.scending  it.  But  the  vast  multitude, 
many  of  whom  were  armed,  would  not  be  baulked,  and  tried  to  force 
their  way  to  the  sacred  spot.  Pilate,  on  this,  ordered  the  troops  to 
disperse  them:  fierce  fighting  followed,  in  which  many  were  killed, 
the  rest  taking  to  fiight,  the  principal  men  among  the  prisoners,  taken 
dui'ing  or  after  the  battle,  being  put  to  death. 

This  tragical  incident  took  place  a  few  years  after  John's  appear- 
ance, but  it  was  of  a  piece  with  the  popular  feeling  respecting  the 
IVIessianic  kingdom,  which  was  mixed  up  with  the  politics  of  the  day. 
Jolm  kept  entirely  aloof  from  such  views.  If,  as  a  Jew,  he  hoped 
that  Israel  would  hereafter  be  exalted  under  the  3Iessiah,  he  left  that 
for  future  disclosure,  and  confined  himself  exclusively  to  the  moral 
and  spiritual.  He  was  no  political  agitator,  no  revolutionarj^,  like 
Judas  the  Galilcean :  his  Messianic  kingdom,  like  that  of  Jesu^  was, 
&t  least  for  the  time,  a  kingdom  not  of  this  world. 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

THE    NEW  PROPHET    EST    THE  WILDEIlNESa, 

In  the  fifteenth  j^ear  of  Tiberius,  which  fell  between  Auf^ist,  a.d. 
28,  and  August,  a.d.  29,  the  Koman  empire  lay  under  the  shadow  cf 
the  darkest  years  of  tlie  tyrant,  now  an  old  man  of  seventy-one. 
Among  those  alive  at  the  time,  and  remembered  since,  for  good  or 
evil,  the  elder  Pliny, — afterwards,  when  a  Roman  admiral,  killed  at 
the  first  eruption,  in  historical  times,  of  ]\Iount  Vesuvius — was  a  child 
of  four;  A'espasian,  hereafter,  with  his  son  Titus,  to  crush  Jerusalem, 
was  full  of  the  ambitions  and  dreams  of  a  youth  of  19;  Caligula,  one 
day  to  horrify  the  world  by  the  spectacle  of  an  insane  despot  at  the 
head  of  the  empire,  was  a  lad  of  16;  Claudius,  one  day  to  be  emperor, 
was  a  poor  lame,  trembling  man  of  88,  and  among  the  marriages  of 
the  year  was  that  of  the  daughter  of  the  ill-fated  Germanicus,  from 
which,  nine  years  later,  was  born  Nero.  Things  Avere  very  peaceful 
through  the  empire,  for  the  only  wars  at  the  moment  were  with  the 
Thracians,  on  the  east  of  Europe,  and  with  the  Frisians,  in  the  Dutch 
swamps  on  the  north-west.  Pontius  Pilate  had  been  two  years  pro- 
curator of  ISamaria,  Judea,  and  Idumea,  Herod  Antipas  had  beeu 
reigning  for  about  thirty-two  years  over  Galilee  and  Samaria,  and 
was  now  a  man  of  about  50,  and  Philip,  his  brother,  about  the  same 
age,  and  of  the  same  standing  as  a  ruler,  was  still  tetrarch  of  the 
rest  of  the  land,  beyond  the  Jordan,  living  a  quiet  life,  usefully  and 
worthily. 

Excepting  the  religious  rising  of  Judas,  and  the  other  confusions 
after  Herod's  death,  and  at  the  time  of  the  census  by  Quirinius, 
Palestine  had  enjoyed  nominal  peace  for  nearly  sixty  years.  New 
cities  and  towns,  with  all  the  elegancies  and  splendour  of  Romau 
civilization,  had  risen  all  over  the  land — Ca'sarea,  with  its  docks, 
piers,  warehouses,  and  broad  streets,  on  which  a  splendid  temple  to 
Augustus,  seen  far  off  at  sea,  looked  down.  In  Jerusalem,  the  great 
Temple,  four  huge  castles,  the  theatre,  the  circus,  and  Herod's  new 
palace,  had  risen.  Samaria  had  been  rebuilt  with  great  splendour, 
and  re-named  Sebaste,  the  Greek  equivalent  of  Augusta,  after  the 
Emperor.  The  old  Kaphar  Saba,  on  the  inner  edge  of  the  sea  plain, 
behind  Joppa,  had  been  rebuilt,  and  re-named  Antipatris,  after 
Herod's  father.  Near  Jericho,  two  towns — Kypros,  named  after 
Herod's  mother,  and  Pliasaelis,  after  his  brother,  had  been  created. 
Anthedon,  close  to  Gaza,  on  the  sea  coast,  had  been  raised  from  ita 
ruins,  and  called  Agrippeion,  after  Agrippa,  the  son-in-law  of  Augus- 
tus. Two  great  fortresses  had  risen,  called,  after  Herod,  Herodion,-— 
one  in  the  hills  on  the  south  border,  the  other,  three  hours  from  Je- 
rusalem, at  the  head  of  the  descent  to  the  Jordan  valley,  where 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  271 

Herod  had  onoe  had  a  sore  struggle  with  the  rebellious  Jews  who 
pursued  him.  The  passion  of  Augustus  for  obliterating  the  traces  ol 
the  great  civil  wars  throughout  the  empire,  had  evcryAvhere  been 
flattered  by  creations  wiiich  at  once  beautified  the  land,  and  defiled  it 
by  their  heathen  accessories.  In  the  far  north,  Philip,  after  his  father's 
death,  had  re-built  Faneas,  in  the  green  lap  of  Mount  Hernion,  and 
called  it  C/jiesarea  Philippi,  in  flattery  of  the  emperor,  and  on  the 
north-east  of  the  Sea  of  GaHlee,  he  had  embellished  the  old  Bethsaida, 
and  re-named  it  Julias,  after  the  daughter  of  Augustus.  In  Galilee, 
Herod  Antipas  had  re-built  Sepphoris,  and  surrounded  its  hill  with 
strong  walls;  in  the  sheltered  rreen  plain  opposite  Jericho— the  valley 
of  the  Acacias,  of  the  days  of  Joshua — he  had  built  a  fine  town  known 
as  Livias,  in  compliment  to  the  unworthy  wife  of  Augustus,  and 
within  the  last  ten  years  he  had  built  the  splendid  new  capital  on  the 
shores  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  and  called  it  Tilierias,  after  the  new 
emperor.  Even  the  gro.ss  and  sensual  Archelaus  had  copied  to  some 
extent  his  father's  example,  for  a  new  town  had  risen  on  the  west 
side  of  the  Jordan,  amidst  palm  groves  elaborately  irrigated,  and 
called  after  himself,  ArchelaVs. 

The  "  Roman  peace"  wiiich  was  destined  to  prepare  the  way  for 
Christianity,  by  breaking  down  the  barriers  between  nations,'  and 
fusing  the  civilized  world,  for  the  time,  into  one  mighty  common- 
wealth, had  tlms  borne  fruits  "on  all  sides,  though  nils-government 
was  silently  undermining  the  whole  imperial  system.  The  East  was 
in  profound  peace.  The  Parthian  cavalry  hosts,  who  were  the  terror 
of  the  age,  had  not  watered  their  horses  in  the  Euphrates,  or  dared 
to  cross  it,  for  two  generations.  But  they  still  swarmed  over  the 
plains  of  Parthia,  and  only  w\aited  the  orders  of  the  court  of  Ctesi- 
phon.  to  dash  in  on  the  exposed  territory  of  Palestine.  Four  legions, 
held  in  reserve  in  Syria,  and  a  strong  line  of  military  posts  along  the 
Euphrates,  at  the  thought  of  being  ordered  to  which  the  Roman 
military  youth  shuddered,  as  a  banishment  from  the  world,  barely 
sufficed  to  hold  these  fierce  Cossacks  of  the  age  in  check.  The  terror 
they  had  inspired  in  their  last  invasion  was  still  unabated,  for  even 
St.  John,  forty  years  later,  in  the  Apocalypse,  saw  four  destroying 
angels  bound  in  the  great  river  Euphrates,  who  were  loosed  to'slay 
the  third  part  of  men.  Two  hundred  thousand  horsemen  in  fiery, 
blue  and  brimstone-coloured  mail,  rode  forth  throujrh  the  dried  lip 
river-l)ed,  an  army  of  hell,  to  destroy  mankind— sWiibols  taken,  un- 
questionably, from  the  remembrance  of  the  Parthi'ans.  The  Roman 
historians  use  language  hardly  less  striking  of  the  endless  rushing 
swarms  of  wild  cavalry— their  terrible  shouts,  like  the  bellowing  of 
beasts,  and  the  hideous  clamour  of  countless  drums,  like  the  nois^  of 
thunder;  their  breastplates  and  helmets  of  steel  glitterini;  like  light- 
ning, their  horses  covered  with  brass  and  steel  trappings,  ^he  face's  of 
the  soldiers  painted,  and  their  shaggy  hair  gathered  in  a  mass  upon 
their  foreheads,  after  the  Scythian  "^fashion.     Their  dreadful  lances 


2*^  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

their  feigned  retreats,  their  resistless  arrows,  the  clouds  of  dust  they 
raised  by  their  charges,  hiding  the  battle-field, — their  spears,  their 
slings,  their  blazing  banners,  gleaming  with  gold  find  silver,  are  all 
recounted.  John  and  Jesus  had,  doubtless,  both,  often  heard  from 
the  men  of  the  generation  before  them,  how  these  awful  enemies  had 
wasted  the  land  once  and  again,  swarming  on  their  lean  and  untiring 
steppe  horses  through  every  valley,  murdering,  violating,  burning, 
and  plundering,  for  their  squadrons  of  "Immortals"  and  "Freemen^" 
e8pecia]ly,  remained  the  terror  of  after  years,  as  the  symbol  of 
treachery,  greed,  and  ruthless  brutality. 

It  was  in  such  a  state  of  things  that  John  at  last  came  forth  from 
liis  retreat,  as  a  prophet  to  his  nation.  The  nearness  of  the  wilder- 
ness of  Judea  to  Jerusalem,  and  the  dense  population  on  every  side 
of  it,  had  no  doubt  led  many  to  visit  him  from  time  to  time,  for  the 
report  of  a  hermit  cf  special  sanctity,  living  in  any  particular  district, 
invariably  attracted  many  to  see  him,  and  receive  his  counsels.  He 
made  his  tirst  public  appearance  on  the  Lower  Jordan. 

Two  hours  east  of  the  wretched  village  which  is  the  Jericho  of  the 
present  day,  but  three  hours  from  the  site  of  the  city  of  John's  day, 
and  eight  or  nine  hours  from  Jerusalem,  the  Jordan  flows  with  a 
quick  current  towards  the  Dead  Sea,  which  is  in  sight,  close  at  hand, 
liising  in  the  spurs  of  Lebanon,  and  gathering  tributary  springs  and 
brooks  at  C'asarea  Philippi,  from  which  Christ  set  out  on  His  last 
journey  to  Jerusalem ;  flowing,  presently,  through  the  pear-shaped, 
marshy,  Sea  of  JMercm,  and  then  through  the  lovely  Lake  of 
Galilee, — the  course  of  the  stream,  from  its  leaving  the  lake  to  its 
passing  Jericho,  is  only  sixty  English  miles  in  a  direct  line,  but  two 
hundred  if  one  follow  its  countless  twisticgs  and  turnings.  Near 
Jericho  it  has  a  breadth  of  from  ninety  to  a  hundred  feet,  and  a  vary- 
ing depth  of  from  three  to  seven,  t:ud'  hence  can  be  forded  easily,  ex- 
cept during  the  time  of  floods,  in  spring,  avitunin,  and  winter,  when 
to  attempt  to  cross  is  very  dangerous.  It  was  at  this  part  of  the  Jor- 
dan that  Vespasian's  soldiers  drove  such  multitudes  of  the  Jews,  in 
the  last  war,  into  the  stream,  when  swollen  by  spring  floods,  that  "the 
river  could  not  be  passed  over  on  account  of  the  dead  bodies  that 
were  in  it,"  (which  might  defile  one),  "and  the  Lake  Asphaltitis" 
(the  Dead  Sea)  "  was  also  full  of  corpses,  carried  down  into  it  bj-  the 
river."  The  waters  flowing  on  towards  the  Dead  Sea,  between 
double  banks,  marking  their  lower  and  higher  levels,  in  November 
and  April — here  muddj^  and  elsewhere  steep, — covered  with  den.se 
vegetation,  or  with  waving  forests  of  reeds:  the  rounded  hills  of 
Judea  on  the  west,  giving  way  to  the  lofty  peaks  of  Ammon  on  the 
east,  made  a  scene  well  suited  for  his  ministrations.  Dense  thickets 
of  red  tamarisks,  stately  sycamores,  with  their  white  stems  and 
broad  leaves,  oaks  with  their  dark,  mas.sy  shadow,  bending  acacias, 
pale  green  willows  and  many-coloured  oleanders,  still  cover  the  upper 
terrace, — varied  by  long,  swampy  tracts  cf  reeds,  taller  than  a  tall 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  273 

man,  on  the  lower  levels, — while  over  the  former,  in  John's  day, 
rose  graceful  clumps  of  palms,  "the  pride  of  Jordan,"  in  which 
lions  found  covert  in  the  time  of  the  prophets.  The  valley  is  only  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  broad,  and  is  barren  wherever  it  rises  alcove  the 
reach  of  the  spring  floods.  Above  it,  a  plain  of  three  or  four  hours' 
breadth,  and  fromfifty  to  sixty  feet  higher  than  the  ground  beneath, 
stretclies,  on  the  west  side,  to  the  foot  of  the  rugged,  bare,  Jewish 
hills,  which  rise  from  a  thousand  to  twelve  hundred  feet  high,  and, 
on  the  east,  to  the  similar  hills  of  Perea,  two  thousand  to  five  thou- 
sand feet  high.  This  plain,  the  barren  background  to  a  fringe  of 
verdure,  is  the  once  famous  "  circle  of  the  Jordan,"  where  Sodom  and 
other  towns  flourished,  till  volcanic  forces,  as  instruments  of  the 
wrath  of  God,  destroyed  them.  It  is  now  known  by  the  name  El 
Ghor,  and  is  a  vast,  sandy,  barren  expanse,  hot  as  a  furnace,  and 
very  unhealthy  in  summer,  from  the  depth  of  the  Jordan  gorge 
beneath  the  sea-level.  Hence,  in  John's  day,  it  formed  a  strong  con- 
trast to  the  green  paradise,  on  the  western  bank, — "  the  divine  land," 
immediately  around  Jericho,  the  city  of  palms  and  roses,  as  it  still 
does  to  tlie  ricli  fringe  of  vegetation  skirting  the  waters  on  the  eastern 
sid^of  the  river,  but  vanishing  like  a  dream  at  only  a  few  paces  from 
them. 

It  was  in  this  region,  beside  the  flowing  .stream,  with  the  wild,  stony 
hills  shutting  in  tlie  view  on  botii  sides;  in  a  landscape  where  the 
narrow  limits  of  the  yearly  floods  drew  a  sharp  line  between  tropical 
luxuriance  and  tlie  scorched  and  desert  barrenness  beyond,  that 
John,  of  whom  Jesus  could  say,  in  allusion  to  the  waving  cane  beds 
on  the  river's  edge,  that  he  was  no  reed  shaken  in  the  wind,  but  in 
very  truth,  Eiias  wiio  was  to  come,  a  prophet,  and  much  more  than 
a  prophet — lifted  up  his  voice  as  the  messenger  before  the  face  of 
God's  Anointed,  to  prepare  His  way.  The  appearance  of  John  was 
itself  sufficient  to  arrest  attention.  His  spare  form,  attenuated  by 
meagre  food  and  austerity:  his  bright  Jewish  eyes,  full  of  the  living 
energy  that  burned  within :  his  long  hair,  uncut  for  thirty  years — th3 
mark  of  Nazarite  consecr.ition :  his  rough  haircloth  garment,  and  his 
coarse  leather  girdle,  made  him  the  picture  of  one  of  the  ancient 
prophets.  The  Scriptures  described  the  greatest  of  the  prophets — 
Elijali  the  Tishbite,  wiiom  all  expected  to  reappear  before  the  Mes- 
siah— in  exactly  such  a  guise  as  John  presented — "a  long-haired 
man,  wearing  a  leather  girdle;"  and  they  knew  from  the  lessons  in 
the  Synagogue,  U"  they  had  not  read  it  for  themselves,  that  the  rough 
haircloth  mantle  had  been  the  common  dress  of  the  old  prophets  as  a 
class.  It  was  also  that  of  grief  and  contrition,  even  then,  and  added 
to  the  associations  of  the  sacred  past  an  appeal  to  their  own  sense  of 
guilt  and  need  of  contrition. 

The  idea  of  the  wilderness  was  sacred  to  the  Jews.  "From  it," 
saj^  the  Rabbis,  "came  the  Law,  the  Tabernacle,  the  Sanhedrim,  the 
priesthood,  and  the  office  of  the  Levitcs.     Even  the  kingship,  and,  in- 


274  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

deed,  every  good  gift  which  God  granted  Israel,  came  from  the  desert." 
The  invitation  of  the  people  to  it  was  in  itself  significant,  for  it  re- 
called the  words  of  Isaiah — "  Prepare  ye  the  way  of  the  Lord,  makj 
straight  in  the  desert  a  highway  for  our  God."  In  connection  with 
the  expectation  of  the  Messiah,  its  influence  was  immense.  It  was 
by  relying  on  its  weight  with  the  people,  that  Thcudas,  a  wild  vision- 
ary, who  assumed  the  role  of  a  prophet  some  years  after  the  Cruci- 
fixion, persuaded  the  multitudes  to  follow  him,  as  a  second  Moses, 
over  the  Jordan,  to  the  wilderness,  where  he  promised  to  perform 
miracles,  and  assured  them  that  God  would  appear  to  deliver  his  peo- 
ple. Josephus  speaks  also  of  others  who  persuaded  the  people  to 
follow  them  into  the  desert,  "where,  through  the  help  of  God,  they 
Avould  work  open  signs  and  wonders,"  and  Jesus  Himself  thought  ft 
necessary,  before  leaving  His  disciples,  to  warn  them  that  ' '  when  iS 
wan  said  the  Christ  was  in  the  wilderness,  they  were  not  to  go  out 
thither."  The  nation  was  daily  expecting  the  appearance  of  "the 
Avise  and  perfect  prophet,"  who  should  bring  back  the  lost  Urim  and 
Thummim,  "  restore  the  tribes  of  Israel,  turn  the  hefu'ts  of  the  fathers 
to  the  children,  reprove  the  times,  and  appease  the  wrath  of  God, 
before  it  broke  out  in  fury."  Since  Ezra's  days  the  feeling  had 
grown  even  deeper,  that  repentance  alone  could  save  Israel.  "  Ii  wo 
repented  but  one  day,"  said  the  Rabbis,  "the  Messiah  would  appear." 
lie  was  to  lead  all  men  back  to  God  by  repentance.  "As  long  as 
Israel  does  not  repent,  it  cannot  expect  the  Saviour,"  said  Rabbi 
Juda.  But  tills  repentance  would  not  happen  till  Elijah  had  come, 
in  fulfilment  of  the  prediction  of  Malachi,  and  he  was  not  to  do  so 
till  three  days  before  the  appearance  of  the  ]\Iessiah,  when  his  voice 
would  proclaim  from  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the  other — "  Salvation. 
Cometh  into  the  world." 

A  prophet,  in  the  Jewish  point  of  view,  was  less  a  seer  than  a  fear, 
less  preacher,  from  whom,  to  use  the  words  of  Clement,  of  Alex- 
andria, the  truth  shown  forth,  as  the  light  streams  from  the  sun.  He 
might  reveal  the  future,  but  his  great  characteristic  was,  that  he  was 
the  mouthpiece  of  God,  to  utter,  by  resistless  impulse,  the  rebukes  or 
commands  of  the  Almighty,  as  His  ambassador,  and  the  interpreter 
of  His  will  to  men.  Jolm  realized  this  ideal.  He  startled  the  people 
by  demanding  repentance,  if  they  would  escape  the  close  approaching 
wrath  of  God.  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven — a  phrase  familiar  to  them 
from  the  language  of  Daniel,  of  the  Psalms  of  Solomon,  and  of  other 
books,  then  in  wide  circulation — was  at  hand,  and  would  bring  with  it 
the  terrors  of  heaven.  The  conscience  of  the  masses  was  roused.  It 
had  sunk  to  sleep  under  Pharisaic  formalism,  Roman  oppression,  and 
Sudducean  indilference.  John's  voice  .sounded  like  a  trumpet  to 
alarm  them.  The  popular  excitement  spread.  Though  he  kept  aloof 
from  Jerusalem  and  the  thickly  peopled  districts,  tlie  note  he  had 
struck  vibrated  through  the  whole  land.  Crowds  gathered  in  daily 
greater  numbers  from  Jerusalem,  Judea,  and  the  wide  uplaoids  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  275 

Perea.  It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  he  were  th(;  promised  Elias,  the  herald 
of  the  Messiah.  Intensely  real,  he  spoke  nothing  of  leviticaJ  rites,  or 
sacrifices,  or  of  the  Rabbis,  but  demanded  that  the  Law  should  be 
applied  to  the  conscience,  and  carried  out  in  the  life.  A  spiritual 
preparation  would  alone  avert  the  coming  wrath.  A  second  Elijah, 
in  spirit,  as  well  as  outward  appearance,  and,  like  him,  Avitncssing  in 
evil  times,  he  came  to  throw  down,  not  to  build;  to  startle,  not  to 
instruct;  to  use  the  axe  not  the  trowel.  The  approach  of  the  judg- 
ments of  which  the  last  of  the  prophets  had  spoken;  when  the  indig- 
nation of  God  would  burn  as  an  oven,  and  the  proud  and  the  wicked 
should  be  as  stubble,  and  be  burned  up  till  there  was  left  neither  root 
nor  branch, — was  his  great  theme.  He  added,  however,  the  com- 
forting assurance  of  the  prophet,  that  to  those  who  feared  the  name  of 
the  Lord  of  Hosts,  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  should. rise,  with  healing 
in  His  wing-like  beams.  The  whole  strain  of  Malachi  was,  indeed, 
only  an  anticipation  of  John's  preaching.  "The  Lord,  whom  ye 
seek,  even  the  messenger  of  the  covenant,  whom  ye  delight  in,  shall 
come,  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts.  But  who  may  abide  the  day  of  His 
coming?  And  who  shall  stand  when  He  appeareth?  For  He  is  like 
a  retiner's  fire,  and  like  fuller's  soap.  And  He  shall  sit  as  a  refiner 
and  purifier  of  silver;  and  He  shall  purify  the  sous  of  Levi,  and  purge 
them  as  gold  and  silver;  and  He  will  be  a  swift  witness  against  tho 
sorcerers,  and  the  adulterers,  and  the  false  swearers,  and  against  those 
that  oppress  the  hireling  in  his  wages,  the  widow,  and  the  fatherless, 
and  that  turn  aside  the  stranger  from  his  right,  and  fear  not  me,  saith 
the  Lord  of  Hosts. "  Like  all  the  prophets,  his  message  Avas  one  of 
wrath,  and  yet,  like  theirs,  it  had  a  conditional  promise  of  divine  love 
and  pity.  As  befitted  his  office,  he  seemed  ordamed,  like  Elijah,  to 
reprove  his  times,  for  like  him.  "he  was  unmoved  before  the  face  of 
man,  neither  could  any  bring  him  into  subjection." 

With  the  call  to  repent,  John  united  a  significant  rite  for  all  wlio 
were  willing  to  own  their  sins,  and  promise  amendment  of  life.  It 
was  the  new  and  striking  requirement  of  baptism,  which  John  had 
been  sent  by  divine  appointment  to  introduce.  The  Mosaic  ritual  had 
indeed  required  washings,  and  purifications,  but  they  were  mostly 
personal  acts  for  cleansing  from  ceremonial  defilements,  and  were 
repeated  as  often  as  new  uncleanness  demanded.  But  baptism  was 
performed  only  once,  and  those  who  sought  it  had  to  receive  it  from 
the  hands  of  John.  The  old  rites  and  requirements  of  the  Pharisees 
would  not  content  him.  A  new  symbol  was  needed,  striking  enough 
to  express  the  vastness  of  the  change  he  demanded,  and  to  form  its 
fit  beginning,  and  yet  simple  enough  to  be  easily  applied  to  the  whole 
people,  for  all,  alike,  needed  to  break  with  the  past,  and  to  enter  on 
the  life  of  spiritual  effort  he  proclaimed.  Washing  had,  in  all  ages, 
been  used  as  a  religious  symbol,  and  significant  rite.  Naaman's 
leprosy  had  been  cleansed  away  in  the  waters  of  the  Jordan.  The 
priests  in  the  Temple  practised  constant  ablutions,  and  otherfc  werg 


276  THE  LI3^E  OF  CHRIST. 

* 
required  daily  from  the  people  at  large,  to  remove  ceremonial  impurity. 
David  had  prayed,  ' '  Wash  me  from  mine  iniquity. "  Isaiah  had  ci'ied, 
"Wash  ye,  make  you  clean,  put  away  the  evil  of  your  doings." 
Ezekiel  had  told  his  countrjincn,  to  "  wash  their  hearts  from  wicked- 
ness." Ablution  in  the  East,  is  indeed,  of  itself,  almost  a  religious 
duty.  The  dust  and  heat  weigh  upon  the  spirits  and  heart  like  a 
load;  its  removal  is  refreshment  and  happiness.  It  was,  hence,  im- 
possible to  see  a  convert  go  down  into  a  stream,  travel-worn,  and 
soiled  with  dust,  and,  after  disappearing  for  a  moment,  emerge  pure 
and  fresh,  without  feeling  that  the  symbol  suited  and  interpreted  a 
strong  craving  of  the  human  heart.  It  was  no  formal  rite  with  John. 
"•He  was  a  good  man,"  says  Josephus,  "and  urged  the  Jews  who 
were  willing  to  live  worthily,  and  to  show  uprightness  one  to  another, 
and  piety  towards  God,  to  be  baptized.  For  baptism  was  approved 
of  by  him,  not  as  a  means  of  obtaining  pardon  for  some  sins  only,  but 
for  the  purity  of  tlie  whole  body,  when  the  soul  had  been  cleansed 
beforehand  by  righteousness."  On  baptism,  in  itself,  he  set  no  mys- 
terious sacramental  value.  It  was  only  water,  a  mere  emblem  of  the 
purification  required  in  the  life  and  heart,  and  needed  an  after  bap- 
tism by  the  Holy  Spirit.  Ko  one  could  receive  it  till  he  had  proved 
his  sincerity,  by  an  humble  public  confession  of  his  sins.  Baptism 
then  became  a  moral  \o\v,  to  show,  by  a  better  life,  that  the  change 
of  heart  was  genuine. 

Bathing  in  Jordan  had  been  a  sacred  symbol,  at  least,  since  the  days 
of  Naaman,  but  immersion  by  one  like  John,  with  strict  and  hum- 
bling confession  of  sin,  sacred  vows  of  amendment,  and  hope  of  for- 
giveness, if  they  proved  lasting,  and  all  this  in  preparation  for  the 
Messiah,  was  something  wholly  new  in  Israel.  It  marked,  in  the 
most  striking  way,  the  wonderful  moral  revolution  which  had  taken 
place  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  If,  as  a  school  of  the  Rabbis  con- 
tend, it  was  even  then  the  custom  to  baptize  proselytes  on  their  for- 
saking heathenism,  and  seeking  admission  to  the  communion  of 
Israel,  the  attitude  of  John  towards  the  nation  was  even  startling, 
and.  their  submission  to  the  rite  a  still  greater  proof  of  his  power 
over  the  popular  mind.  In  this  case,  it  was  no  less  than  the  treat- 
ment of  Israel  as  if  it  had  become  heathen,  and  needed  to  seek 
entrance  again,  on  no  higher  footing  than  a  Gentile  convert,  to  tho 
privileges  it  had  lost. 

But  he  did  not  leave  them  to  their  own  unaided  efforts  after  purity. 
Ilad-he  merely  summoned  them  to  "  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come," 
he  would  have  diiveu  them  to  despair  Had  he  invited  them  to  bap- 
tism, and  then  left  them  to  their  own  cilorts  after  hoHness,  he  would 
have  mocked  tliem  by  an  impossible  task;  for  man,  looking  no 
higher  than  himself,  can  never  become  pure.  Avowing  this,  he  gave 
meaning  and  promise  to  his  command  and  invitation,  by  pointing 
them  to  the  coming  Messiah,  the  Lamb  of  God,  who  should  take  away 
the  sins  of  the  world. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  277 

It  must  have  been  a  strange  scene,  and  it  remained  long  in  the 
popular  memory.  "What  went  ye  out  into  the  wilderness  to  see? 
A  man  clothed  in  soft  raiment?"  asked  Jesus,  in  later  months.  The 
sudde"  apparition  of  a  "  saint, ''  whose  life,  for  years,  had  been  spent  in 
"the  house  of  thir-st,  where  demons  and  dragons  howl,"  was  fitted  to 
startle  the  whole  community,  already  excited  to  the  uttermost.  Men  of 
all  classes  gathered  to  listen  to  the  new  prophet.  The  movement,  at 
first  local,  gradually  spread  through  "  the  Avhole  nation."  The  nearer 
districts — Jerusalem,  Judea,  and  Perca — gathered  first.  Ere  long,  the 
excitable  Galilseans,  as  far  as  Lebanon  and  the  East  Jordan  country, 
caught  the  enthusiasm,  and  moved  towards  the  Jordan  valley.  Cara- 
vans, with  tlieir  numerous  beasts,  mu'lt  have  covered  the  Galilaean 
and  Jewish  roads,  all  wending  to  the  one  centre.  Men  left  their 
work,  or  their  calling;  the  keen  trader,  the  Roman  tax-collector,  and 
the  native  and  foreign  soldier  am.ong  them.  Every  rank  was  repre- 
sented. All  that  was  noble,  and  all  that  was  base  "in  Israel .  the  holy 
and  the  worldly;  the  pure  and  the  corrupt;  the  earnest  and  the  false; 
the  friends  of  Rome  and  its  enemies,  mingled  in  the  throng.  Super- 
cilious Rabbis,  long-robed  Pharisees,  cold  and  courtly  Sadducces, 
dignified  high  priests,  circumspect  ^evites,  grey -haired  elders  of  the 
people ;  the  rich  farmer  with  full  barns,  and  the  poor  peasant ;  soldiers 
of  the  Tetrarch  Antipas,  from  Perea;  perhaps,  also,  proselytes  from 
the  Roman  garrison  at  Jerusalem,  more  di.^posed  to  accept  baptism  in 
the  Jordan  than  circumcision;  publicsns, — born  Jews,  but  despised 
and  hated,  alike,  for  their  calling  and  their  unjust  exactions, — found 
themselves  together.  Israelii ish  women,  also,  were  not  wanting,  and 
among  them,  not  a  few  outcasts  of  the  community — servants  of  vice. 
All  sought  ^art  in  the  salvation  of  Israel,  or,  at  least,  wished  to  seem 
interested  in  it — even  the  classes  thru.st  back  as  unclean  by  the 
Pharisees  and  Essenes.  Some  longed  to  lay  hold  of  it,  others  came 
only  to  look,  criticize,  and  gossip,  or  report  to  the  authorities. 

Everything  was  so  new,  so  startling,  so  impressive — the  wilderness, 
the  stream,  the  solemn  hills — a  prophet  appearing,  after  more  than 
five  hundred  years.  His  right  to  reject  and  denounce  the  whole 
present,  in  the  name  of  God,  was  now,  as  always  with  prophets  in 
tiie  past,  imiversally  acknowledged.  His  words,  his  baptismal  s\Tnbol, 
the  kingdom  lie  preached,  the  Messias  Avhom  he  announced  as  at 
hand,  the  very  multitudes  assembled,  the  visible  emotion,  the  evident 
good  effected,  the  contrition  of  the  most  sunken  classes — the  pub- 
licans and  harlots — all  showed  that  the  whole  nation  believed  in  him. 
From  the  rite  advanced  with  such  prominence,  he  was  known  as 
"the  Baptist,"  but  many  gave  him  the  name  of  Teacher,  and  even 
tluTtt  of  Prophet.  He  did  not  claim  to  perform  miracles,  like 
Elias,  but  his  word  had  a  wonderful  power — ^his  very  baptism  seemed 
to  be  "from  heaven" — and,  even  after  his  imprisonment  anc*  death, 
the  people  maintained,  with  passionate  tenacity,  against  the  petty 
earpings  of  the  priesthood,  that  he  was,  indeed,  a  Drophet. 


278  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lilany  even  questioned  whether  he  were  not  the  Messiah,  or,  at 
Jcast,  "the  prophet  like  Moses, "whom  they  expected.  He  swayed 
the  masses  by  his  words,  at  his  will,  and  might  have  made  any 
political  use  of  them  he  chose,  liad  he  been  so  minded. 

As  the  influence  of  the  movement  spread  in  ever-  widening  circles 
over  the  nation,  it  became  impossible  for  the  self-sufficient  authoritiey 
at  Jei-usalem  to  ignore  it.  The  religious  instruction  of  the  people 
was  their  prerogative.  They  claimed  to  sit  in  the  seat  of  Moses  and 
to  have  the  key  of  knowledge,  and  it  was  against  the  rule  for  any 
one  to  teach  who  had  not  their  authority,  conliimed  by  formal 
ordination.  A  deputation  of  priests  and  Levites  of  the  Pharisee 
party  was,  therefore,  deputed  to  go  to  the  Jordan,  and  interrogate  this 
new  leader  of  the  people  as  to  his  claims.  Was  he  the  Christ?  or 
was  he  Eiias?  or  was  he  the  expected  prophet?  Without  a  momen- 
tary hesitation  of  vanity  or  ambition,  at  the  possibility,  with  his  vast 
popular  support,  of  playing  a  great  part,  his  manly  truthfulness  re- 
pudiated the  right  to  any  of  these  names.  With  the  whole  nation 
under  his  influence,  and  regarded  by  them  with  the  reverend  awe 
which  .=uch  questions  and  suggestions  hint,  his  lofty  soul  retained  its 
grand  simplicity.  ' '  He  was  only  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wil- 
derness, make  straight  the  way  of^the  Lord,  as  saith  the  prophet  Esaias. 

Nor  is  it  wonderful  that  his  mission,  had  such  amazing  success. 
Men  honour  a  lofty  and  fearless  soul,  seeking  no  selfish  object,  but 
braving  all  opposition  for  the  noblest  ends.  John  had  nothing  to  lo^e 
but  his  life,  and  cared  for  nothing  but  the  faithful  discharge  of  his 
high  commission  from  the  Almighty.  Hunger  and  thirst  and  naked- 
ness had  been  his  familiar  friends,  and  he  who  had  faced  the  terrors 
of  the  deserts  so  long,  coidd  have  little  to  alarm  him  in  any  human 
anger.  "What  to  him,"  asks  Edward  Irving,  "was  a  scowling 
Pharisee,  or  a  mocking  Sadducee,  or  a  fawning  publican,  or  a  rough 
soldier,  or  a  riotous  mob?  These  were  jocund,  cheerful  sights,  to  one 
Who  liad  roamed  amongst  the  wild  beasts  of  the  desert,  and  in  the 
midst  of  them  laid  down  his  head  under  no  canopy,  and  with  no 
defence  but  the  canopy  and  defence  of  the  providence  of  the  Most 
Higlu  Around  a  man  who  can  despise  accommodations  and  con- 
veniences, and  deal  with  natiu'c  in  ancient  simplicity  and  indepen- 
dence, and  move  amongst  her  social  and  religious  institutions,  like  a 
traveller  from  another  world,  free  to  judge,  and  censure,  and  approve, 
as  having  himself  nothing  at  stake — around  such  a  man  there  is  a 
laoral  grandeur  and  authority  to  which  none  but  the  narrowest  and 
1  lost  bigoted  minds  will  refuse  a  certain  awe  and  reverence.  And 
^."hen  such  a  personage  assumes  to  himself  Divine  commission,  and 
publishes  new  truth  with  Divine  authority,  and  rebukes  all  wicked- 
ness,  and  scorns  all  consequences,  he  takes,  by  the  natural  right  of 
the  wiser,  the  bolder,  and  the  better  man,  a  high  place  above  those 
who  feel  themselves  enslaved  and  cnshackled  by  customs  which  they 
despite." 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  279 

Such  was  the  mighty  movement  that  filled  all  minds,  and  drew  the 
■whole  people,  by  turns,  to  the  banks  of  the  Jordan.  Beside  the  living 
waters,  between  the  solemn  hills  on  both  sides,  and  under  the  cloud- 
less blue  of  an  Eastern  sky,  stood  the  strange  figure  of  the  prophet 
before  his  no  less  striking  audience.  Like  all  great  leaders,  he  could 
read  the  characters  of  those  he  addressed.  The  smooth  varnished 
hypocrisy  of  the  Pharisee  or  Sadducee  could  not  deceive  him.  Those 
who  might  have  come  to  him  in  the  hope  to  gain  the  inviting  promises 
of  the  new  life  by  an  easy  lip  confession,  and  a  momentary  rite,  soon 
found  their  error.  Like  Luther,  or  Latimer,  or  Knox,  he  forgot  self  in 
his  grand  fidelity.  Cold  prudence  or  timid  cautioc  had  no  place  in  a 
soul  so  intensely  in  earnest.  The  tb.uth,  which  he  comes  to  pro- 
claim, is  higher  than  man,  and  alone  commands  his  homage.  His  sen- 
tences strike,  swift  and  glittering,  like  lightning  flashes,  amidst  the  roil 
of  judgment-day  thunders.  Each  sentence  is  vivid  with  bold  pictures 
drawn  from  nature  and  life.  He  compares  Israel  to  a  barren  fruit- 
tree  ready  for  felling,  and  points  to  the  axe  already  laid  at  its  roots. 
Timely  repentance,  and  the  bringing  forth  good  fruit,  may  avert  the 
stroke,  otherwise  it  must  presently  fall,  and  the  tree  be  cast  into  the 
fire.  The  next  moment  Israel  is  a  great  threshing  floor,  and  tlie  win- 
nowing shovel  is  at  hand  tc  cleanse  it  thoroughly,  that  the  wheat  may 
be  gathered  into  the  garner,  and  the  chaff  burned  up  witli  unquench- 
able tire.  With  perfect  humility  he  points  all  away  from  himself,  to 
the  Mightier  One  at  hand,  for  whom  he  was  imwortliy,  in  his  own 
esteem,  to  perform  the  slave  boy's  service  of  unloosing  and  removing 
his  sandals.  He  woTild  baptize  them  with  the  Holy  Ghost  and  with 
fire — the  Holy  Ghost  to  kindle  in  them  heavenly  grace,  if  penitent, — 
fire,  to  consume  them,  if  tlie  reverse.  The  terrors  of  the  day  of 
wrath  rolled  over  his  hearers,  as  his  foremost  thought;  sounds  of 
liope  broke  in,  like  soft  music,  only  at  intervals,  to  keep  the  contrite 
from  despair. 

The  announcement  of  divine  judgments  on  a  rebellious  people  was 
by  no  means  new  in  Israel,  and  of  itself  hardly  explains  the  immense 
c  Ject  of  John's  preaching.  Its  power  lay  in  its  depth  and  its  de- 
mands. The  kingdom  of  heaven,  which  was  at  hand,  was  not  a  mere 
gift  from  above,  which  they  might  passively  receive,  but  a  human 
work,  which  they  must  themselves  carry  out.  Merely  to  wait  in  idle 
expectancy,  as  in  the  past,  would  not  suflSce.  Nor  would  the  idly- 
busy  trifling  of  legal  rites  and  observances.  They  must  no  longer 
trust  to  their  descent  from  Abraham,  nor  to  the  cleansing  of  the 
outside  of  the  platter  by  Pharisaic  strictness.  The  coming  of  the 
promised  kingdom  to  each  hearer,  meant  his  lifting  his  own  life  to  a 
higher  plane,  by  steady  resolve  and  effort.  Religion  must,  hence- 
forth, be  practical  and  earnest:  in  the  heart  and  life,  not  in  worthless 
outward  forms  or  privileges.  For  the  first  time,  the  great  truth  was 
pressed  home  to  the  conscience  of  men  that  the  true  kingdom  of 
hcayen  is  in  tlie  renewed  soul.    It  marked  an  era  in  the  moral  histc^ry 

L  of  C— 10. 


3S0  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  the  world,  and  Christ  Himself  has  recognized  its  momentous  great, 
ness.  "Among  them  that  arc  born  of  women,"  said  He,  "there  haa 
not  risen  a  greater  than  John  the  Baptist.  For  all  the  prophets  and 
the  Law  projjhesied,  until  John.  Till  then  it  was  future  and  distant; 
the  object  of  passive  expectation  only.  But,  from  liis  days,  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  gained  by  earnest  violence,  and  men  who  struggle 
earnestly  take  it  for  themselves."  John  proclaimed  the  great  truth 
to  a  generation  that  had  overlooked  it,  that  "the  kingdom"  was  no 
mere  external  blessedness,  but  the  reign  of  God  in  the  soul  of  man, 
and  that  we  must  strive,  if  we  would  enter  into  it,  or,  to  use  the 
figure  employed  by  Jesus, — like  a  city  to  be  taken  by  storm,  it  was 
to  be  won  only  by  the  utmost  earnestness.  Repentance,  with  John, 
was  no  mere  formal  confession,  but  a  change  of  mind ;  it  included 
not  only  regret  for  the  past,  but  a  new  life  for  the  future ;  and  this  he 
urged  so  prominently,  that  even  Josephus,  a  generation  afterwards, 
makes  it  a  characteristic  of  his  preaching.  To  the  frank  confession 
of  sins  there  was  added  an  annihilation  of  all  self-righteou.sness, 
whether  resting  on  Abrahamic  descent,  or  attainments  in  Pharisaic 
holiness,  antl  a  pledge  was  demanded  of  a  higher  spiritual  life  towards 
God  and  man,  involving  life-long  elfort. 

His  whole  conception  of  preparation  for  the  Messianic  kingdom  was 
new  in  his  age.  The  Samaritan  prophet,  who  soon  after  summoned 
tlie  multitudes  to  Gerizim,  relied  on  the  wholly  external  act  of  secur- 
ing the  vessels  of  the  old  Tabernacle,  as  an  inauguration  of  the  day 
of  the  Messiah.  The  Galilseans  were  disposed  to  demand  the  king- 
dom from  the  Romans,  sword  in  hand,  in  the  belief  that  Jehovah 
would  not  desert  His  people,  in  arms  for  His  cause.  John,  on  the 
contrary,  sought  to  prepare  for  it  liy  a  moral  regeneration  of  the  com- 
mimity.  The  kingdom  of  God,  Avith  him,  was,  like  that  of  Isaiah, 
a  kingdom  of  righteousness  and  lioliness.  He  had  sat  at  the  feet  of 
the  prophets,  not  of  the  Rabbis.  He  had  sought  the  knowledge  of 
the  preparation  needed,  not,  like  the  Rabbis,  from  the  Book  of  Leviti- 
cus; not,  like  the  Zealots,  from  the  warlike  records  of  the  Maccabees; 
nor,  like  the  Essenes,  from  mystic  revelalions,  but  from  Isaiah.  His 
w!)ole  preaching  was  only  a  variation  of  that  of  the  great  projihet,  in 
the  opening  of  his  book — "Wash  you,  make  yoii  clean;  put  away  the 
evil  of  yoiu"  doings  from  before  mine  eyes;  cease  to  do  evil,  learn  to 
do  well:  seek  judgment,  relieve  the  oppressed,  judge  the  fatherless, 
plead  for  the  widow."  He  says  nothing  of  an  earthly  kingdom,  or 
political  glory.  The  sins  that  had  separated  between  them  and  God 
must  be  removed,  and  their  place  filled  with  "fruits  meet  for  repent- 
ance," if  the  divine  kingdom  was  te  be  established  among  them. 
Pharisees  and  Essenes  had  souglit  to  rirop'tiate  God  by  their  legal 
rites.  Neither  knew  of  confession  of  sms,  or  repentance.  The 
Pharisee  only  boasted  of  his  viitxies,  and  the  Essenes  praised  right- 
eoussDess,  without  a  word  about  penitence.  John  trusted,  not  to 
«itcrnal  forms,  but  to  broken-hearted  contrition.     Man  must  work 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  281 

together  with  God  to  bring  about  the  fulfilment  of  the  prophecies  of 
the  Messiah's  reign. 

Nor  did  he  content  himself  with  vague  or  general  appeals  or  re- 
proofs. "  Ye  brood  of  vipers,"  cried  he  to  a  crowd  of  Pharisees  and 
S.idducees,  who  had  come  to  his  baptism,  to  scoff  and  criticize,  rather 
than  to  confess  and  repent,  and  who  opposed  him  with  the  conserva- 
tism of  huvyers,  and  tlie  bigotry  of  priests, — "who  hath  warned  you 
to  tice  from  the  wrath  to  come?"  In  the  words  of  St.  Luke,  "tliey 
rejected  the  counsel  of  God  towards  themselves,  not  having  been 
baptized  by  Johu,"  niid,  so  far  from  accepting  his  mission,  denounced 
him  as  having  a  devil.  He  brushed  them  aside,  with  their  endless 
quiddities,  and  quillets,  and  casuistical  cases,  and  legal  cobwebbery, 
and  they  hated  him  in  return.  They  had  come  from  Jerusalem  in 
full-blown  official  dignity,  as  a  deputation  from  the  ecclesiastical 
courts,  to  ask  his  credentials,  and  test  his  soundness.  But  whether 
priests,  or  Levites,  or  Rabbis,  they  shrivelled  before  the  indignant 
glance  and  fiery  w^ord?  which  exposed  their  insincerity  and  incompe- 
tence. John  held  his  authority,  not  from  them,  but  from  a  higher 
court!  Instead  of  flattrring  them,  he  told  them,  as  he  had  told  the 
crowds  th?y  despised,  that  tliey  must  bring  forth  fruits  wortliy  of  re- 
pentance. In  their  narrow  pedantic  pride  they  felt  sure  of  a  part  in 
the  kingdom  of  tlie  3Iessiah,  simply  as  descendants  of  Aliraham;  his 
righteoasa(4«s  being  reckoned  as  tlieu's.  Israel,  alone,  could  please  or 
find  favour  with  God,  and  it  did  so  on  the  footing  of  its  descent.  The 
'■'kingdo  u  of  Heaven"  was  to  be  strictly  Jewish,  all  other  nations 
being  e.xcladed,  and  "  it  was  Jewish  by  hereditary  right."  But  John 
shattered  this  wretched  immorality.  "Begin  not  to  say  within  your- 
selves, we  have  Abraham  for  father:  for  I  say  unto  you,  that  God  is 
able  of  these  stones  of  the  desert,  lying  count^less  around,  to  raise  up 
true  children  to  Abraham,  and  will  exclude  you,  his  pretended  chil- 
dren, from  the  kingdom,  unless  you  repent!"  The  stern,  fearless 
words  of  the  old  prophets,  which  made  them  be  hated  by  the  multi- 
tude, with  the  exception  of  Daniel,  the  prophet  of  pleasant  things, 
fell  once  more  from  the  lips  of  John,  witli  the  same  result,  at  least  ou 
the  part  of  the  Rabbis.  They  received  homage  from  all  others,  but 
this  man  treated  them  with  withering  scorn.  They  had  fancied  he 
would  be  like  a  reed  moved  in  the  wind,  before  them,  but  they  had 
found  him  an  oak.  Flattery  and  fear  were  as  strange  to  his  soul,  aa 
his  own  rough  mantle  would  have  been  among  the  soft  clothing  of 
kings'  palaces. 

The  contrast  betAveen  John's  teaching  and  that  of  the  Rabbis,  could 
have  had  no  more  striking  illustration  than  his  recorded  answers  to 
various  inquirers,  whom  his  stern  language  to  their  religious  leaders 
had.  apparently,  alarmed.  If  the  RabbisWere  in  danger  of  the  fire, 
what  must  be  required  of  common  men?  But  no  harshness  marked 
his  words  to  honest  anxiety.  He  demanded  simply  that  they  show 
their  sincerity  by  their  unsellishuc.-s.     They  were  to  act  ou  their  pr©- 


883  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

f essions  ol  desire  to  lead  a  new  life.  ' '  He  that  hath  two  coats,  let 
him  impan  to  him  that  hatli  none ;  and  he  that  hatli  meat,  let  him  do 
likewise."  If  they  ministered  to  the  naked  and  hungry,  as  a  loving 
duty,  they  proved  their  discipleship  genuine.  John's  wide  human 
sympathies  embraced  all  classes.  Like  Jesus,  he  cast  out  none  who 
came  to  him.  The  abhorred  publicans,  from  whom  the  Pharisees 
shrank  as  accursed,  were  cheered  by  the  assurance  that  they,  too, 
might  share  in  the  kingdom,  if  their  repentance  were  sincere.  ' '  Exact 
no  more,"  said  the  prophet,  "than  that  which  is  appointed  you." 
Even  the  soldiers  were  welcome,  and  had  a  fitting  counsel — "Do 
■violence  to  no  man,  neither  accuse  any  falsely,  and  be  content  with 
your  wages."  That  the  publican  should  do  his  duty  honestly',  as  in 
the  sight  of  God,  and  that  the  soldier  should  deny  himself  the  license 
of  his  calling,  and  be  faithful  to  his  standard,  from  a  sense  of  obliga- 
tion before  God,  were  practical  tests  of  loyalty  to  conscience,  which 
would  carry  with  them  the  Divine  favour.  In  aU  cases,  moral  re- 
generation was  the  grand  aim,  and  the  man  himself  must  work  to 
carry  out  the  reformation. 

But,  while  John  thus  demanded  practical  results,  by  human  effort, 
he  was  far  from  teaching  that  the  most  earnest  wish  to  change  the 
life,  would,  of  itself,  suffice.  He  brought  the  hope  of  forgiveness  iu 
the  day  of  the  wrath  of  God,  to  bear  on  all  classes,  and  made  them 
feel  that  salvation  could  not  come,  after  all,  from  their  own  acts, 
though  these  must  be  rendered,  but  only  by  pardon  from  God.  He 
proclaimed,  besides,  the  need  of  the  Spirit  of  God  to  perfect  the  inner 
revolution.  "He  that  cometh  after  me  will  baptize  you  with  the 
Holy  Ghost,  and  with  fire."  For  the  hardened  there  would,  indeed, 
be  a  baptism  of  fire,  hut,  for  the  contrite,  the  heavenly  gift  of  ahigher 
will,  and  a  greater  power,  a  deeper  knowledge  of  God,  and  a  closer 
communion  with  Him.  Feeling  the  want  of  the  times,  and  filled  with 
the  spirit  of  the  prophets,  he  could  not  forget  how  they  had  announced, 
as  a  sign  of  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  that  Jehovah  "would  pour 
out  His  spirit  upon  all  flesh,"  "that  He  would  pour  water  upon  him 
that  was  thirsty,  and  floods  on  the  dry  ground,"  and  "His  spirit  upon 
the  offspring  of  Jacob."  He  could  not  doubt,  therefore,  that  He, 
before  whom  he  was  only  a  herald's  voice,  the  Mighty  One,  whose 
sandals  it  was  too  great  an  honour  for  him  to  unloose,  would  come, 
not  only  to  avenge,  but  to  bless.  But,  to  do  this.  He  must  bring  with 
Him  a  higher,  quickening  spiritual  power — ^the  power  of  the  Holy 
Ghost.  In  the  bestowal  of  this  heavenly  influence,  to  carry  out  the 
new  creation,  begun  by  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  was  summed  up  John's 
message  to  his  age. 

It  was  a  mark  of  the  surprising  greatness  of  John's  vrhole  spiritual 
nature,  that  he  had  realized  the  need  of  action  on  the  part  of  man,  to 
secure  the  fulfilment  of  the  divine  promise  of  the  kingdom ;  but  it 
was  no  less  so,  that  he  realized  the  limitations  of  human  effort,  and 
proclaimed  the  necessity  of  a  Divine,  new-creating  power,  to  secme 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  288 

the  lioly  transformation  of  the  will  and  heart.  To  be  real  and  earnest 
in  such  an  age,  to  unveil  its  tr\ie  spiritual  wants,  to  wake  it  to  new 
religious  life,  were  transcendent  merits,  but  it  is  even  grander  lo  see 
the  rai'j;hty  man — full  of  humility,  with  deep  self-knowledge,  and 
knowbdge  of  nis  fellow-men, — pointing  to  God  in  heaven,  who, 
stronger  than  human  will  or  effort,  alone  could  break  the  chains  of 
sin  from  the  soul,  and  lead  it  to  the  light. 

Wholly  self -oblivious,  tainted  by  no  stain  of  human  pride,  self 
consciousness,  or  low  ambition,  John  had  felt  it  no  usurpation,  ot 
sacrilegious  assumption,  to  constitute  himself  "the  messenger,"  pre. 
dieted  by  Malachi,  "  sent  to  prepare  the  way  before  the  Lord."  Nor 
was  his  preaching  more  than  an  expansion  of  the  prophet's  words— 
that  "  the  Lord,  whom  ye  seek,  shall  suddenly  come  to  His  Temple, 
even  the  messenger  of  the  covenant,  whom  ye  delight  in."  He  had 
received  the  commission  from  no  human  lips,  but  had  been  set  apart 
to  it,  from  above,  before  his  birth.  Filled  with  the  grandeur  of  his 
mission,  nothing  arrested  him,  or  turned  him  aside.  The  crowds  saw 
in  him  the  most  unbending  strength,  united  with  the  most  complete 
self-sacrifice:  a  type  of  grand  fidelity  to  God  and  His  truth,  and  of 
the  lowliest  self-denial.  The  sorrows  and  hopes  of  Israel  seemed  to 
shine  out  from  his  eyes, — bright  with  the  inspiration  of  his  soul,  but 
sad  with  the  greatness  of  his  work, — as  he  summoned  the  crowds  to 
repentance,  alarmed  them  by  words  of  terror,  or  led  them,  in  groups, 
to  the  Jordan,  and  iminersed  each  singly  in  the  waters,  after  earnest 
and  full  confession  of  their  sins.  The  newly  baptized  knelt  in  prayer 
along  the  banks,  many,  doubtless,  with  tears,  loud  sighs,  and  e.xcla- 
mations,  as  is  still  the  manner  with  the  emotional  races  of  the  East, 
even  when  far  less  exciLd  than  John's  hearers  must  have  been.  All 
wished  to  begin  a  new  life,  and  craved  counsel  from  one  in  whom 
they  now  implicitly  believed,  and  each,  in  turn— publican,  soldier, 
citizen,  and  open  sinner — heard  a  few  words  which  pointed  out  to 
them  their  future  safety.  The  narrow  separatism  and  worthless  ex- 
ternalisni  of  the  Law  were  to  be  forsaken,  and  love  to  God  and  their 
neighbour,  and  a  future  baptism  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  by  Him  who  was 
to  come,  were  to  take  their  place. 

But  John,  with  all  his  grandeur,  was  still  a  Jew.  What  his  con- 
ceptions of  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  were,  bevond  his  realization 
of  its  purity,  we  have  few  grounds  of  judging.  From  an  after  inci-  : 
dent  in  his  life,  it  would  seem  that  he  thought  of  it  as  the  restoration  ' 
of  the  theocracy,  amidst  a  people  prepared  for  it  by  repentance  and 
moral  reformation.  It  would  be  to  set  him  above  his  times,  and  even 
above  the  apostles,  as  they  remained  during  the  whole  lifetime  of 
their  Master,  to  conceive  him  as  realizing  the  purely  .spiritual  king-- 
dom  Jesus  was  to  establish.  He  was  greater  than  all'the  prophets,  in 
his  magnificent  faith  that  the  work  he  had  begun  would  be  carried 
out  by  Jehovah  Himself,  through  His  Messiah,  and  in  his  realization 
•f  iho  Dped  of  human  action,  in  repentance  and  a  new  life,  to  t^ 


284  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

establishment  of  the  Messiah's  kingdom.  Others  had  left  God  to  do 
all  at  some  future  time,  limiting  themselves  to  prophecy.  John  alone 
taught  that  the  kingdom  of  God  had  already  come  in  the  contrite 
soul  which  proved  its  penitence  by  holy  fruits.  But  he  "was  also  less 
than  the  least  in  that  kingdom,  in  his  inadequate  realization  of  it  in 
its  full  greatness.  He  "came  neither  eating  nor  drinking," — a  type 
of  Jewish  asceticism,  and  his  teaching  bore,  throughout,  the  true 
Jewish  stamp.  Perhaps  he  rose  above  the  thought,  universal  in  his 
day,  that  the  outer  act  had,  in  itself,  an  intrinsic  worth,  if  not,  even, 
a  spiritual  power,  but  the  importance  he  attached  to  outward  expres- 
sions of  penitence  was  entirely  Jewish.  Like  the  Eabbis,  he  laid 
stress  on  fasting,  and  on  the  "  making  prayers,"  in  the  Jewish  sense, 
and  his  disciples,  in  these  and  other  external  exercises  of  religion, 
found  themselves  nearer  the  disciples  of  the  Pharisees  than  those  of 
Jesus.  As  a  Nazarite  and  an  ascetic,  the  dread  of  defilement  must 
have  kept  him  apart  from  tlie  great  mass  of  his  audience,  for  he  dared 
not  touch  any  but  "the  clean,"  even  in  baptizing  them. 

In  this  aspect  of  it,  the  work  of  John  was,  in  the  eyes  of  Christ, 
only  the  sewing  a  new  patch  en  an  old  garment,  or  new  wine  put 
into  old  bottles.  The  great  movement  he  set  on  foot,  Mhile  an 
immense  advance  on  the  past  in  Judaism,  was  yet,  in  its  essence, 
Jewish.  The  ascetic  spirit  of  its  crigin  perpetuated  itself  in  Johns 
disciples,  and  marked  his  whole  conceptions  as  imperfect  and  passing 
— the  morning  red  heralding  the  day,  but  as  yet  mingled  with  the 
night. 

John  formed  no  separate  communion.  He  taught  his  disciples  to 
pra,y,  and  it  would  seem  as  if  he  had  ultimately  gathered  a  special 
band  round  him,  as  the  apostles  were  gathered  round  Jesus.  But  he 
came,  not  to  found  a  new  sect.  His  far  grander  aim  was  to  raise  the 
nation  from  spiritual  death,  and  direct  it  to  the  coming  Messiah. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  BAPTISM   OF  JESUS   AND   THE   DEATH  OF  JOHNr. 

The  great  wave  of  religious  excitement  produced  by  the  preaching 
of  John  had  set  the  whole  land  iu  motion.  Foulque  de  Kouilly,  the 
famous  monkish  preacher  of  the  thirteenth  century,  whose  discourses 
moved  all  classes  of  society,  from  the  higliest  to  the  lowest,  so  that 
people  rushed  in  crow^ds  from  distant  countries  to  hear  him,  or  "Whit- 
field, in  the  last  century,  who  stirred  the  whole  nation  in  his  day, 
help  us  to  realize  the  sensation  produced  by  John's  ministrations. 
To  a  people  sunk  for  the  time  in  religious  apathy,  and  corrupted  in 
morals,  but  loyal  to  the  voice  of  their  Scriptures,  and  the  lofty  spir- 
itual ideals  of  the  past,  his  voice  came  like  a  trumpet,  rousing  them  to 
Bew  life.     His  bronzed,  wasted  features,  his  prophet's  dress  and  bear- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  28S 

Ing,  his  fearless  boldness  for  God,  and  the  response  of  their  own 
hearts  to  his  denunciations  and  demands,  made  Iiim  a  mighty  power. 
He  gave  utterance  to  tiieir  deepest  desires  and  aspirations,  fanned 
their  national  hopes,  and  roused  their  entliusiasm.  As  a  people,  they 
were  not  in  favour  of  asceticism.  The  Rabbis  had  a  saying,  that  the 
ignorant  did  not  know  how  to  keep  themselves  from  transgressions  of 
the  Law,  nor  the  common  people  how  to  become  "the  Pious,"  or 
rigorous  Jews.  Even  one  so  famous  as  Simeon  the  Just  discounte- 
nanced Nazarite  vows,  with  the  rigid  abstinence  and  self-denial  they 
imposed.  The  worldly  Sadducee  laughed  at  the  austerities  of  the 
Rabbis,  "who  tormented  themselves  in  tliis  life  without  gaining  any- 
thing by  it  in  the  other,"  and  the  mass  of  the  people  were  no  doubt  of 
their  mind.  But  the  vision  of  a  true  Nazarite,  in  whom  all  could  see 
a  grand  superiority  to  the  worthless  ambitions  of  life,  was  like  a 
revelation  of  eternal  realities,  which  no  one  could  turn  lightly  aside. 
The  very  power  of  his  words  seemed  to  imply  the  truth  of  his  warn- 
ings, for  the  Rabbis  had  already  told  them  that  "  universal  repent- 
ance," such  as  they  seemed  to  see  round  them,  "  would  only  happen 
when  Elias  had  come,"  and  his  coming  was  the  sure  sign  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

Everthing  was  fitted  to  startle.  The  proclamation  of  the  Messiah 
as  at  hand — the  call  to  repentance — the  announcement  of  the  swift 
rolling  towards  them  of  the  thunders  of  the  wrath  of  God — the  de- 
clared worthlessness  of  distinctions  of  race,  blood,  or  position — the 
demand  for  fruits  meet  for  repentance,  or,  in  other  words,  that  a  man 
must  work  out  his  own  salvation  in  co-operation  with  God — the 
symbolical  rite,  to  which  he  required  submission,  and  the  humbling 
confession  of  siu  before  the  world,  which  he  added — all  combined  to 
carry  his  name  and  work  to  the  utmost  limits  of  the  land. 

Meanwhile,  the  authorities  at  Jerusalem,  with  the  jealousy  of  all 
ecclesiastical  bodies  towards  those  outside  their  own  pale,  grew  un- 
easy at  his  success,  and  plotted  to  get  him  into  their  toils,  as  they  did 
afterwards  in  the  case  of  our  Lord.  The  ensnaring  questions  put  to 
him  by  the  deputation  of  priestly  Pharisees  sent  from  Jerusalem, 
SL'emed  to  have  made  John  think  it  necessary  to  seek  tafety  by  remov- 
ing beyond  the  bounds  of  Judea.  From  the  "circle  of  Jordan," 
including  both  sides  of  the  stream,  he  passed  upwards,  apparently, 
to  the  small  sunken  plain  which  borders  it,  just  beneath  Scythopolis, 
where  Gideon's  Brook  of  Trembling  makes  its  steep  Avay  from  the 
eastern  end  of  Esdraelon,  down  the  ^V^ady  Jalud,  to  the  Jordan.  He 
chose  a  spot  near  this,  on  the  eastern  side,  known  in  those  days  as 
Bethabara,  where  a  ford  crossed  the  river,  and  gave  facilities  for 
baptism.  He  had  been  preaching  and  baptizing  for  some  tune  in  the 
south,  and  his  removal  to  a  more  northern  position  opened  a  new 
field,  from  its  nearness  to  Galilee.  The  excitement  still  continued  as 
great  as  ever.  The  towns  on  the  lake  of  Galilee,  and  even  the 
.tillages  north  of    Esdraelon,    poured  forth  to    the   new   prophet. 


286  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Weeks  passed,  and  it  must  now  have  been  tlic  l^tc  cummer,  for, 
before  long,  John  had  to  leave  the  Jordan,  as  too  shallov*',  at  its  acces 
aible  parts  for  baptism,  and  go  to  another  place — Enon,  near  Salem 
— an  unknown  locality,  \>here  pools  more  suitable  v.  ere  yet  to  be 
had.  But,  as  yet,  there  was  no  sign  of  the  advent  of  the  expected 
Messiah.  The  assembling  of  the  nation,  and  the  grent  work  en  the 
banks  of  the  Jordan,  were  necessary  preliminaries,  in  the  Divine 
Counsels,  to  dignify  the  ultimate  Advent  of  the  Kedeemer. 

Jesus  had  been  waiting  the  fit  moment  for  leaving  Kis  thirty 
years'  obscurity  in  JSazareth,  and  presenting  Himself  before  the 
herald  who  had  been  \mconsciously  proclaiming  Him.  Though 
cousins,  the  Baptist  and  the  Son  of  ]\iary  had  never  seen  each  other, 
for  they  lived  at  opposite  ends  of  the  country,  and  John  had  spent 
we  do  not  know  how  many  years  of  his  life  in  hermit  seclvision, 
far  from  man.  Eut  if  John  did  not  know  Eis  person,  he  had  yet, 
doubtless,  heard  the  wondrous  circumstances  attending  His  birth, 
and  must  have  been  daily  expecting  Him  to  putfoith  His  claims. 
At  last,  Jesus  left  Nazareth  and  came  to  Jordan,  and  j- resented  Him- 
self before  him.  His  appearance,  wholly  different  from  that  of  all 
who  had  thronged  to  his  ministry,  at  once  arrested  tl.e  prophet's  eye. 
The  holy  devotion  and  heavenly  repose  which  marked  Him  as  He 
stood  in  prayer,  spoke  cf  a  purity  and  greatness  before  which  the 
soul  of  John  did  instant  reverence.  He  mi^ht  have  stern  words  for 
the  proud  and  self-righteous,  but,  in  the  presence  of  such  a  vision  as 
that  before  him,  he  has  only  those  cf  lowliest  hcmpge.  The  light, 
as  of  other  worlds,  shining  from  the  depths  cf  these  calm  eyes;  the 
radiance  of  a  soul  free  from  all  stain  of  sin,  trarsfguiing  the  pale 
face, — full,  at  once,  of  liighest  beauty,  tenderest  Icve,  and  deepest 
sadness,  was  hereafter,  even  when  dimly  seen  by  the  light  of  midnight 
torches  and  lanterns,  to  make  accusers  shrink  backwards  and  fall, 
overcome,  to  the  ground,  and  Simon  Fcter  pray — "  Depart  from  me, 
for  I  am  a  sinful  man,  O  Lord!"  The  soul  has  an  instinctive  recogni- 
tion of  goodness,  and  feels  its  awfulness.  Spiritual  greatness ^vears  a 
kingly  crown  which  compels  instant  reverence.  Hael  He  been  an 
earthly  king,  John  woidel  have  remained  the  stern,  fearless  prophet; 
had  He  been  the  highest  of  the  earthly  priesthood,  he  wculd  bave 
borne  him.self  as  His  superior,  in  the  consciousness  of  his  high 
mission.  But  the  roj'alty  before  him  was  not  of  this  worlel,  are!  the 
priesthood  was  higher  than  that  of  Aaron.  Jesus  hael  come  to  be 
baptized,  but  John,  for  tlie  first  anel  last  time,  with  any  one  of  all 
the  crowds  that  had  gathered  round  him,  hesitated,  and  drew  back. 
"I.have  need  to  be  baptized  of  Thee,"  said  he,  "and  comest  Thou 
to  me?"  He  might  not  know  by  name,  or  open  intimation,  whom 
he  had  before  him,  but  unerring  instinct  taught  him  that  he 
addressed  a  greater  than  himself.  He  was  longing  for  the  revelation 
of  the  Messiah,  and  knew  that  God  could  manifest  Him  at  any 
moment,  clothing  Him  whom  He  had  designated  for  the  high  dignity. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  887 

with  divine  might,  to  carrj'  out  His  worli.  It  is,  indeed,  the  especial 
greatness  of  the  Baptist  that  he  not  only  rose  to  tlie  level  of  so  great 
an  enterprise  as  the  spiritual  regeneration  of  his  country,  and  devoted 
himself  to  it  with  gigantic  energj',  and  that  he  was  a  man  of  spotless 
truth  and  dauntless  courage,  but  that,  with  all  this,  he  was  filled 
with  a  splendid  enthusiasm,  and  unfaltering  faith  in  the  nearness  of 
the  Messiah.  This  alone  could  have  supported  him,  under  the  bur- 
den of  his  work.  No  one,  till  then,  had  stood,  like  him,  between 
the  dead  past  and  the  dimly  rising  future,  in  hopeful  and  confideat 
expectation.  He  had  led  the  people  from  the  corruption,  wicked- 
ness, and  confusion  of  their  decayed  religiousness,  and  stood  calmly 
and  grandly  at  their  head,  in  the  firm  belief  that  the  Messiah,  who, 
only,  could  realize  the  promises  he  had  made  them,  of  divine  help 
towards  a  higher  life,  would  emerge  from  the  darkness  before  him. 
In  such  an  attitude  of  intensest  expectancy,  he  must  at  once  have 
recognized  the  marks  of  the  possible  Messiah  in  any  one  who 
showed  them.  He  might  look  for  no  outward  signs:  the  divine 
lineaments  of  a  nature  fit  for  such  an  office  would  suffice,  the  future 
being  left  to  God,  to  whom  he  entrusted  his  own  work.  He  could 
not  go  abroad  to  search  for  one  who  miglit  be  what  he  desired,  but 
his  ardent,  yet  keen,  soul,  could  not  fail  to  discover  Him  if  He  came 
within  his  sphere.  No  wonder,  then,  he  felt,  that,  in  Jesus,  the 
object  of  his  longings  seemed  to  have  been  found.  ' '  I  knew  Him 
not,"  said  he,  some  time  later,  "and  had  not  in  any  measure  begun 
my  work  because  I  knew  Him,  or  that  He  might  at  my  request  come 
to  me,  but  I  have  been  baptizing  and  rousing  Israel,  that  He,  though 
unknown  to  me, — drawn  indeed  by  my  work,  but  Avithout  design  or 
thought  on  my  part,  and,  therefore,  only  by  the  clear  leading  and  pur- 
pose of  God, — should  be  revealed  to  Israel  as  the  true  Messiah."  He 
had,  already,  before  Jesus  had  presented  Himself,  made  known  hia 
firm  conviction  that  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  His  people,  and  had 
provided  the  Messiah,  though  as  yet  He  had  not  disclosed  Him. 
In  his  grand  trust  in  God,  he  had  told  the  multitudes,  "there  standeth 
one  among  j'ou,  whom  you  know  not — the  true  Messiah,"  who  has 
been  among  you,  and  you  have  not  dreamed  of  it,  because  you  knew 
neither  the  marks  nor  nature  of  God's  Anointed,  and,  indeed,  you 
will  not  recognize  Him,  even  when  He  appears.  That  ye  may  know 
Him,  He  is  He  who  cometh  after  me,  and  yet  shall  be  preferred 
before  me — the  true  Messiah,  whose  shoes  I  am  not  worthy  to  unloo.se. 
"He  shall  be  preferred  before  me,  for  He  iras  before  me.  He  is  no 
man  of  mortal  birth,  for  scripture  and  Rabbi  unite  in  recognizing 
the  Messiah  as  the  uncreated  Word  of  God,  sent  down  from  heaven, 
to  dwell  for  a  time  among  men."  John's  long  communion  with 
GoU  in  the  wilderness,  his  prayers  and  tears,  had  mised  him  to  a 
spiritual  grandeur  which  anticipated,  with  a  higher  than  human 
sense,  the  yet  unrevealed.  Lifted  above  earth,  the  advent  of  the 
Kessiah  had  becom*  to  him  a  living  truth,  which  enly  waited  G^d's 


288  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

time  for  its  disclosure,  and  at  last  stood  visibly  hefcre  liim,  in  Hind 
•who  sought  baptism  at  his  hands. 

No  wonder  he  shrank  from  assuming  to  such  a  being  the  relation 
in  which  he  stood  to  other  men.  He  knew  that  only  one  who  was 
wholly  free  from  sin  could  be  the  Messiah,  and  such 'an  One  he  felt 
was  before  him.  The  meekness,  gentleness,  and  purity,  which  over- 
fiwed  him,  spoke  of  nothing  less,  and  the  heart  of  John,  on  the 
instant,  could  express  its  overpowering  emotion  in  no  more  fitting 
thought  than  that  he  "beheld  the  Lamb  of  Gcd,  who  takcth  away 
the  sin  of  the  World."  In  such  words  he  embcdicd  a  conception 
which  he  had  heard  from  the  Eabbis  since  his  childhood,  for  the 
daily  sacrifice,  on  whose  head  the  sins  of  Israel  v.crc  laid  by  a 
formal  act,  was  their  favourite  type  of  the  Mesriah,  who  was  hccce 
known  by  the  endearing  name  of  the  "  Lamb  of  God."  The  fublime 
picture  in  Isaiah  cf  Him  on  whom  Jehcvjih  had  laid  the  iniqiuties 
of  His  people,  and  who  was  led  as  a  I  am.b  to  the  slaughter,  had 
already  been  applied  to  the  Messiah,  and  Jchn  might  well  think  of 
Him  in  this  His  highest  aspect, — oppressed  in  soul,  as  he  himself  was, 
by  the  weight  of  the  sins  of  his  race. 

The  hesitation  of  the  Baptist,  however,  was  not  allowed  to  prevail, 
for  Jesus  sti41  repeated  His  desire  to  be  bajitiz^ed.  "  Sufter  it  row," 
said  He,  "for  thus  it  becomes  us  to  fulfil  all  righteousness.  From 
whatever  God  has  required  of  Israel  as  a  duty,  I  cannot  withheld 
myself."  Baptism  was  an  ordinance  of  God,  required  by  His  prophet 
as  the  introduction  of  the  rew  dispensation.  It  was  a  part  of  "rirht- 
eousness,"  that  is,  it  was  a  part  of  God's  com,mandments,  which  Jesus 
came  into  the  world  to  shoAV  us  the  example  of  fulfilling,  ])oth  in  the 
letter  and  the  spirit.  Moreover,  He  had  not  yet  received  the  con- 
secration of  the  Spirit,  abiding  on  Him,  and  had  not  yet  assumed  the 
awful  dignity  of  the  Messiah,  but  had  hitherto  been  only  the  unknown 
villager  of  "Nazareth.  No  subject  is  more  mj'sterious  than  the  "in- 
crease in  wisdom"  w^hich  marked  the  Saviour,  as  it  does  all  other 
men,  nop  can  we  conjecture  when  it  was  that  the  full  realization  of 
His  divine  mission  first  ro.se  before  Him.  As  yet  there  had  been  no 
indication  of  its  having  done  so,  for  He  had  not  yet  "manifested  His 
glory,"  or  appeared  at  all  before  men.  Is  it  too  much  to  believe  that 
,His  baptism  was  the  formal  consecration,  which  marked  His  entrance 
on  His  great  office? 

John  resisted  no  longer,  and  leading  Jesus  into  the  stream,  the  rite 
was  performed.  Can  we  question  that  such  an  act  was  •  crisis  in  the 
life  of  our  Lord?  His  perfect  manhood,  like  that  of  other  men,  in 
all  things,  except  sin,  forbids  our  doubting  it.  Holy  and  pure  before 
sinking  under  the  waters.  He  must  yet  have  risen  from  them  witlj 
the  light  of  a  higher  glory  in  His  countenance.  His  past  life  was 
closed;  a  new  era  had  opened.  Hitherto  the  humble  villager,  veiled 
from  the  world.  He  was  henceforth  the  Messiah,  openly  working 
amongst  men.     It  was  the  true  moment  of  His  entrance  on  a  new 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  289 

life.  Past  years  had  been  buried  in  the  waters  of  Jordan.  He 
entered  them  as  Jesus,  the  Son  of  Man;  lie  rose  from  them,  The 
Christ  of  God. 

Nor  is  it  wonderful  that,  at  a  moment  when  lie  was  passing 
through  sucli  a  supreme  spiritual  crisis,  there  should  have  been  synT- 
pathj^  with  it  in  the  distant  regions  of  the  Universe.  "Being  bap- 
tized," says  St.  Luke,  "  and  praying," — in  the  overpowering  emotion 
of  such  a  time — the  heaven  was  opened — all  hindrances  of  human 
weakness  withdrawing,  so  tliat  the  eye  seemed  to  pierce  the  .sky,  to 
the  far-off  heavenly  splendours.  And  now  a  vision  as  of  the  Holy 
Ghost  descending  in  the  "bodily  form"  of  a  dove,  the  symbol  of 
purity  and  peace,  and  resting  over  the  newly  baptized  as  in  perma- 
nent consecration,  revealed  it.self  to  Jo];n  and  Jesus;  a  heavenly  voice 
uttering  as  it  did  so,  "This  is  My  beloved  Son  in  whom  I  a'm  well 
pleased."  Isaiali  had,  long  l)efore,  foretold  how  the  Spirit  of  Jehovah 
should  rest  upon  the  Branch  from  the  roots  of  Jesse — the  spirit  of 
wisdom  .'md  understanding,  the  spirit  of  coimsel  and  might,  the  spirit 
of  knowledge,  and  of  fear  of  the  I.,ord,  and  the  prediction  was  now 
fulfilled.  It  was  the  divine  anointing  of  Jesus,  to  preach  good  tidings 
to  the  meek,  to  bind  up  the  broken-hearted,  to  proclaim  liberty  to  the 
captives,  and  the  opening  of  the  prison  to  them  that  are  bound,  to 
proclaim  the  acceptable  year  of  the  Lord,  and  the  day  of  vengeance 
of  God — the  consecration  from  on  high  to  the  office  of  Messiah,  and, 
as  such,  the  true  birth-hour  of  Christianity.  It  was  His  solemn  desig- 
nation as  the  Great  High  Priest  of  the  new  and  abiding  Dispensation. 
The  sons  of  Aaron  were  required  by  the  Levitical  I>aw  to  be  set  apart 
to  their  high  office  by  washing  and  anointing,  and  He  who  was  to  be 
clothed  with  an  infinitely  loftier  priesthood,  could  not  be  allowed  to 
v.-ant  a  correspondingly  grander  inauguration.  Instead  of  the  Temple 
made  with  hands.  He  had  around  Him  the  great  Temple  of  nature; 
for  the  brazen  laver  He  had  the  flowing  river,  reflecting  the  vault  of 
heaven.  If  He  had  no  golden  robes,  He  had  the  robe  of  a  sinless 
righteousness,  and  if  there  were  no  sacred  oil.  He  had,  instead,  the 
{'.nointing  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  John  had  already,  by  Divine  intima- 
tj  )n,  learned  that  the  Spirit  should  thus  descend  on  Him  who  was  to 
b.iptize  with  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  thus  saw  the  confirmation  of  his 
belief  that  Jesus  was,  indeetl,  the  Lamb  of  God,  and  His  Son.  How 
1  rag  He  remained  with  John  is  not  told  us,  but  it  would  seem  as  if  He 
had  forthwith  retired  to  the  wilderness,  to  return  only  after  His 
temptation. 

The  great  work  of  John  was  nov,-  over.  As  Samuel  had  once  con-  ■ 
r.:cratcd  the  earthly  David  king  over  the  outward  theocracy,  the  last 
of  the  prophets  had  consecrated  a  greater  king,  who  should  rule,  by 
different  means,  over  a  kingdom  wholly  different,  though  John, 
clanding  as  he  did,  outside,  could  at  best  only  dimly  conjectm-e  these 
characteristics  of  the  new  IMessianic  reign.  He  lived  and  worked 
long  enough  after  this  crowning  moment,  to  rejoice  over  the  first  ad- 


fc9U  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

vances  of  the  new  tlieDcracy  lie  liad  called  into  being,  but  also  lonst 
enough  to  show  that  he  did  not  comprehend  its  spirit,  as  he  would 
have  done,  had  he  lived  later.  His  days  were  numbered  Those  in 
power  feared  his  words  and  work,  which  gave  him  supreme  influence 
among  the  people.  The  priests  and  Ral)bis  had  failed  in  their  plots 
against  him,  but  what  they  could  not  themselves  do,  they  were  ere- 
long able  to  effect  through  one  of  greater  power  for  evil. 

John  secnxs  latterly  to  have  moved  from  place  to  place,  along  both 
banks  of  the  Jordan,  both  north  and  south.  How  long  he  continued 
to  labour  is  not  known,  but  he  was  still  baptizing  after  Jesus  had 
begun  His  ministry,  at  the  marriage  feast  of  Cana.  The  popularity 
of  Jesus  had. roused  the  jealousy  of  the  disciples  of  the  Baptist,  and 
had  even  led  to  angry  feeling.  A  dispute  with  a  Jew — likely  a  dis- 
ciple of  Jesus — respecting  baptism,  brought  matters  to  a  crisis.  He 
had,  apparently,  claimed  for  that  of  Jesus  a  higher  power  of  cleansing 
from  the  guilt  of  sin  than  that  of  their  master.  Irritated  and  annoyed, 
John's  followers  returned  and  told  him  how  He  "who  had  been  witli 
him  beyond  Jordan,  to  whom  he  had  borne  witness,  was  baptizing,  and 
that  all  men  were  now  coming  to  Him."  The  news  only  seemed  to 
bring  the  grand  humility  of  the  Baptist  more  prominently  than  ever  ■ 
into  view,  and  showed  him  to  be  above  any  selfish  or  petty  thought; 
a  man  to  whom  the  will  of  God  was  the  abiding  law.  "He  must 
increase, "  said  lie,  ' '  but  I  must  decrease,  for  He  is  the  Christ  the  Bride- 
groom. I  rejoice  greatly  to  hear  His  voice.  He  is  from  above,  and, 
therefore,  aliove  all:  I  am  only  of  the  earth,  and  speak  as  such.  He 
has  received  the  testimony  of  heaven ;  He  has  the  power  of  life  and 
death:  He  is  the  beloved  son,  into  whose  hand  the  Father  has  com- 
mitted all  tilings."  With  this  grand  utterance,  John  disappears  into 
the  gloom  of  a  prison.  He  had  been  a  "  lamp,"  as  Jesus  calls  him, 
burning  brightly  in  his  day,  but  the  Light  of  the  world  had  now  risen, 
and  hw  light  must  grow  dim  and  expire. 

John  owed  his  imprisonment  to  Herod  Antipas,  in  whose  territories 
he  had  sought  safety,  and  the  opportunity  of  carrying  on  his  work 
in  peace.  The  cause  assigned  before  the  people  for  his  arrest  was 
that  John  had  ventured  to  reprove  Herod  for  his  unlawful  marriage 
with  Herodias,  but  political  fears  had,  probably,  in  reality,  more  to  do 
with  it.  Herod,  with  the  crafty  cunning  for  which  Jesus  afterwards 
spoke  of  him  as  "the  fox,"  was  afraid  that  John  might  turn  his  wide 
popularity  to  political  account,  and  head  a  religious  rising,  perhaps 
like  that  of  Judas  the  Galiltean,  for  all  men  seemed  ready  for  anything 
he  might  advise.  He  held  it,  therefore,  better,  says  Josephus,  to  an- 
ticipate any  attempt  at  revolution,  b}'  imprisoning  him,  and,  if  needs 
were,  by  putting  him  to  death,  rather  than  lament  a  disturbance  after 
it  had  broken  out. 

Antipas,  it  seems,  jiassed  liis  time,  now,  in  Tiberias,  then,  in 
Machaerus,  on  his  southern  border,  in  Perea.  In  him,  the  hierarchy 
and  Rabbis  at  Jerusalem,  impotent  themselves,  found  an  instrument 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  291 

to  crush  the  unlicensed  teacher  who  so  freely  condemned  them,  and 
had  so  great  a  hold  upon  the  people.  Pilate,  ever  fearful  of  any 
popular  movement,  may  have  demanded,  at  their  crafty  instigation, 
that  action  should  be  taken,  and  these  influences,  added  to  the  appre- 
hensions of  Antipas  himself,  brought  matters  to  a  crisis.  Sending  a 
band  of  soldiers  and  police  northwards  to  the  Jordan,  a  distance  of 
from  six  to  eight  hours,  they  apprehended  the  Baptist,  lilcely  by  night,  , 
when  the  people  were  not  astir,  and,  binding  the  defenceless  man, ' 
hurried  him  off  to  the  fortress  Machaerus. 

This  castle,  known  as  "the  diadem,"  from  its  crown-like  seat  on 
the  lofty  rocks,  and  as  "the  black  tower,"  lay  on  the  east  side  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  almost  on  a  line  with  Bethlehem.  It  was  the  southern 
stronghold  of  Perea,  as  the  Macedonian  colony  of  Pel  la  was  the 
northern.  Nature,  herself,  had  here  raised  a  stronghold,  as  she  had 
that  of  Masada,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Dead  Sea,  a  little  further 
south.  It  lay  above  the  deep  gorge  that  divides  the  movmtain.s  of 
Abarim  from  the  range  of  Pisgah,  in  the  wild  region  where,  from  im- 
memorial tradition,  the  Jews  sought  the  grave  of  Moses.  A  few  miles 
to  the  north,  in  a  deep,  rugged  valley,  lay  Callirrhoe,  famous  for  its 
warm  baths,  where  the  dying  Herod  had  sought  relief,  and  had  nearly 
met  liis  death.  Its  hot  springs  burst  at  one  spot,  from  the  rocks  in 
the  bottom  of  the  gorge,  and,  near  them,  others  poured  forth  water  of 
the  iciest  coldness,  while  the  hills  round  were  in  those  days  pierced 
with  mines  of  sulphur  and  alum.  The  torrent  of  Zerka  Ma'in,  de- 
scending between  walls  of  basalt,  and  red,  brown,  and  black,  volcanic 
tuff,  rushes  through  the  ravine,  over  a  channel  of  huge  rocks,  from 
the  uplands  of  Perea  to  the  east  shore  of  the  Dead  Sea.  At  a  short 
distance  south,  the  Wady  Z'gara  runs  east  and  west,  in  a  profound 
gorge,  with  precipitous  sides,  at  some  parts  eight  hundred  feet  high, 
cleaving  its  wild  way,  by  leaps,  down  three  thousand  eight  hundred 
feet,  to  the  Dead  Sea.  A  parallel  valley  succeeds,  along  the  hollow 
of  which  ran  the  old  Roman  road,  joining  Machaerus  with  Callir- 
rhoe,. and  with  the  great  road  from  Petra  to  Damascus.  Rising  from 
this  ravine,  the  long  mountain  ridge  of  Attaroth  stretches,  in  lieaped- 
up  confusion,  ten  miles  to  the  south-west,  and  on  the  highest  point  of 
this,  where  it  sinks  sheer  down  towards  the  Zerka  Ma'in,  the  ruins 
of  Machaerus,  in  great  masses  of  squared  stone,  still  overhang  the 
profound  depth  below.  At  the  foot  of  the  isolated  cliff  on  which  the 
fortress  was  built,  and  separated  from  it  by  a  deep  and  narrow  valley, 
not  quite  a  mile  across,  lie  the  ruins  of  the  town  of  Machaerus,  cov- 
ering more  than  a  square  mile,  showing  in  the  remains  of  a  Ten^ple 
of  the  Sun,  that,  along  with  the  fanatical  Jewish  population,  it  must 
have  had  many  heathen,  that  is,  Greek  or  Roman  citizens,  who  were 
allowed  to  practise  their  idolatry  in  peace. 

The  first  fortress  had  been  built  here  by  Alexander  Jann.Tus,  but  it 
was  afterwards  destroyed  by  Gabinius,  in  his  war  against  Aristobnius. 
When  Herod  came  to  be  king,  however,  his  keen  eye  saw  the  strcngta 


293  TIIE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

cf  the  position,  and  he  determined  to  rebuild  the  castle  as  a  frontier 
cleicnce  against  the  Arabs.  SurroundiDc;  a  large  space  with  "walls  and 
towers,  he  built  a  city  from  which  a  path  led  up  to  the  citadel,  on  the 
top  of  the  ridge.  The  citadel  itself  was  at  one  end  of  a  narrow 
ridge,  nearly  a  mile  in  length  from  east  to  west,  and  formed  a  last 
retreat  in  case  of  attack,  but  it  was  not  enough  for  his  magniticent 
ideas.  At  the  other  end  of  the  ridge,  he  built  a  great  wall,  enclosing 
the  summit  of  the  hill,  with  towers  two  hundred  feet  high  at  the  cor 
ners,  and  in  the  space  thus  gained  built  a  grand  palace,  with  rows  of 
columns  of  a  single  stone  a-piece,  halls  lined  with  many-coloured 
marbles,  magnificent  baths,  and  all  the  details  of  Roman  luxury,  not 
omitting  huge  cisterns,  barracks,  and  storehouses,  with  eA'erything 
needed  for  defence  in  case  of  siege.  The  detached  citadel  was  the 
scene  of  John's  imprisonment;  a  stern  and  gloomy  keep,  with  under- 
ground dungeons,  still  visible,  hewn  doAvn  into  the  living  rock.  The 
fortress-palace,  nt  the  other  end  of  the  fcrtifications,  at  the  time  the 
residence  of  Antipas  and  his  retainers,  was  merry  with  their  revelry, 
but  the  dungeon  of  John  lay  in  midnight  darkness.  From  his  win 
dows  Antipas  had  a  magniticent  view  of  the  Dead  Sea,  the  whole 
course  of  the  Jordan,  Jerusalem,  Hebron,  the  frowning  fortress  of 
Masada,  the  circle  of  Jordan,  and  the  cliffs  of  Fngedi,  on  the  west, 
and  of  the  mountains  of  Gilead,  rising  beyond  the  wild  heights  of 
Pisgah,  on  the  north;  l,ut  his  captive,  the  child  of  the  boundless  wil- 
derness, pineel  in  perpetual  night. 

Beneath  this  stronghold,  perched  on  the  top  of  the  highest  summit 
of  the  wild  region,  the  valleys  sank  in  unscalable  precipices,  on  three 
sieles,  to  such  adepth  that  Jcsephus  is  well-nigh  excused  for  thinking 
that  the  eye  could  not  reach  their  botte  m.  The  fourth  side  was  only 
a  little  less  terrible.  Wild  desolation  reigned  far  and  near,  but  the 
hielelen  hollows  of  some  of  the  gorges  were  luxuriant  with  palms, 
olives,  and  vines,  anel  superstition  believed  that,  among  other  won- 
ders, there  grew  in  them  a  plant,  f  cry  red  in  colour,  and  shedding 
rays  of  flame  in  the  evening,  which  h!:d  power  to  expel  demons  and 
heal  diseases,  though  only  to  be  pulled  at  the  cost  of  life.  Seetzen,  a 
German  traveller,  who  re-discovered  the  site  in  1807,  has  left  a  vivid 
picture  of  the  landscape  round.  Kasses  of  lava,  brown,  red,  and 
black,  are  varied  with  pi:mice  store,  or  blf,-ck  basalt,  in  huge  broken 
masses,  or  perpendicidar  elifTs,  resting  on  m bite  liiuest one;  and  then, 
again,  dark  brown  rocks — the  ironn-ountain  of  Josephus.  The  rush- 
ing stream  beneath  is  oversiroAvn  with  oleanders  anel  date-palms,  wil- 
lows, poplars,  and  tall  reeds,  while  hot  sidphur  springs  gush  from  the 
clefts  of  the  rocks,  sending  up  a  thick  mist  of  steam. 

In  this  wild,  warlike  place,  lay  John,  cut  off  from  the  world,  frono 
Israel,  and  from  the  grand  work  of  national  regeneration  of  which 
he  was  the  soul — in  thie  midst  of  a  population  of  soldiers,  barbarians, 
Arabs,  Idumeans,  Amorites,  and  Moabites,  who  ran  no  risk  of  being 
Ijifected  by  his  words.     Perhaps  he  was  favoured  beyond  other  pris- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  293 

oners  by  being  brought  from  his  underground  vault,  after  a  time^  to 
some  cell  of  the  corner  towers,  to  be  near  his  captor.  If  so,  he  could 
look  from  his  lonely  height  over  the  regions  of  the  Dead  Sea,  and  tho 
Jordan,  where  the  years  of  iiis  desert  consecration,  and  the  months 
of  his  great  work,  had  been  spent.  Yet  he  was  no  mere  shadow  of 
the  past,  but  still  a  living  power.  No  strong  hand  had  protected 
him;  no  miracle  had  been  vouchsafed  by  God  tor  his  deliverance,  and 
there  was  no  hope  of  a  rescue  by  the  people,  however  they  might 
regret  him,  or  murmur  at  his  fate.  His  prison,  unapproachable  on 
three  sides,  and  reached,  on  the  fourth,  only  by  a  bridlepath,  through 
numerous  fortified  gates,  made  escape  impossible.  Nor  could  he  hope 
to  have  support  from  any  within  the  castle  itself,  for  its  motley 
population  of  Arabs,  Edonaites,  and  Moabites,  cared  nothing  for  the 
promises  of  Israel.  The  sheildis  of  the  wandering  tribes  around 
went  out  and  in,  the  troops  of  the  garrison  were  reviewed  and  drilled, 
or  lounged  round  the  battlements,  and  the  courtiers  of  the  haughty 
Herodias  flashed  hither  and  thither  in  their  bravery,  through  the  town : 
the  hot  springs  of  the  valley,  and  the  bracing  air  of  the  mountain- 
top,  gave  new  tone  to  the  nerves  of  the  health-seekers  frequcntu;.'^ 
them  from  all  parts,  but  the  Baptist  lay  unheeded  and  helpless.  Apiivt 
from  political  reasons,  it  was  so  healthy  a  place  that  Antipas  mi.'^ht 
'  well  be  fond  of  it.  "Provision.s,"  says  Josephus,  "remained  good 
for  a  hundred  years  in  the  fortress  of  Masada,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Dead  Sea,  for  the  air,  at  the  great  height  of  the  castle,  is  purified 
from  every  earthy  or  hurtful  exhalation."  Yet  there  was  no  gi-eat 
bustle,  for  the  place  was  too  out  of  the  way  for  much  iuteroourse 
with  it.  Ten  thousand  people  lived  in  the  town  below,  but  round 
John  were  only  rough  soldiery,  drafted  from  the  neighbouring  tribes, 
and  the  attendants  on  Herod,  of  whom  Jesus  speaks  as  "the  people 
gorgeously  appareled,  w^ho  lived  delicately,"  as  became  those  in  the 
courts  of  kings.  Yet  the  nation,  with  unbroken  faith,  kept  watch 
outside  the  gates  of  the  prison,  and  the  breath  of  God  still  moved 
among  them  like  the  soft  wind  through  the  leaves  of  summer. 

Antipas  had  laid  hands  on  John  with  the  intention  of  putting  him 
to  death,  and  there  were  those  round  him  who  grudged  htm  each 
day's  life,  but  fear  of  the  people  kept  "  the  fox"  from  his  purpose, 
for  a  time,  as  a  similar  dread,  on  the  part  of  the  hierarchy  at  Jerusa- 
lem, afterwards  protected  Jesus.  Yet,  his  prison  was  no  mere  deten- 
tion, for  prisons  in  antiquity,  and  especially  in  the  East,  had  no 
refinements  of  mercy.  The  words  of  Christ— "They  did  to  him 
whatsoever  they  pleased,"  are  significant,  and  point  to  torture,  insult, 
and  ill-treatment.  The  spirit  that  called  for  the  blind  Samson  to  bo 
brought  from  his  prison,  to  make  sport  before  the  Philistine  lords, 
was  still  in  full  vigour. 

But  John,  though  defenceless,  had  a  kingly  divinity  of  trath  and 
goodness,  that,  for  a  time,  hedged  him  round  from  death.  Brought 
before  Antipas,  once  and  again,  to  be  shown  off  to  the  crowd  at  hja 


294  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

table,  he  remained  so  completely  himself,  that  the  tyrant,  for  the  mo- 
ment, became  the  conquest  of  the  helpless  prisoner.  Feeling  how 
awful  goodness  is,  he  "feurcd  John,  linowing  that  he  was  a  righteous 
and  holy  man,  and  kept  Mm  closely ;  and  when  he  heard  liim,  be  was 
very  anxious,  and  heard  him  gladly.'  Even  he,  lor  the  instant, 
looked  towards  God  and  heaven!  Uneasy  conscience,  superstition,  a 
natural  mdisposition  to  violence,  and  the  slow,  cruel  delays  of  Eastern 
justice,  left  John  alive.  He  was  even  allowed  to  have  intercourse 
v.ith  some  of  his  people,  whose  love  braved  personal  danger,  and 
ffcrought  them  to  his  prison  to  visit  him.  Perhaps,  as  with  St.  Paul, 
/when  a  prisoner  at  Csesarea,  thkty  years  later,  it  was  formally  per- 
mitted that  "he  should  have  liberty,  and  that  none  of  his  acquaint- 
ance should  be  forbidden  to  minister  or  come  unto  him ;"  or,  very 
likely,  the  loose  ways  of  the  East,  so  different  from  strict  Roman 
practice,  left  access  to  him  possible.  His  disciples  came  and  went, 
brought  him  news  from  the  outer  world,  and  told  him  of  the  preaching 
of  the  kingdom  that  had  begun  in  Galilee — perhaps  shared  his  impris- 
onment, in  turn,  listened  to  his  instructions,  and  went  forth  on  mes- 
sages connected  with  his  gi-eat  work.  Antipas  had,  however,  nothing 
to  fear  in  alUhis,  and  the  Baptist  had  as  httle  to  hope.  His  disciples 
had  held  badly  together,  since  their  head  was  taken  from  them.  They 
clung  firmly  only  to  the  external,  ascetic  side  of  his  teaching,  as 
might  have  been  expected,  striving  to  outdo  the  Pharisees  in  m  ash- 
ings  and  fasts,  and  they  went  about  sad,  because  the  Bridegroom  was 
taken  from  them.  Perhaps,  some  of  them  still  preached  the  coming 
of  the  kingdom,  and  baptized  penitents,  but  the  crowds  fell  off,  in 
great  part,  after  John  s  imprisonment,  and  flocked  to  the  new  prophet 
whom  he  had  himself  baptized. 

I  To  men  trained  in  Jewish  ideas,  there  was;  much  that  seemed 
ftrange  and  doubtful  in  the  teaching  that  had  thus  superseded  that 
cf  John.  The  works  of  Jesus  were  mighty,  but  His  disciples  did  not 
fast.  The  Elijah  sternness  of  the  preaching  in  the  wilderness  of 
JuJea,  was  not  found  in  that  of  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  Tiberias. 
There  was  no  word  of  any  open  assumption  of  the  office  of  Messiah, 
r.c-r  any  signs  of  the  approaching  erection  cf  a  purified  theocracy. 
There  were  no  preparations  for  the  triimiph  of  Israel,  end  no  symp- 
toms of  the  wrath  of  God  breaking  forth  on  their  (  pprei-sors.  As  a 
Jew,  John  must  have  sliared,  more  or  less,  m  the  universal  belief  of 
his  nation,  that,  however  pure,  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  was  to 
•be  an  earthly  dominion  over  Israel,  when  it  had  been  delivered  from 
the  polluting  presence  of  the  heathen,  and  had  been  marked,  once 
1  lore,  as  the  people  of  God,  under  Him  alone.  The  news  brought 
Jiim  seems  to  have  made  him  almost  waver  in  his  belief  in  Jesus,  as 
the  Messiah  thus  expected,  for  the  human  mind,  in  loneliness,  disap- 
pointment, pind  imperfect  knowledge,  is  prone  to  read  things  by  the 
dull  light  of  the  present,  rather  than  by  the  evidence  of  the  past.  In 
iQ.om«Qt4  cf  Ti  eakne«s  and  despondency,  it  is  easjy  to  think  that  our 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  293 

■whole  life  has  Ijeen  a  dream,  and  our  fondest  bope?;  mere  illusiong. 
The  Gospels  seem  t  >  point  at  such  a  momentary  depression  in  the 
mind  of  John.  As  if  lie  had  been  lost  in  thought  over  what  he  had 
heard  from  his  visitors,  he  sent  to  Jesus  for  a  solution  of  hu  doubts. 
"Now,  when  John  heard  in  the  prison  of  the  works  of  the  Christ, 
f'yr  they  had  told  him  concerning  all  these  things," — the  miracle  of 
the  centurion's  servant,  and  of  the  young  man  just  raised  from  the 
bier  at  Nain — "having  called  unto  him  twa  of  his  disciples,  he  sent, 
throusrh  them,  to  the  Lord,  and  said  to  ITim,  'Art  Thou  the  Coming 
One,  or  must  we  look  for  another? '  And  the  men  came  to  Ilim,  and 
said,  'John  the  Baptist  has  sent  us  unto  Thee,  eaying,  "Art  Thou  the 
Coming  One,  or  must  we  look  for  another?" '  In  that  hour  He  healed 
many  of  diseases,  and  plagues,  and  evil  spirits ;  and  unto  many  blind 
He  granted  sight.  And  He  answered,  and  said  unto  them,  '  Go  and 
tell  John  what  ye  saw  and  heard,  that  the  blind  receive  sight,  the 
lame  walk,  the  lepers  are  cleansed,  the  deaf  hear,  the  dead  are  raised, 
and  the  poor  have  the  Gospel  preached  unto  them;'"  and  then  He 
added,  as  if  to  bring  John  back  from  his  doubts,  "and  blessed  is  he, 
whosoever  shall  not  be  offended  at  me."  The  whole  answer  showed 
a  fulfilinent  of  the  words  of  Isaiah,  respecting  the  Messiali,  which 
must  have  sunk  deep  into  the  heart  of  one  to  whom  that  great  prophet 
was  an  anticipatory  Gospel.  John  would  remember  that  in  one  place 
it  was  written — "  Your  God  will  come  and  save  j'ou.  Then  the  6368 
of  the  blind  shall  be  opened,  and  the  ears  of  the  deaf  shall  be  un- 
stopped. Then  shall  the  lame  man  leap  as  a  hart,  and  the  tongue  of 
the  dumb  sing;"  and  in  another — "The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  God  is 
upon  me;  because  the  Lord  hath  anointed  me  to  preach  good  tidings 
unto  the  meek;  to  bind  up  tlie  broken-hearted,  to  proclaim  liberty  to 
the  captives,  and  the  opening  of  the  prison  to  them  that  are  boimd, 
to  proclaim  the  acceptable  year  of  the  Lord."  Jesus  could  have 
given  him  no  proof  more  touching,  that  H3  was,  indeed,  the  Messiah. 
This  was  the  summer  of  John's  capti\ity,  but  the  winter  was  fast 
approaching.  Antipas,  and  perhaps,  Herodias,  and  the  local  court 
as  well,  had  been  curious  to  see  and  hear  the  man  who  had  played  so 
great  a  part.  At  first,  mere  idle  curiosity,  like  that  which  afterward  i 
made  him  anxious  to  see  Jesus, — though  he  ended  his  interview  by 
"setting  Him  at  nought  and  mocking  Him, " — made  him  have  John 
broiight  liefore  him.  Perhaps  the  mingled  motives  which  1,\I 
Agrippa  II.,  Berenice,  and  Dnisilla,  to  have  Paul  brouffht  into  their 
presence,  led  to  his  being  called  into  the  palace.  To  hear  anything 
uncourtly  from  one  in  their  power  was  not  to  be  imagined."^  Tlio 
sight  of  him  would  break  the  monotony  of  an  afternoon,  and  give 
something  to  talk  about  for  the  evening.  But  John  was  no  man  for 
kings'  court.s.  Life  was  too  real  for  him  to  deal  in  smooth-tongued 
flatteries  and  deceits.  He  made  an  impression  on  the  court,  though 
it  was  far  too  proud  and  trifling  to  think  of  anything  so  vulgar  as 
rspent-nco.     Like  Gt.  Paul  before  Felix  and  DrusiHa,  but  ia  quit* 


296  THE  LIFE  OF   CHRIST. 

another  mode,  lie  M^as  a  preacher  of  righteousness,  temperance,  and 
judgment,  though  in  bonds.  "It  is  not  lawful  for  thee  to  have  thy 
brother's  wife,"  said  the  fearless  man, — in  the  grand  superiority  of 
religious  zeal, — to  him  who  had  his  life  in  his  hands.  Perhaps  Anti- 
pas  had  wished  to  know  what  he  must  do  to  secure  an  interest  in  the 
approaching  polit'cal  kingdom  of  God,  and  was  thus  told  to  prove  his 
fcincerity  by  breaking  off  a  life  of  sin.  In  tlie  reproof,  John  set  himself 
en  the  firm  footing  of  the  Mosaic  Law,  which  bound  Herod,  as  a  Jew- 
ish prince ;  though  the  cowardly  silence  of  the  hierarchy  had  allowed 
him  to  trample  it  under  foot  at  his  will,  without  censure.  ' '  Eerodias, " 
says  Josephus,  "took  upon  her  to  confound  the  laws  of  our  country, 
and,  having  divorced  herself  from  her  hu.sliand  while  he  was  alive, 
married  Herod  (Antipas),  her  father's  brotlicr,  I'y  the  father's  side." 
The  Law  had  repeatedly  forbidden  marriogc  with  a  living  brother's 
wife,  as  a  scandal  against  which  childlessness  was  threatened,  and  it 
made  no  difference  between  brothers  and  half-brothers.  In  the  case 
of  Antipas  the  transgression  of  the  Law  was  the  greater,  as  John  saw 
and  pointed  out,  for  his  marriage  had  only  been  eti^^ectf  d  by  adulterj"- 
on  the  part  of  both  wife  and  husband.  Moreover,  it  had  been  brought 
about  by  the  most. heartless  outrage  on  the  hospitality  of  a  brother. 
To  make  the  whole  still  more  revolting,  it  was  not  needed  that  John 
should  touch  on  the  relationship  between  Antipas  and  Herodias,  for 
the  Law  did  not  take  notice  of  this,  and  the  Herod  family  had  Ici  g 
disregarded  such  objections. 

The  disgraceful  story  dated  back  to  the  first  or  second  year  cf 
Pilate.  In  the  year  26,  or,  more  probably,  27,  the  whole  family  of 
the  Herods  had  gathered  together  to  a  feast  in  Jerusalem.  To  this 
act  of  piety,  as  it  was  held,  they  had  given  a  still  higher  value,  in 
popular  opinion,  by  their  action  in  a  matter  which  lay  near  the  heart 
of  a  population  zealous  for  the  Law.  Pilate,  to  prevent  an  im-urn  c- 
tion,  had  reluctantly  withdrawn  the  standards,  with  their  siipjcftd 
idolatrous  emblems,  set  up  in  the  year  26,  before  the  Castle  Antcnia. 
But  his  offended  pride  had  not  forgotten  the  humiliation,  and  he, 
now,  to  efface  the  remembrance  of  it,  had  hung  votive  tablets  on  the 
palace  in  Zion.  They  were  golden  shields,  dedicated  to  Tiberirs, 
like  those  everywhere  hung  up  in  the  temples,  in  honour  of  the 
gods,  as  acknowledgment  of  some  deliverance,  or  signal  blessing 
in  health  or  fortune,  received  at  their  hands.  Thej^  got  their  nane 
from  having  been  vowed  beforehand,  in  case  a  divine  favour, 
earnestly  desired,  should  be  vouchsafed.  On  those  he  now  hui  g 
up,  Pilate  inscribed  only  his  own  name  and  that  cf  Tiberius,  1  i.t 
the  Jews  denounced  them  as  idolatrous,  and  raised  a  great  clamc  i:r 
to  have  them  removed.  The  letter  of  the  Law  might  not  cotdmn 
them,  but  they  had  homage  paid  them,  like  altars,  and,  hence,  wtie 
an  abomination.  The  four  sons  of  Herod  took  up  the  defence  <  f  tie 
Law,  thus  outraged  in  spirit,  and  on  Pilate  referring  th(!  rnaKcr  'o 
the  Emperor,  to  escape  a  second  humiliation,  a  deputation  was  tent 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  297 

off  to  Rome.  It  happened  that  Antipas,  also,  had  business  at  Rome 
at  the  time,  and  as  he  set  out  on  it  presently,  the  people  saw  in  his 
journey  a  further  proof  of  his  piety,  as  they  never  doubted  he  had 
gone  in  support  of  their  cause.  But  he  had  adultery  in  his  heart 
while  affecting  zeal  for  religion. 

Among  the  members  of  the  Herod  family  present  at  the  family 
feast  was  Herod  Boethos,  the  son  of  Herod  the  Great  and  the  second 
Mariamne,  the  famous  Jerusalem  beauty  of  her  day,  'whose  father, 
kn  Alexandrian  Jew,  Herod  had  raised  to  the  high  priesthood,  in 
honour  of  the  alliance  with  his  daughter.  This  Herod  Boeithos  had 
married  Herodias,  the  grand-daughter  of  his  father  and  the  first 
Mariamne,  and  daughter  of  Aristobulus,  one  of  Mariamne"s  murdered 
sons.  The  uncle  had  thus  married  the  niece,  but  this  was  nothing 
strange  in  the  Herods.  When  Antipas  came  to  Jerusalem,  to  the 
feast,  Herod  Boethos  made  him  his  guest,  as  his  half-brother.  Never 
was  hospitality  worse  repaid. 

The  fair,  impetuous,  ambitious,  Herodias  presently  made  a  com- 
plete conquest  of  the  weak,  unprincipled,  Antipas.  He  soon  found 
himself  entangled  in  an  intrigue  with  the  wife  of  his  hospitable 
brother,  though  he  had  long  been  married  to  the  daughter  of  a  power- 
ful neighbour,  Aretas,  king  of  the  Nabateans,  whose  dominions  were 
conterminous  with  his  own,  on  the  south,  witn  Petra  for  capital. 
Herodias  had  been  maiTied,  by  her  grandfather  Herod,  to  Herod 
Boethos,  or  Herod  Philip,  as  he  was  also  called,  now  a  man  ap- 
proaching fifty, — to  mitigate  the  misfortunes  of  her  family,  left 
fatherless  by  his  cruel  murder  of  his  son  Aristobulus.  She  hadl 
had,  as  her  only  child,  a  daughter,  Salome,  now  married  to  Philip, 
tetrarch  of  Iturea,  the  brother  of  Antipas,  who  was  now  in  middle 
life;  Herodias,  herself,  being  a  woman  of  thirty-four  or  thirty- 
five,  or  perhaps,  some  years  older.  Divine  and  human  laAvs  have 
seldom  been  more  shamelessly  violated  than  by  Antipas,  while  he 
was  playing  the  part,  in  public,  of  a  zealous  defender  of  religion. 
The  vice  in  Herodias  ran  in  her  veins  with  the  blood  of  Herod  and 
of  his  sister  Salome,  for  their  worst  qualities  were  revived  in  hcf 
nature.  Her  husband,  who  had  once  been  named  as  Herod's  heir, 
but  had  been  blotted  from  the  will  when  his  mother  was  detected  in 
the  plot  of  Bagoas,  the  eunuch,  seems  to  have  led  an  idle  and  insig- 
nificant life  as  a  private  man,  much  to  the  discontent  of  his  impe- 
rious, ambitious  wife.  She  was  ready,  therefore,  to  intrigue  with  a 
crowned  prince,  though  her  brother-in-law,  and  promised  to  como 
to  hiiu,  as  soon  as  he  returned  from  Rome.  It  was  agreed,  however, 
that  Antipas  should  first  divorce  his  wife,  the  daughter  of  Aretas. 

Antipas  set  off  to  Rome  with  this  arrangement.  It  was  to  b» 
carried  out  as  soon  as  he  came  back  again  to  his  palace  at  Tiberias, 
though  he,  doubtless,  looked  for  trouble  in  effecting  his  divorce  from 
the  daughter  of  the  Nabateau  king.  To  his  satisfaction,  however, 
•he  had  spared  him  any  difficulty.     The  treachery  which,  from  of  old, 


298  THE  LIFE  OF  ClIRIST. 

had  prevailed  in  the  courts  of  the  Ilerods,  had  revealed  her  husband't 
relations  to  llerodias,  and  she  resolved  to  leave  him.  She  asked  no 
more  than  permission  to  visit  tJie  border  fortress,  Machaerus,  which 
had  formerly  belonged  to  the  Herods,  but,  at  the  time,  was  in  her 
father's  hands,  perliaps  as  the  purchase  price,  in  E'astern  fashion,  of 
his  daughter.  Its  hot  r.prings  were  in  great  repute  as  a  health  resort. 
Arctas  at  once  took  steps  to  carry  her  farther  off.  Conducted  by. 
Arab  sheikhs,  she  was  led  to  her  family  palace  at  Petra,  and  her 
father  declared  the  marriage  annulled.  Antipas  received  Machaerus 
back ;  whether  by  treaty,  craft,  or  force,  is  not  known.  Perhaps  the 
Arab  feared  the  tetrarc'h,  as  one  high  in  the  Emperor's  favour;  per- 
haps Antipas  exchanged  the  fortress  for  other  concessions.  In  anj'- 
case,  the  peace  Avas  not  disturbed  for  the  time,  and  Herodias  left  her 
husband,  and  came  to  the  palace  of  Tiberias. 

The  whole  shameful  transaction  had  been  carried  out  in  the  very 
region  of  John's  earlier  ministrations,  and  had,  doubtless,  created  a 
{T"eat  sensation  in  the  districts  nearest  the  Arab  kingdom.  Public 
policy  felt  it  a  mistake  to  have  repudiated  the  daughter  of  a  danger- 
ous neighbour;  t!ie  Law  and  its  representatives  denounced  as  a  crime 
the  marriar^e  with  a  brother's  wife.  Even  in  his  own  family,  the 
hateful  maiTiage,  with  its  double  adulterj^,  wrought  division,  cutting 
Antipas  off  from  all  his  blood.  It  was  the  weak  point  of  his  other- 
wise cautious  rci^n,  which  had  guarded  against  offending  the  relig- 
ious sensitiveness  of  the  people,  and  it  left  his  frontiers  exposed  to 
the  anger  of  Arctas,  in  revenge  for  the  insult. 

It  is  possible  that  John  may  have  spoken  of  a  matter  so  widely 
mooted  among  the  people,  before  he  was  carried  off  to  Machaerus. 
T-ut  the  Gospels  expressly  inform  us,  that  the  fearless  man  reproved 
Ilcrod  respecting  it,  face  to  face,  perhaps  before  all  his  court.  If  he 
had  been  brought  for  a  show,  and  let  loose  this  shaft  at  the  sleeping 
conscience  of  Antipas,  before  his  partner  in  guilt  and  the  gay  para- 
sites round,  no  scene  could  have  been  more  dramatic.  But  the  man 
who  had  spoken  such  words  could  not  be  allowed  to  live.  Herodias 
was  determined  he  should  pay  for  his  rashness  with  his  life,  and  lost 
no  opportunity  of  working  on  Antipas  to  give  the  command  for  his 
execution. 

The  titter  fruits  of  the  marriage  were  already  springing  up,  to 
poison  the  tctrarch's  remaining  years.  The  curse  of  childlessness, 
denounced  by  the  Law  on  such  a  crime,  was  fullilling  itself.  Ths 
father  of  his  repudi.ited  wife  threatened  w^ar  for  the  insult  to  hi? 
daughter,  and  Antipas  was  engrossed  by  efforts  to  prepare  for  it,  if 
he  could  not  prevent  it.  Long,  fierce  wrangling  passed,  after  a  time,' 
into  open  hostility,  and  Antipas  was  so  shamefully  beaten  that  he  hf.d 
to  appeal  to  the  Emperor  for  aid,  and  kept  his  throne,  for  the  time, 
only  by  his  support.  Perhaps  Jesus  referred  to  this  uneasy  time 
when  He  asked,  "What  king,  going  to  make  war  against  another 
kinjj,  will  not  first  sit  down  and  consult  whether  he  is  able,  with 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  299 

10,000,  to  meet  him  that  comes  a^rainst  him  with  20.000?  Otherwise, 
while  he  is  yet  a  srreat  wav  off,  havins;  sent  an  embassy,  he  aslcs  con- 
ditions of  peace."  To  make  his  condition  still  mora  imhappy,  John 
had  touched  his  conscience  to  the  quick  by  his  reproofs.  Should  he 
put  him  to  death,  and  thus,  at  once,  avenge  such  a  liberty  with  one 
who  wore  the  purple,  and  put  an  end  to  all  fear  of  political'trouble, 
through  the  bold  man's  influence  on  the  people?  Herodias  sedulously 
kept  alive  the  struggle  in  her  husband's  breast,  between  conscience 
and  fear,  and  passion  and  pride.  She  herself  was  doubly  touched, 
for  John  had  recalled  lier  violation  of  her  first  duty  as  a  wife,  and 
the  ghastly  fact  that  she  had  been  the  virtual  seducer  of  him  whom 
she  now  liad  in  her  power.  But  Antipas,  for  once,  would  not  give 
way  to  the  murderous  wish  of  Herodias.  He  spared  the  Bapti.st'3 
life,  protected  him  from  the  snares  of  his  unscrupulous  enemy,  and 
even  made  his  imprisonment  bearable,  as  far  as  was  possible.  _  It  was 
no  friendly  feeling,  however,  that  moved  him  thus,  but  the  involun- 
tary homage  of  even  a  bad  nature  to  the  unbending  truth  and  moral 
grandeur  of  his  prisoner— a  homage,  akin  to  fear— which  made  him 
tremble  hereafter  at  the  report  of  the  miracles  of  Jesus,  in  the  belief 
that  it  was  John  risen  from  the  grave,  clothed  with  the  supernatural 
powers  of  the  other  world. 

"Herod,  though  in  his  palace,  surrounded  with  his  royal  guards, 
feared  him.  He  knew  the  Bapti.st  was  stronger  than  he,  for  truth  is 
mighty,  and  mightily  prevaileth:  and  being  already  conscious  of  his 
offendings,  and  having  enotigh  to  do  to  keep  down  the  voices  of 
crime  and  transgression  within  him,  he  feared  this  righteous  man, 
whose  words  gave  such  edge  to  his  self -accusations,  such  point  to  his 
remorse.  Unarmed,  the  Baptist  daunted  him  more  than  an  army  of 
men,  an  embattled  city,  or  a  fenced  tower,  or  any  other  source  of 
lihy.sical  and  outward' force.  It  reminds  me  of  the  saying  of  the 
first  James,  when  Knox's  daughter  came  to  petition  for  her  husband 
Welsh's  pardon.  The  monarch  asked  her  who  she  was ;  she  replied, 
'  The  daus^hter  of  John  Knox.'  '  Knox  and  Welsh,'  said  he,  '  that  is 
a  fearful  conjunction  of  bloods.  And  had  your  father  any  sons?' 
•No,  only  three  daughters.'  'Had  his  three  daughters  been  three 
sons,'  said  the  conscience-stricken  monarch,  'I  would  ill  have 
brinked'  (enjoyed)  '  my  three  kingdoms  in  peace.  He  may  return,  if 
he  will  consent  never  to  preach  again.'  '  Sooner  than  he  should 
consent  to  that,'  said  the  godlv  and  heroic  woman,  'Iwouldkep' 
(catch  as  it  fell  from  the  block)  'his  bloody  head  here,'— stretching 
out  the  matronal  apron  in  which  she  was  attired." 

That  Antipas  thus  stood  between  his  prisoner  and  the  Jezebel  who 
thirsted  for  his  death,  and,  even  protected  him,  in  a  wild  border 
district  where  human  life  was  held  in  no  regard,  was  a  noble  tribute 
to  the  greatness  of  John,  for  none  but  a  lofty  soul  could  have  made 
such  an  impression  on  the  weak,  sellish,  sensual,  knavish  being,  in 
whose  prison  he  lay,  or  could  have  waked,  even  in  such  a  nature, 


800  THE  LIFE  OF  CUEIST. 

whatever  it  hrd  of  good,  to  a  stniggle  with  overpowering  evil.  It 
was,  almost,  the  raising  of  a  Son  of  Abraham  from  the  stones  of  the 
wilderness.  The  tj^rant's  alarm  and  want  of  resolution,  his  conscious- 
ness of  guilt,  and  involuntary  awe,  fenced  round  the  life  of  the 
Baptist  for  the  time,  till  tlie  furious  woman  whose  dismissal  John  had 
demanded,  after  vainly  trying  to  gain  her  end  by  wild  revenge,  reached 
it,  at  last,  by  craft. 

Antipas  had  had  the  good  fortune,  by  no  means  common  with  the 
vassals  of  Tiberius,  to  keep  his  throne  for  over  thirty  j^ears.  and,  like 
Lis  father,  had  been  accustomed  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  his 
accession,  each  summer,  b}^  a  banquet.  The  time  for  this  had  now 
returned,  and  an  invitation  to  a  grand  festivity  on  the  occasion  was 
given  to  the  officers  in  attendance  at  Machaerus,  the  sheikhs  of  the 
neighbouring  tribes,  and  the  high  society  within  reach,  including 
the  lords,  chief  captains,  and  first  men  of  Galilee.  Persius,  the  Ro- 
man satirist,  has  left  us  a  notice  of  such  a  feast  on  the  "Her- 
od's day,"  of  some  of  the  family,  perhaps,  of  Antipas.  He  shows 
us  the  palace  windows  I  rilliantly  illuminated  and  hung  with  gar- 
lands of  flowers;  the  tables  spread  with  every  ostentation  of  lux- 
ury, and  the  wine  flowing  freely.  On  this  occasion,  the  mirth  and  re- 
joicing ran  high.  Herodias,  herself,  was  not  present,  for  it  is  not 
ithe  custom,  even  now,  in  the  East,  for  the  women  to  take  part  in  the 
festivities  of  men.  But  to  do  honour  to  the  day,  and  to  the  company, 
her  daughter  Salome,  the  childless  wife  of  the  tetrarch  Philip,  had 
broken  through  the  rule  cf  .'trict  seclusion  from  the  other  sex,  and 
had  condescended,  though  a  princess,  and  the  daughter  of  kings,  to 
dance  before  Antipas  and  his  guests.  The  dancing  then  in  vogue 
fcoth  in  Rome  and  the  provincrs,  from  its  popularity  under  Augustus, 
was  very  like  that  of  our  modern  ballet.  The  dancer  did  not  -speak, 
but  acted  some  story  by  gestures,  movements,  and  attitudes,  to  the 
sound  of  music.  Masks  were  used  in  all  cases,  to  conceal  the  fea- 
tures, but  all  other  parts  of  the  body,  especial)}'  the  hands  and  arms, 
were  called  into  action,  and  a  skilful  pantominiist  could  express  feel- 
ings, passions,  and  acts,  with  .surprising  effect.  The  subjects  of  the 
dance  were  always  mythological,  and  thus,  an  abhorrence  to  strict 
Jews,  as  essentially  heathen.  The  dress  of  the  performer,  like  that 
of  the  dancers  in  our  ballet,  was  planned  to  .'how  the  beautj'  of  the 
figure  to  the  greatest  advantage,  though  it  varied  with  the  characters 
represented.  In  the  days  of  Antipas  there  never  was  more  than  one 
dancer  at  a  time,  even  when  the  piece  introduced  lioth  sexes.  Women 
never  performed  thus  in  public,  in  these  earlier  times  of  the  empire, 
but,  as  in  the  case  of  Salome,  they  did  not  scruple  to  act  at  the  private 
parties  of  the  great. 

Salome's  ballet  was  a  great  success.  The  revellers  were  charmed, 
and  the  weak  head  of  Antipas,  likely  made  weaker  by  wine,  was 
fairly  turned.  He  could  not  give  away  the  humblest  village  without 
pi:rmission  from  Tiberius,  but,  forgetful  of  thi.s,  he    vowed,  in   true 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  801 

Eastern  exasrgeration,  to  do  anything  the  dancer  asked,  if  it  were  to 
give  her  half  of  his  kingdom.  Seizing  the  chauce,  she  was  yet  too 
cautious  to  speak  otf  hand,  but  retired  to  consult  her  mother.  Hero- 
dias,  clutching  the  opportunity,  had  no  hesitation  in  her  answer— 
"Ask  the  head  of  John  the  Baptist."  Returning  at  once,  she  made 
the  blood V  request.  Chagrined  at  the  advantage  taken  of  him.  and 
alarmed  at  its  probable  re'sults,  he  yet  had  not  the  moral  courage  to 
refuse  it.  His  honour,  he  fancied,  was  compromised,  for  he  had  put 
himself  in  Salome's  power,  before  the  company.  jMotioning,  there- 
fore, to  a  soMier  of  the  guard,  he  commanded  him  to  bring  John's 
head.  There  was  no  warning  given :  the  entrance  of  the  messenger 
was  the  signal  for  execution,  and  the  head  was  presently  brought  in 
on  a  salver  and  given  to  Salome,  who  took  it  out  as  a  welcome 
present  to  her  mother.  The  mutilated  body,  cared  for  by  loving  dis- 
ciples, was,  perhaps  the  same  night,  laid  in  a  tomb. 

It  is  a  weird  and  ghastly  story,  but  one  quite  in  keeping  with  the 
almost  grotesquely  horrible  incidents  recorded  of  the  half  barbarous 
courts  of  the  East,  and  even  of  that  of  Rome,,  in  this  savage  age. 
Herodotus  tells  the  story  of  the  demand  made  by  Amestris,  wife  of 
Xerxes,  on  a  birthday  festival  of  her  husband,  that  he  should  give  up 
the  wife  of  Masistes  to  her  jealous  rage,  and  how,  on  her  persisting, 
he  fancied  he  could  not,  on  that  day,  refuse.  No  entreaty  of  the  un- 
fortunate prince  could  avail  for  his  wife,  whom  he  loved ;  Xerxes 
having  once  commanded  her  to  be  given  up  to  her  rival.  Nor  is  the 
grim  parallel  to  the  fury  of  Herodias  wanting,  for  the  spearmen  of 
Xerxes  were  forthwith  sent  by  the  frantic  Amestris,  and  cut  her 
rival  to  pieces,  throwing  her,  in  fragments,  to  the  dogs. 

In  the  year  b.c.  53,  after  the  battle  of  Karrha.  the  Parthian  King, 
Orodes,  was  celebrating  the  marriage  of  his  son  Pacorus,  when  the 
actor  who  played  the  part  of  Agave,  in  the  Bacchae  of  Euripides, 
brought  in  the  half  wasted  head  of  Crassus  on  the  stage,  and  the 
chorus  repeated,  with  loud,  triumphant  rejoicing,  the  well-knowa 
strophe — 

"  We  bring  from  the  mountain, 
Borne  to  our  home, 
The  royal  booty,  the  bleeding  sport." 

Nor  was  Rome  itself  less  savage.  Caligula  often  had  men  put  to 
torture  before  his  guests  at  his  feasts,  and  swordsmen,  skilled  in  be- 
heading, amused  the  table  by  striking  off  the  heads  of  prisoners 
brought  in  from  their  dungeons,  to  let  them  show  their  skill.  At  a 
public  feast  at  Rome,  he  ordered  the  executioner  to  strike  off  tlie 
hands  of  a  slave  accused  of  having  taken  a  silver  plate  from  one  of 
the  couches,  and  made  the  poor  wretch  go  round  and  round  the  tables 
with  his  hands  hanging  on  his  breast,  from  a  string  round  his  neck,  a 
board  being  carried  before  him,  inscribed  with  his  offence. 
After  the  death  of  the  Baptist,  Antipas  returned  to  Tiberias,  haunted 


303  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

by  the  rememberance  of  his  victim.  Salome  went  back  to  her  elderlj 
husband,  who  had  already  built  a  tomb  for  himself,  in  Julias  Beth- 
saida,  and  did  not  long  survive  his  marriage.  Salome,  left  a  widow, 
once  more  returned  to  her  mother. 

The  marriage  had  been  a  speculation  of  Herodias,  who  hoped  thus 
to  get  hold  of  the  territory  of  her  neighbour  and  son-in-law.  But 
the  scheme  failed,  for  the  tetrarchy  was  forthwith  incorporated  with 
the  province  of  Syria.  Antipas,  however,  still  hankered  after  it,  and 
turned  wistful  eyes  towards  it,  from  his  palace  at  Tiberias,  till,  at 
last,  it  lured  him  and  Plerodias  to  ruin. 

"The  Baptist  had  done  the  Almighty  good  service — he  had  not 
turned  back,  on  any  occasion,  from  his  perilous  duty — he  had  kept 
his  Nazarite  ritual,  both  in  body  and  spirit,  sustaining  the  one  upon 
the  simplest  meat,  and  the  other  upon  the  hardest  conditions.  The 
Almiglity  heard  the  voice  which  he  spoke  always  for  His  Well- 
beloved  Son ;  He  saw  that  he  spoke  truth,  and  held  h  is  integrity 
steadfast  unto  the  end.  And,  perceiving  in  His  servant  such  noble 
and  excellent  qualities,  He  resolved  to  perfect  him  for  a  high  place  in 
heaven,  and  so  directed  his  footsteps  to  the  fiery  furnace  of  a  court, 
that  the  temper  of  his  truth  and  piety  might  be  purified  manifold. 
And  in  the  fiery  furnace  He  walked  with  His  servant,  so  that  his 
spirit  was  not  harmed ;  and  having  thus  annealed  his  nature  to  the 
utmost  which  this  earth  could  do.  He  took  him  hastily  away,  and 
placed  him  among  the  glorified  in  heaven." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  TEMPTATION. 

The  baptism  of  Jesus  in  the  Jordan,  and  His  consecration  immedi- 
ately after,  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  were  the  close  of  His  private,  and  the 
inauguration  of  His  public  life.  Hitherto  He  had  been  the  unknown 
and  obscure  villager  of  Nazareth:  henceforth  He  entered  on  His 
divine  mission  as  the  Messiah,  or  "Anointed"  of  God.  The  begin- 
ning of  His  ministry,  and  the  heavenly  equipment  needed  to  sustain 
Ilim  in  it,  are  always  referred,  by  the  apostles,  tliemselves,  to  this 
critical  moment.  ^V'ith  them.  His  commission  and  special  endow- 
ment for  His  mighty  work,  dated  from  His  baptism.  "Ye  know," 
says  Gt.  Peter,  "  what  was  spoken  of  throughout  all  Judea,  beginning 
from  C4alilee,  after  the  baptism  which  John,  preached,  concerning 
Jesus  cf  Kazareth,  that  God  anointed  Him  with  the  Holy  Spirit,  and 
witli  power;  who  Avent  about  doing  good,  and  curing  all  that  were 
overpowered  by  the  devil,  for  God  was  with  Him."  A  mysterioua 
dignily  imparted  by  this  heavenly  "anointing,"  filled  Him,  conscious- 
ly, with  supernatural  powers  He  had  not,  hitherto,  displayed,  and 
raised  Him  from  ih.e  subordinate  and  passive  life  of  Nazareth,  to  the 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  808 

high,  office  of  ' '  Messenger  of  the  Covenant, "  ' '  the  Messiah  promised 
to  the  fathers. " 

In  the  thirty  years  of  His  life  in  Nazareth,  Jesus  had  done  no 
miracles,  and  had  assumed  no  authority  or  public  standing^  as  a 
teacher.  On  the  contrary,  Pie  had  so  withdrawn  into  the  shade  of  a 
studied  obscurity,  and  conformed  to  the  daily  life  of  tliose  around, 
that  no  one,  appareutlj',  suspected  Him  to  be  more  than  the  humble 
villager  He  seemed. 

The  l)aptism  in  the  Jordan,  with  its  mysterious  accompaniments — 
the  heavenly  dove  and  the  voice  of  God— marked  the  dividing  line  in 
His  life.  With  such  credentials,  and  such  endowments.  His  call  as 
the  ]\Iessiah  was  no  longer  doubtful.  We  know  nothing  of  His 
spiritual  history  while  at  Nazareth  bej^ond  the  fact  that  His  thoughts 
expanded  with  His  years,  for  His  "  keeping  on  increasing  in  wisdom" 
can  mean  nothing  less.  Presentiments  must  have  often  risen  in  His 
mind,  but  He  may  have  had  no  assurance  that  they  were  trustworthy, 
— for  His  Divine  nature  is  a  mystery — till  formally  "  anointed  with 
the  Holy  Spirit,  and  with  power."  After  His  baptism,  we  can  readily 
fancy  Him,  during  His  stay  at  the  Jordan,  listening  intently  to  the 
preaching  of  John,  and  watching  the  excited  multitudes,  till  the  con- 
viction forced  itself  upon  Him,  that  the  Law  could  no  longer  be  the 
channel  of  salvation  to  tiie  sin-stricken,  repentant  crowds.  The  gift 
of  the  Spirit,  and  the  words  of  the  heavenly  voice,  would  confirm 
this  conviction,  and  make  it  for  ever  certain  that  the  path  into  which 
John  was  introducing  his  converts,  could  not,  by  itself,  lead  to  the 
fulness  of  truth,  and  abiding  peace  of  heart.  The  opened  heavens 
revealed  a  new  relation  ot  God  to  man,  which  must  be  proclaimed; 
and  in  the  holy  symbol  of  the  dove — the  pledge  in  Noah's  day  that 
wrath  had  turned  to  mercy — the  chosen  emblem  of  the  Spirit  of  God, 
— a  vivid  lesson  Avas  given  that  peace  could  be  won  back  to  the 
troubled  soul,  and  the  soul  itself  renewed,  only  by  the  soft  and  gentle 
influence  of  heavenly  grace.  Set  apart,  by  so  august  a  consecration, 
as  God's  anointed,  the  regeneration  of  the  race,  and  the  reconciliation 
of  earth  and  heaven,  were  henceforth  entrusted  to  His  hands.  He 
had,  till  now,  been  silent;  but  forthwith  began  to  proclaim  tiiat  the 
kingdom  of  God  was  no  longer,  as  John  had  taught,  near  at  hand, 
but  had  already  come,  and  at  once  assumed  and  exercised  the  highest 
kingly  authority,  as  its  Head;  working  miracles  as  a  proof  of  His 
superhuman  dignity;  bearing  Himself  in  the  Temple  as  in  His 
Father's  House;  discoursing,  as  the  Messiah,  with  Nicodemus.  He 
even  took  to  Himself,  from  this  time,  the  name  of  "  The  Son  of  Man ;" 
derived  from  the  vision  of  the  Messiah  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  and 
universally  accepted,  from  that  source,  as  the  symbol  of  Messianic 
rank.  His  baptismal  consecration  was  presently  followed  by  His 
taking  His  place  as  king  in  the  new  theocracy ;  ruling,  and  legislating, 
an»  displaying  all  kingly  power  and  dignity,  henceforth,  as  the  Me»- 
■iah  of  God— Himself  Divine. 


304  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ITi3  baptism  was,  thus,  the  birth-hour  of  Christianity.  Crowds, 
sunk  in  national  and  spiritual  degradation,  thronged  the  banks  of  the 
Jordan,  roused  by  the  new  Elias  to  a  sense  of  their  wants,  but  left  to 
expectancy  for  their  future  satisfaction.  They  longed  for  a  last  need- 
ful word,  but  John  was  unable  to  add  it.  He  coutd  speak-  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Kingdom  of  God,  but  he  was  only  its  herald,  and  could 
not  act  as  its  head.  The  Messiah,  who  was  to  give  it  life  and  form, 
■was  yet  to  come.  His  work  was  a  mighty  movement,  with  no  ade- 
quate end:  his  converts  a  mighty  host,  without  a  watchword ;  his  ex- 
hortations excited  a  deep  yearning,  which  they  left  unsatisfied.  Such 
a  spectacle  must  have  stirred  the  soul  of  Jesus  to  its  lowest  depths. 
Even  before  His  consecration  as  the  Messiah,  He  must  have  pondered 
the  condition  of  His  people,  and  longed,  Avith  all  the  love  of  His 
Divine  nature,  to  heal  their  troubles.  It  must  have  been  so  even  in 
Nazareth.  The  consecration  at  the  Jordan  only  stamped  with 
heavenly  approval  the  purposes  that  had  been  ripening  in  His  breast 
from  His  earliest  years.  We  cannot  think  of  one  like  Jesus,  so  pro- 
foundly religious,  and  so  divinely  compassionate,  as  at  any  time  in- 
different to  the  supreme  question  of  the  reconciliation  of  man  to  God. 
The  days  and  nights  i:)assed,  in  later  years,  in  solitary  prayer)  in  the 
wilderness,  or  in  the  mountains,  were,  doul)tless,  only  the  repetition 
of  far  earlier  communings  with  His  Father,  and  with  His  own  soul.  But 
the  divine  certainty;  the  imperative  signal,  that  He  should  arise  and 
gird  Himself  to  the  mighty  task  of  wmuing  back  the  world  to  God: 
the  awful  summons  for  which  He  waited  Avith  hushed  stillness.  He 
first  read  in  the  sights  and  revelations  of  the  Jordan  baptism.  The 
heavenly  consecration  was  the  divine  sanction  of  His  long-cherished 
but  dimly  realized  purpose.  The  accompaniments  of  His  baptism 
made  Him  the  head  of  the  new  spiritual  theocracy,  and  laid  on  Him 
the  burden  of  giving  Himself  wholly  to  its  establishment. 

Everything  around  corroborated  the  indications  of  the  heavenly 
vision.  The  events  predicted  as  inaugurating  the  advent  of  the  Mes- 
siah, were  realizing  themselves  before'llim,  for  had  not  Elias  come 
again,  in  the  person  of  John,  and  had  not  the  nation  consecrated 
itself,  in  preparation  for  the  Messiah?  He,  only,  was  wanting,  whom 
the  times  themselves  could  not  give:  the  Coming  One,  who  should 
setup,  in  its  fulness,  the  Divine  Kingdom  already  begun.  Ko  wonder 
that  John,  as  he  daily  announced  both  the  Kingdom'and  the  Messiah, 
with  unwavering  faith,  and  searched  each  group  that  came  before 
him,  in  hopes  of  finding,  at  last,  the  chosen  of  God,  fixed  his<'}^es 
with  a  settled  and  clear  conviction  on  Jesus,  as  He  for  whom  he  was 
looking.  The  attitude  of  the  Baptist  towards  Him,  was  a  corrobora- 
tion of  all  the  rest.  His  own  consciousness  of  being  the  Eternal  Son 
of  God;  the  spectacle  before  Him;  the  longings  of  His  pity  and  holy 
love;  the  wants  of  the  times;  and,  above  all,  the  voice  and  sign  from 
Heaven,  made'  it  clear,  that  "lowly  in  heart"  as  lie  was,  He  wa« 
nevertheless  the  Messiah. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  805 

'  The  earliest  chapters  of  the  Gospels  show  with  what  majestic  ful- 
ness and  dignity  the  Saviour  rose  to  the  height  of  this  great  commis- 
sion. Recognizing  John  as  a  noble  servant  of  God,  He  yet  took  His 
place,  from  the  first,  above  him.  John  .stayed  behind  in  his  Jewish 
limitations,  leaving  the  great  work  imperfect,  but  Jesus  from  the 
beginning  stood  a  King  over  the  souls  of  men,  dispensing  promises, 
scaltei'ing  heavenly  gifts,  calming  fears,  satisfying  the  cravings  of  the 
heart,  raising  an  invisible  and  deathless  kingdom  in  the  human  spirit, 
and  bearing  Himself  as,  at  once,  God  and  man. 

It  is,  of  course,  wholly  beyond  us  to  conceive  the  mental  struggle 
raised  by  such  a  position,  when  it  first  opened  before  our  Lord.  It 
committed  Him  to  meet  and  overcome  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  to 
bear  the  sins  of  the  world,  as  the  spotless  Lamb  of  God,  to  withstand 
the  opposition  and  hatred  of  men,  their  indifference,  mockery,  mis- 
conception, and  insensibility  of  lieart;  to  endure,  in  fact,  the  life,  and  at 
last  to  die  the  deatii,  of  a  martyr.  Still  more,  it  opened  before  Him 
an  awful  isolation  as  the  one  Holy  Being  in  a  world,  and  this  alone, 
might  well  till  a  nature  like  His,  of  trembling  sensibility,  and  loving 
tenderness,  with  overpowering  emotion.  ISIo  wonder  it  is  said  He 
was  driven  by  the  Spirit  into  the  wilderness.  The  mind  needs  to 
collect  itself  to  survey  the  ground,  and  gird  itself  up  to  its  task, 
planning  its  efforts,  and  guarding  against  failure,  before  entering  on 
any  great  enterprise,  and  He  was  "in  all  things  like  His  brethren." 
It  is  ill  retirement,  and  sacred  communion  with  God  and  one's  own 
soul,  that  we  refresh  ourselves  for  our  greatest  tasks.  It  was  in  the 
solitudes  of  the  mountains  that  Moses  prepared  himself  for  the  work 
of  creating  a  people  for  God.  The  Baptist  came  from  the  wilderness 
to  enter  on  his  work  as  a  Reformer;  and  St.  Paul,  after  liis  conver- 
sion, withdrew  himself  for  three  years,  no  one  knows  wliither,  to 
make  ready  for  his  commission  to  the  nations.  The  wilderness,  with 
its  sacred  quiet  and  seclusion,  was  alone  fitted  for  the  retirement  of 
Jesus. 

To  what  part  He  withdrew  Himself  is  not  stated,  but  St.  Mark  adds 
the  vivid  note  that  He  was  "with  the  wild  beasts,"  which  excludes 
the  idea  of  even  scattered  human  population.  In  this  vast  and  lonely 
chamber  of  meditation  and  prayer  He  remained  for  forty  days,  in  in- 
tense concentration  of  soul  on  the  work  before  Him.  To  be  alone 
was  to  have  every  thought  rise  in  turn:  to  have  human  weakness 
plead  for  indulgence,  and  human  fears  counsel  safety.  Nor  could 
He  escape  graver  trials.  The  Prince  of  Darkness  had  often,  doubt- 
less, attempted  before  to  overcome  Him,  for  "  He  was  tempted  in  all 
points  like  as  we  are."  It  was  meet  that  the  Anointed  of  God  should 
be  put  to  the  test.  The  struggles  through  which  the  soul  comes  to 
clearness,  power,  and  decision,  are  themselves  temptations,  for  they 
imply  that  the  mind  has  not  yet  emerged  into  the  calmness  of  settled 
triumph.  We  cannot  conceive  of  Jesus  escaping  suggestions,  to  have 
entertained  which  would  have  been  fatal.     Temptations  must  needs 


806  THE  LIFE  OF  CHP.PST. 

enter  the  firmest  and  holiest  soul,  else  it  cannot  be  said  to  be  tempted 
at  all.  They  are  the  more  inevitable  the  greater  the  task  to  be  under- 
taken, and  serve  the  high  end  of  separating  it  from  possible  error. 
To  let  Satan  do  his  worst  was  the  needful  preliminary  to  the  final 
overthrow  of  his  kingdom,  for  success  or  failure  at  the  first  step  de- 
te:  mined  the  future. 

The  specific  temptations  recorded  ia  the  Gospels  belong  to  the  last 
days  of  our  Lord's  seclusion,  for,  as  the  culmination  of  Satan's 
assaults,  they  were  subtilely  reserved  till  nature  wa.s  well-nigh  ex- 
hausted, and  the  power  of  resistance  weakest.  But,  though  critical 
hours  in  life  may  justly  be  regarded  as  especially  times  of  temptation, 
an  existence,  like  ours,  which  is  a  constant  choice  between  good  and 
evil,  is,  throughout,  a  probation.  We  know  httle  of  the  spiritual 
world,  and  cannot  say  how  far  our  actions  are  determined  for  evil 
by  ourselves,  or  how  far  active  Satanic  influences  may  affect  us,  for, 
as  in  our  better,  so  in  our  guilty,  acts,  the  mind  is  conscious  of  a  de- 
liberate freedom  of  will.  Like  Adam,  we  feel  that  we  are  "  sufficient 
to  have  stood,  though  free  to  fall."  Our  character  is  but  the  stamp 
on  our  souls  of  the  free  choice  of  good  or  evil  we  have  made  through 
life.  From  childhood  to  the  grave,  the  road  is  open  to  us  all,  on 
either  side,  from  the  straight  path  of  right.  Nor  are  the  only  failures 
those  of  open  act.  The  soul  is,  in  itself,  a  world,  and  evil'thoughts 
count  as  acts  with  the  Eternal,  if  not  at  once  repelled.  Yet  they 
must  rise  at  every  moment,  for  the  choice  of  right  implies  freedom 
to  choose  the  opposite.  Milton  is  true  to  nature  when  he  makes 
Satan  tell  the  Saviour  that  he  had  heai'd  the  angels'  song  at  Bethlehem, 
and 

"  From  that  time  seldom  have  I  ceased  to  eye 
Thy  infancy,  thy  childhood,  and  thy  youth. 
Thy  manhood  last,  though  ypt  in  private  bred," 

"  He  was  a  child,  and  grew  in  the  grace  and  faculties  of  His  nature, 
like  another  child,  into  mature  manhood,  struggling  with  the  tempta- 
tions, and  spoiling  the  tempters  of  each  stage  of  life."  The  probation 
of  the  desert  was  only  an  outburst,  more  than  usually  violent,  of  that 
which  had  attended  Him,  all  through,  asaconditionof  His  humanity. 

There  are,  liowever,  supreme  moments  of  trial,  victory  in  which 
decides  the  colour  of  our  life,  and  breaks  the  force  of  future  tempta- 
tions in  the  same  directions,  and  such  was  that  of  the  wilderness  re- 
tirement. •  It  is  part  of  the  discipline  of  God,  to  make  His  servants 
perfect  through  suileriug,  and  the  Son  of  ^lan,  the  ideal  of  humanity, 
could  not  be  made  an  exception.  Retirement  was  indispensable  for 
preparation.  He  needed  to  survey  His  great  commission  in  all  its 
aspects,  to  determine  the  course  to  be  pursued  in  carrjdng  it  out,  and 
realize  the  difficulties  and  dangers  He  had  to  expect.  The  transition 
from  the  life  of  Nazareth — private,  calm,  contemplative,  unknown, 
industrious  in  a  lowly  vocation — to  that  of  a  public  teacher,  and, 
8tUl  more,  of  the  Messiah,  sent  from  God,  raised  a  multitude  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  307 

thoughts  which  hurried  Him  away  to  solitude,  and  made  Him  forget, 
for  the  time,  even  tlie  wants  of  nature. 

In  this  commotion  of  the  bosom,  conflicting  resolutions  and  courses 
must  have  readily  commended  themselves.  In  the  Scriptures  them- 
selves, opposite  characteristics  of  tlie  Messiah  might  seem  to  present 
themselves.  The  future  Saviour  was  pictured  in  one  page  as  triumph- 
ing: in  another,  as  lowly  and  suffering.  Man  was  to  earn  his  bread 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  but  Israel  had  been  fed  with  manna, 
miraculously  supplied.  Angels  were  promised  to  protect  the  servants 
of  God,  but  it  was  forbidden  to  tempt  the  divine  goodness.  The 
world  was  promised  to  the  friend  of  God,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
mark  of  true  godliness  was  humility. 

Moreover,  had  not  Moses  been  appointed  by  God  as  the  Law-giver 
of  Israel?  had  not  the  constitution  of  the  nation  as  a  theocracy,  with 
its  Temple  service  and  sacrifices,  been  divinely  instituted?  Had  not 
a  chosen  priesthood  been  set  apart  by  God,  and  were  not  the  promises 
of  life  and  prosperity  linked  with  the  observance  of  the  Mosaic  Law? 
Was  not  the  promised  Saviour  described  in  Scripture  as  a  Royal 
Hero,  who  would  restore  the  glory  and  power  of  the  House  of  David, 
and  as  a  conqueror  and  ruler  of  the  nations? 

Such  thoughts  must  not  only  have  raised  temptations  and  dis- 
turbance in  the  mind  of  Jesus :  they  necessitated  His  breaking  away 
utterly  from  the  traditional  interpretation  of  Scripture  current  in  His 
day,  and  forced  Him  to  take  a  position  of  direct  antagonism,  as 
regarded  it,  to  the  whole  body  of  the  Rabbis,  and  of  the  dominant 
Jewish  schools.  There  was,  thus,  no  other  way  than  to  separate 
Himself  in  spirit  from  the  theocracy,  and  prepare  for  a  life  and  death 
struggle  with  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  of  the  nation.  He  must 
take  a  position,  inconceivably  painful  to  a  lowly  and  pure  soul  like 
His,  which  e.xposed  Him  to  the  appearance  of  sinning  against  God, 
and  of  wilful  disobedience  to  His  ordained  representatives.  On  the 
one  hand.  He  liad  before  Him  the  allurements  of  a  career  of  success 
and  honour,  with  wealth,  power,  and  fame :  on  the  other,  He  would 
be  branded  as  criminal  and  blasphemous,  and  gain  only  shame, 
poverty,  and  death.  But  through  all  these  clouds.  His  spirit,  like  the 
sun,  held  on  in  its  triumphant  course,  to  emerge  in  full  glory,  and 
scatter  them  from  its  path. 

It  was  clear  that  the  theocracy  had  served  its  day,  and  could  not 
be  made  the  vehicle  of  the  great  work  Jesus  was  to  inaugurate. 
Religion  had  outgrown  it,  and  demanded  something  loftier,  more 
spiritual  and  more  universal,  and  this  Jesus  had  come  to  supply. 
Instead  of  forms  and  outward  precepts.  He  was  alx)ut  to  announce 
the  grand  conception  of  a  new  kingdom  of  God — a  kingdom  in 
which  the  heart  would  be  supreme.  Winning  it  over  to  "God  and 
holiness,  He  would,  by  it,  transform  man  into  the  im;ige  of  God,  and 
earth  into  that  of  heaven.  It  was  to  be  a  reign  of  holy  love  in  the 
breast,  instead  of  a  worthless  service  of  rites  and  forms.     The  gr&&- 


808  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

deur  of  such  an  ideal  it  is  impossible  adequately  to  realize.  Till  then, 
outward  priesthoods,  local  temples,  the  slaying  of  sacrifices,  pompous 
rites  and  ceremonial  law  had  been  deemed  essential.  But  the  conse- 
cration of  Jesus  as  the  Messiah,  not  of  the  Jews  alone,  but  of  mankind, 
made  the  whole  obsolete,  as  Incompatible  with  a  universal  religion. 
iNTo  v/ondcr  His  soul  was  well-nigh  overpowered.  He  must  stand 
alone  against  the  world :  must  pass  sentence  on  all  its  religious  wisdom, 
and  must  create  a  new  world  of  spiritual  thought.  The  grand  origi- 
nality of  soul  which  this  required,  if  we  may  use  the  Avord  without 
irreverence,  has  nothing  approaching  it  in  the  history  of  our  race. 

So  vast  a  conception  must  have  raised  endless  questions,  doubts, 
and  struggles,  the  more  it  was  pondered,  and  the  more  all  it  involved 
was  perceived.  But  a  lofty  spiritual  nature  like  His  must  have 
raised  Him  wholly  above  all  the  human  littlenesses,  which  turn  the 
soul  from  great  undertakings.  The  thought  of  self-preservation,  in 
the  prospect  of  immeasurable  danger,  would  not  affect  Him.  He 
who  forgot  hunger  and  thirst,  in  communion  with  God,  and  taught 
that  to  be  readylo  lose  one's  life  was  a  fundamental  condition  of  in- 
terest in  the  divine  kingdom,  had  no  craven  thoughts  of  His  owu 
safety. 

He  was  infinitely  above  every  consideration  of  personal  interest. 
Neither  the  pleasures  of  life,  nor  the  delights  or  duties  of  His  great 
work,  could  make  Him  value  life  for  the  sake  of  enjoying  them. 
Even  at  the  approach  of  death,  the  only  regret  that  escapes  Him  is 
that  He  leaves  His  disciples.  The  tenderly  human  shadow  that  passed 
over  His  soul  at  Gethsemane  and  Calvary,  was  only  the  inevitable 
tribute  to  human  weakness,  which  all  nmst  yield.  The  greatness  of 
His  task  alone  weighed  Him  down.  He  stood  single  against  spiritual 
and  worldly  powers,  against  a  people  who,  from  the  days  of  jVIoscs  to 
the  I'.ist  prophet,  had  shown  themselves  lukewarm,  obstinate,  and  slow 
to  move,  capricious,  fretful,  and  spiritually  dead.  The  revival,  under 
John,  like  many  before,  promised  to  be  a  mere  fire  of  thorns. 

Even  what  we  may  call  the  details  of  His  great  work  must  have 
weighed  heavily  on  Jesus,  in  these  momentous  weeks.  Milton  makes 
Him  wander  far  into  the  depths  of  the  desert — 

"  Musing  and  much  revolving  in  His  breast. 
How  best  the  mighty  work  He  might  be^in 
Of  Saviour  to  manlvind,  and  which  way  hrst 
Publish  His  God-like  office,  now  mature." 

The  popular  Jewish  belief  that  the  Messiah  would  be  an  earthly 
king,  found  no  response  in  His  bosom,  and  this,  in  itself,  darkened 
His  future. 

He  had  seen  the  pressure  put  by  the  Rabbis  on  John,  to  force  him 
to  their  side.  Would  not  His  own  opposition  to  them  cause,  at  least, 
indifference  and  neglect,  perhaps,  even  hatred?  lie  could  only  be  a 
spiritual  Saviour :  they  wished  a  political.     He  had  no  ambition,  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  309 

contemned  earthly  i^ower.  Even  if  the  people  refused  to  hear,  He 
must  still  witness  to  the  truth.  Then,  should  His  kingdom  be  raised 
by  human  agenc3\  or  by  the  arm  of  God?  Might  not  the  Almighty 
think  it  meet  to  overthrow  all  opposition  of  the  Prince  of  Darkness, 
Kon\e,  and  the  Jewish  hierarchy,  and  establish  the  new  divine  king- 
dom by  irresistible  force?  But  Jle  was  not  led  away  by  such  sugges- 
tions, however  specious.  Discarding  all  thought  of  playing  a  great 
part  among  men.  He  chose  lowliness  and  obscurity  for  Himself,  and 
the  smallest  beginnings  for  His  kingdom,  letting  it  win  its  way  slowly 
by  the  conquest  of  single  souls,  as  was  demanded  by  its  very  nature. 
It  was  to  rest  on  loyalty  and  love,  which  must  rise  spontaneously  in 
individual  breasts.  Success  and  results  were  only  subordinate.  His 
work  lay  clear  before  Him :  to  live  and  to  die  as  the  Lamb  of  God — 
the  incarnation  of  infinite  love,  attracting  humanity  by  its  holy 
charms.  His  lifo  an  example.  His  death  an  atonement. 

This  was  the  great  result  of  His  long,  still,  wilderness  retirement. 
He  had  surveyed  the  whole  ground:  had  communed  much  with  His 
own  thoughts,  and,  above  all,  with  His  Father,  and  came  back  to  the 
world  again  in  victorious  serenity,  to  proclaim  Himself  as  coming  in 
the  name  of  Gotl,  with  no  lingering  fear  of  His  task,  or  of  any  spirit- 
\ial  or  human  opposition. 

The  mental  struggle  of  these  weeks  must,  in  any  case,  have  been 
intense,  but  it  became  unspeakably  harder  by  the  presence  of  the 
powers  of  evil,  who  sought  to  overcome  Him  face  to  face.  Nor  is 
this  only  metaphor.  Jesus,  Him&elf,  always  assigns  temptation  to 
the  direct  action  of  evil  spirits  on  the  soul.  A  subtle  and  mighty 
personality  is  always  presupposed,  ruling  a  mysterio\is  kingdom  of 
evil,  from  which  ho  can  only  be  cast  out  when  bound  by  one  stronger 
than  himself.  As  the  Messiah,  Jesus  proclaimed  Himself  come  to 
destroy  the  power  of  this  great  enemy  of  God  and  man,  and.  through- 
out all  His  ministry,  constantly  assailed  his  kingdom,  casting  out 
devils  from  the  possessed,  as,  at  this  time.  He  bound  and  subdued 
Satan  himself. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  an  outward  and  corporeal  presence  of 
the  arch  enemy.  He  is  never  spoken  of  as  visible,  except  when  Jesus 
saw  him  fall,  as  lightuing,  from  heaven.  He  is  invisible  when  he 
(empts  us,  wliich  we  know  he  does,  for  he  deceives  the  wiiole  world, 
aad  there  is  no  need  to  suppose  that  ho  was  present  otherwise  with 
our  Lord,  than  by  raising  suggestions  in  His  sinless  mind.  To  act 
upon  the  thoughts  may  have  been  the  mode  of  Satan's  attack,  v.i^u 
Christ  as  with  ourselves. 

The  three  instances  of  tlie  great  enemy's  attempts,  recorded  in  the 
Gospels,  illustrate  the  subtlety  of  his  advances.  Worn  with  hunger, 
Christ  is  approached  with  the  suggestion  that  if,  indeed,  He  were 
what  He  claimed  to  be,  the  Son  of  God,  it  was  surely  unnecessary  to 
eulfer  as  He  did,  when  by  a  word  He  might  command  that  the  stones 
•f  the  desert  around  Him  should  be  made  bread.     To  possess  un- 


3t&  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

limited  power  for  specific  ends,  and  refrain  from  vxsmg  it  to  cur  owtj 
advantage,  even  in  a  pressing  and  apparently  innocent  case,  is  &ii 
ideal  of  virtue  which  it  would  be  vain  to  expect  in  any  ordinary  man. 
No  temptation  is  more  difficult  to  resist  than  the  prompting  to  do 
what  seems  needful  for  self-preservation,  when  abundant  means  ere 
in  our  hands.  But  Jesus  did  not,  for  a  moment,  allow  Himself  to 
question  His  duty.  The  miraculous  gifts  newly  conferred  on  Him, 
had  been  given,  not  for  His  private  use,  but  for  the  glory  of  His 
Father;  not  as  a  human  convenience,  but  as  spiritual  aids  in  His 
work  as  the  Messiah.  As  a  man.  He  was  dependent  on  the  care  and 
love  of  His  Heavenly  Father,  and  to  use  His  miraculous  powers  as 
the  Messiah,  for  His  personal  benefit,  would  be  to  take  Himself  out 
of  His  Father's  hands,  and  to  show  distrust  of  His  loving  care.  But 
His  sublime  trust  in  the  infinite  goodness  and  power  of  God  repelled 
the  temptation.  God  liad  brought  Him  hither,  and  would  bring  Him 
thence.  Bread  was  not  the  only  means  by  which  He  could  support 
Him.  His  word  could  create  what  means  He  pleased.  Others  had 
been  preserved  by  Him  in  unforeseen  ways.  The  tribes  in  the  wilder- 
ness had  been  fed  by  manna.  Moses  and  Elijah  had  been  sustained 
in  the  desert,  though  bread  was  wanting.  It  was  not  for  Him  to 
think  Himself  forgotten,  and  to  take  His  lif»  into  His  own  liands,  as 
if  imsafe  in  God's.  He  would  wait  till  HE  gave  Him  what  He  chose, 
in  the  way  that  pleased  Him. 

The  second  temptation,  following  the  order  in  the  third  Gospel, 
was  no  less  subtle.  The  Kingdom  of  the  Messiah  as  then  imderstood, 
and  as  Jesus,  no  doubt,  had  from  youth,  been  taught,  was  to  be  an 
universal  temporal  dominion.  In  the  solitude  of  the  desert.  His  mind 
filled  with  the  thought  of  His  mysterious  consecration  as  God's 
Anointed,  the  thought  was  insinuated  by  the  great  enemy,  that  He 
raiglit  well  ponder  what  course  to  pursue.  On  one  hand,  the  path 
led  to  supreme  honour,  and  unequalled  glory.  Had  not  the  Psalmist 
himself  spoken  of  the  princes  of  tha  earth  as  subject  to  the  Messiah, 
and  did  not  the  prophet  say  that  the  Gentiles  should  come  to  His 
light,  and  kings  to  the  brightness  of  His  rising,  and  that  the  wealth 
of  the  world  would  be  brought  to  Him?  On  the  other  hand,  the  way 
led  through  shame,  poverty,  neglect,  derision,  insult,  and  suffering, 
in  all  probabihty  to  an  ignominious  death.  1  he  dream  of  ambition 
and  splendour  would  have  shone  with  inconceivable  attractions  to 
ordinary  minds,  against  such  a  backgroimd.  But  it  was  not  left  to 
mere  vague  suggestions.  By  that  mysterious  power  which  spirit  has 
cf  acting  upon  spirit,  the  adversary  raised,  within  the  soul  of  Jesus, 
a  vision  the  most  seductive,  to  enforce  his  subtlety.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  desert  vanished  from  around  Him,  and  that  the  tempter  and 
tempted  One  stood  together  on  a  high  mountain,  from  whose  top  the 
Idndled  fancy  appeared  to  see  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and 
their  glory.  Milton  paints  the  vision  with  matchless  power.  Fair 
rivers,  winding  through  rich  pastures,  and  fertile  corn-fields ;  huge 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  311 

cities,  lijgh  towered,  the  seats  of  mightiest  monarchies;  regions  beyond 
the  conquests  of  Alexander  to  tlie  east,  and  far  as  Home  to  the  west. 
Did  not  tlie  prophets  saj  that  the  rightful  Sovereign  of  all  this  was 
God's  iMessiah? 

But  if  so, — the  foul  suggestion  continued, — how  was  this  world- 
wide empire,  in  which,  as  God's  Anointed,  He  miglit  reign  in  right- 
eousness, lilessing  the  uations,  and  filling  the  earth  with  the  knowledge 
of  God,  to  be  gained?  Great  enterprises  need  great  means.  He  was 
unknown,  without  friends,  of  humble  birth,  the  son  of  a  carpenter, 
and  bred  up  in  poverty  in  a  Galihean  village.  Vf  hy  not  put  Himself 
at  the  head  of  His  nation,  which  was  ready  to  follow  Kim  if  He  dis- 
played His  glory,  and  lead  them  against  the  heathen,  using  His 
divine  power  to  shatter  all  opposition?  Had  not  God  of  old  divided 
the  sea  and  the  rivers,  to  make  a  path  for  His  people,  led  by  His 
prophet?  Had  Ho  not  rebuked  kings  for  their  sake?  Had  He  not 
promised  that  the  enemies  of  Hi  "3  Anointed  should  be  made  His  foot- 
stool, and  that  He  Himself  would  be  at  His  right  hand,  in  the  day  of 
His  wrath,  to  make  Him  reign  over  the  heathen,  and  smite  the  people 
of  many  lands? 

It  is  impossilile  to  conceive  a  temptation  more  difficult  to  resist. 
Feeling  that,  as  the  Messiah,  He  was  destined  to  vmiversal  monarchy, 
and  conscious  that  His  rule  would  be  tlie  happiness  of  the  world; 
supported,  apparently,  by  the  voice  of  prophets,  speaking  for  God, 
in  using  force  to  establish  this  heavenly  empire,  and  Himself  instinct 
Avith  miraculous  power,  wliich  would  make  resistance  vain,  it  might 
seem  as  if  He  could  hardly  fail  to  yield  to  it.  Judas  the  Galikeaa 
had  risen  thus  a  fev/-  years  before;  and  his  memory  was  revered. 
But  Satan  had  spread  liis  subtlest  temptations  in  vain.  With  the 
self-restraint  becoming  a  sinless  uatiu-e,  He  resistedthe  dazzling 
vision.  Deliberately  rejecting  tlie  thought  of  basing  His  empire  on 
force;  with  a  lofty  grandeur  of  soul.  He  chose  to  found  it  on  the  love, 
rather  than  on  tlie  fears,  or  compelled  submission  of  mankind.  Having 
come,  not  to  destroy  men's  live^;,  but  to  s^ive  them.  He  would  use  His 
miraculous  power  only  for  good  to  man,  and  for  the  glory  of  His 
Father,  trusting  Himself  to  Him,  without  other  defence  or  care  than 
His  unfailing  wisdom  and  love.  The  heavculj^  gifts  He  held  should 
be  used  only  where  they  brought  no  personal  advantage  to  Himself. 
As  a  man.  He  was,  and  would  remain,  meek  and  lowly;  His  gifts  as 
Messiah  would  be  used  only  for  spiritual  ends. 

Milton,  with  striking  force,  has  made  Him  say — 

"  Victorious  deeds 
Flamed  in  thy  heart,  heroic  acts — one  whils 
To  rescue  Israel  from  the  Roman  yolce ; 
Men  to  subdue,  and  quell,  o'er  all  the  earth. 
Brute  violence  and  proud  t,%Tanuic  power. 
Till  truth  were  freed,  and  equity  restored; 
Yet  held  it  more  liumnne,  more  heavenly,  first 
By  winning  words  to  conquer  willinpr  hearts. 
And  make  persuasion  do  the  work  of  fear." 
L  of  C— 11 


313  THE  LIFE- OF  CHRIST. 

r'rom  fjTst  to  laRt,  Jesus  refused  to  exercise  His  supernatural  power 
to  establish  His  kingdom  by  outward  means,  and,  indeed,  it  was  be- 
cause of  His  persistent  refusal  to  do  so  that  His  nation  rejected  Him. 
Assent  to  the  temj)tation  seemed  to  Him  like  an  act  of  homage  to  the 
Prince  of  this  world.  His  adversary,  for  force  and  violence  are  char- 
acteristics of  Jiis  sv.ay.  As  tlie  Prince  of  Peace,  He  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  strife.  The  temptation  lost  its  power  as  He 
uttered  the  words  "  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan,  for  it  is  Avritten,  Thou 
iihix\t  worsliip  the  Lord  thy  God,  and  Him  only  slialt  thovi  serve." 

He  had  noAv  been  tempted  by  hunger  and  by  ambition:  there  re- 
mained arf  ther  ]iossible  opening  for  the  enemy;  through  the  avenue 
of  spiritual  pride.  Earthly  glory  had  had  no  attractions  for  Him, 
but  lie  might  be  vain  of  His  newly  acquired  Messiahship,  and  willing 
to  display  His  supernatural  powers  for  mere  empty  effect,  and  to 
flatter  His  own  self-love.  To  disguise  the  aim,  a  sacred  gloss  was  at 
hand.  Instead  of  evil, — compliance  would  only  show,  in  another 
form,  that  absolute  dependence  upon  God,  by  which  He  had  repelled 
the  appeal  to  His  natural  wants.  The  Arch  Magician  liad  brought 
before  tliecye  of  His  mind,  perliaps  also  of  His  body,  the  pomp  and 
glory  of  the  world.  He  hai\  before,  wrought  upon  the  natural  desire 
there  is  in  all  men  for  fame  and  dignity;  but  the  vast  illusion  had 
been  treated  as  an  idle  show,  unworthy  of  regard.  Would  a  proposal, 
however,  to  inaugurate  His  ]\Iessiahship  by  what  would  justify  His 
utmost  claims,  be  as  firmly  turned  aside?  Jesus  was  no  angel,  or 
mere  spirit  without  human  desires.  It  Avas  of  the  very  essence  of  His 
being  to  bo  touched  and  moved  by  all  that  influences  men  at  large, 
and  nothing  could  be  more  natural  than  at  once  toA'indieate  His  rank 
and  authority,  and  open  the  Avay  for  His  ministrations,  by  some 
startling  miracle.  No  place  was  so  Avell  fitted  for  such  a  demonstra- 
tion as  Jerusalem,  the  holy  city,  and  no  spot  in  it  so  suited  as  the 
Temple,  the  centre  of  the  national  religion,  and  the  chosen  dwelltng- 
Iplace  of  God.     Milton  makes  Satan  bear  our  Lord 

"  Over  the  wilderness,  and  o'er  the  plain ; 
Till,  underneath  them,  fair  Jerusalem, 
The  Holj-  City,  lifted  high  her  towers. 
And  higilter  yet  the  glorious  temple  rear'd 
Her  pile,  far  off  appearing  like  a  mount 
Of  alabaster,  topp'd  -vvith  golden  spires; 
There,  on  the  highest  pinnacle,  he  set 
The  Son  of  God." 

Some  famous  spire  of  the  Temple  buildings  must  be  intended, 
though  we  are  no  longer  able  to  explain  the  allusion.  It  may  be  it 
was  some  pinnacle  of  the  great  three-aisled  Royal  Porch,  which  ran 
along  the  southern  side  of  the  Temple  area,  overlooking  the  valley  of 
Hinnom,  from  a  dizzy  height.  Perhaps  it  was  the  season  of  one  of 
the  great  feasts,  when  countless  pilgrims  were  gathered  in  Jerusalem, 
•who  Avould  carry  the  report  of  any  miraculous  disj)lay  throughout  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  813 

earth.  That  the  suggestion  raised  in  the  mind  of  Jesus  to  glorify  His 
office,  and  lighten  His  great  work,  by  an  astounding  miracle,  might 
seem  natural  and  specious,  is  only  to  suppose  Him  human ;  and  that 
it  should  take  the  form  of  His  casting  Himself  down  from  an  airy 
height,  to  alight  in  the  distant  valley  beneath,  might  seem  no  less  so. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  conceive  of  a  bodily  translation-  to  the  Temple 
roof:  the  true  place  of  temptation  is  the  soul,  in  which  all  the  scenery 
and  accessories  of  any  prospect  can  be  created  by  the  miagination  in 
a  moment.  To  make  it  more  attractive,  a  text  of  Scripture  was  at 
hand,  for  had  not  God  said,  ' '  He  shall  give  His  angels  charge  con- 
cerning Thee,  and  in  their  hands  they  shall  bear  Thee  up?"  So, 
Shakespere  makes  Richard  of  Gloucester  twist  the  sacred  text — 

"  But  then  I  sigh,  and  with  a  piece  of  Scripture, 
Tell  them,  that  God  bids  us  do  good  for  evil. 
And  thus  I  clothe  my  naked  villany 
With  old  odd  ends,  stolen  forth  of  Holy  Writ; 
And  seem  a  saint  when  most  I  play  the  devil." 

Bassanio's  words  never  had  a  more  fitting  applicatioa — 

"  In  religion 
What  damnSd  error,  but  some  sober  brow 
Will  bless  it,  and  approve  it  with  a  text. 
Hiding  the  grossness  with  fair  ornament?" 

But  whatever  hope  the  great  enemy  may  have  had  in  this  last  attempt 
was  vain.  To  the  perfect  humility  of  Jesus,  any  idea  of  display  or 
ostentation  had  no  charms;  nor  could  He,  who  would  rather  bear  the 
extreme  of  hunger  than  seem  to  distrust  His  Heavenly  Father,  by 
using  miraculous  power  in  His  own  behalf,  be  for  a  moment  tempted 
to  employ  it  for  any  mere  personal  honour.  Nor,  moreover,  would 
He  dream  of  claiming  miraculous  aid  from  God  tor  that  which  had 
not  the  sanction  of  His  command.  His  promise  of  protection  vouch- 
safed aid  only  when  the  danger  to  be  averted  rose  in  the  discharge  of 
prescribed  duty.  The  appeal  to  spiritual  pride  or  vanity  fell  as  harm- 
lessly as  the  temptations  already  tried.  It  had  been  whispered  to  the 
soul  of  Jesus,  as  the  vision  rose  before  Him — "Go  and  cast  Thyself 
down:  is  it  not  written  that  the  angels  shall  bear  Thee  up?"  But  one 
brief  sentence  turned  the  wizard  gold  to  dross — "Thou  shalt  not 
tempt  the  Lord  thy  God. " 

Mysterious  in  some  aspects,  the  wilderness  retirement  of  our  Lord, 
with  its  fires  of  temptation,  putting  Him  to  the  utmost  proof,  becomes 
an  inevitable  passage  in  His  life,  when  we  think  of  Him  as  a  man  like, 
ourselves,  though  sinless.  His  soul  could  reveal  its  beauty  only  by 
victory  in  a  life-long  struggle  with  temptation,  such  as  happens  to  m 
all.  Nor  can  we  think  of  a  Messiah,  who  should  draw  all  men  to 
Him  as  the  ideal  of  humanity,  except  as  treading  the  same  path  as 
His  brethren.  It  is  a  vital  error,  therefore,  to  represent  these  tempta- 
tions as  mere  outward  pictures  of  the  imagination,  playing  beforo 
Him,  or  as  mere  emotions  of  pleasure  or  aversion,  which  left  His  will 


314  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

unassailed,  and  were  dissipated  or  quenched  in  a  moment,  on  their 
rising.  It  is  no  less  so  to  regard  them  as  mere  illusions  of  the  senses, 
passing  like  clouds  over  His  mind,  and  leaving  His  inner  being  wholly 
imdisturbed. 

If  there  had  been  no  more  than  this,  there  could  have  been  no 
struggle,  no  pause  and  agony  of  soul — that  is,  no  real  temptation. 
The  Gospels  know  nothing  of  such  an  unreal  probation.  Tliey  show 
us  temptations  throughout,  plying  His  will,  and  seeking  to  paralyze 
it,  even  to  the  length  of  suggesting  a  withdrawal  from  His  work  as 
the  Messiah.  What  else  can  have  caused  His  prayers  and  supplica- 
tions, with  strong  crying  and  tears,  or  the  touching  outburst,  "Now 
is  My  soul  troubled ;  and  what  shall  I  say  ?  Father,  save  Me  from 
this  hour:  but  for  this  cause  came  I  unto  this  liour."  He  was  proved 
and  tried,  from  His  youth  to  Gethsemaue,  and,  like  us,  might  have 
yielded,  though,  in  fact,  offering  a  transcendent  contrast,  in  His  un- 
broken victory  over  all  temptation. 

The  episode  in  the  wilderness  was,  indeed,  subtler  in  its  seductions 
than  is  needed  for  grosser  natures  like  ours.  He  had  to  repel,  as 
evil,  what  to  others  might  have  seemed  the  ideal  of  good.  It  was  no 
irresolution,  from  pride,  or  vanity,  or  fear,  that  troubled  Him;  His 
soul  was  oppressed  by  the  greatness  of  His  divine  office;  His  lowly 
humility  was  like  to  sink  under  ils  burden.  With  us,  there  needs  a 
distinct  prohibition  to  make  acts  sinful,  and  at  very  step  we  hesitate  to 
reject  where  there  seems  room  to  doubt.  With  Jusus  there  was  no 
such  waving  line  of  compromise.  To  deviate  from  the  direct  com- 
mand of  God,  for  any  end,  however  holy,  was,  to  Him,  a  sin.  The 
contrast  of  Divine  and  human,  or  Satanic,  rose  before  Him  Avith  such 
a  clear  decision,  that  the  least  divergence  from  the  express  letter  of 
His  Father's  will  was  instantly  rejectee^.  He  turned  away  from  what 
the  noblest  souls  before  Him  had  cherished  as  holy  visions,  as  from 
temptations  of  the  Prince  of  Darkness.  He  not  only  triumphed,  but 
showed,  in  His  perfect  obedience  to  His  Heavenly  Father,  an  image 
of  the  ideal  and  stainless  holiness  required  from  us  all. 

This  divine  jjurity,  inflexible,  unswerving,  moving  ever  directly 
forward,  acknowledging  only  The  Right, — rejecting  all  else;  and 
finding  peace  only  in  complete,  lo\ing  submission  to  the  Avill  of  God, 
rests  with  unique  glory  over  all  the  life  of  Jesus,  but  especially  over 
His  temptation  in  the  desert.  It  gives  the  supreme  beauty  to  His  life,* 
and  was  its  strength  and  power.  There  coidd  be  no  liesitation  where 
all  was  thus  simplified:  where  only  God,  or  tlie  world  and  the  devil, 
beckoned  onwards. 

Thi'ough  life,  as  in  the  wilderness,  His  choice  was  instinctive  and 
instantaneous,  between  God  and  sin.  Good  and  evil  were,  to  Him, 
light  and  darkness,  and  it  Avas  vain  to  tempt  Him  even  to  approach 
the  cloudy,  doubtful,  dividing  line.  The  desert  had  served  ils  pur- 
pose. The  crisis  had  passed.  Yielding  Himself  into  the  hands  of 
God,  it  Avas  exchanged  for  the  joys  of  angel  ministration. 


CHAPTER  XXVIIT. 

THE   RETURN  FROil   THE   WrLDERXESS. 

2Ii3  wi, Liuaon  in  the  desert  had  been  the  turning  point  in  the  life  of 
^esus  R'ti  had  left  Nazareth  to  visit  John,  an  humble  Galiloean  vil- 
lager. He  returned,  the  consecrated  ^lessiah.  no  longer  oppressed  by 
the  responsibilities  and  difficulties  of  His  great  office,  but  ready  to 
come  before  Israel  as  the  Lamb  of  God,  who  should  take  away  the 
sins  of  the  world. 

Can  we  picture  to  oiHselves  the  personal  appearance  of  the  Saviour 
at  this  momentous  point  in  His  career?  We  know  that  He  was  still 
in  the  g)ory  of  ear\y  manhood,  but  can  we  realize  Him  more  closely? 

It  is  fatal  to  the  hope  of  a  reliable  portrait,  that  the  Jewish  horror 
of  images  as  idolatrous,  extended  to  the  likeness  of  the  human  face  or 
form.  No  hint  is  giren  of  Christ's  appearance  in  the  New  Testament; 
and  the  early  Church  in  the  absence  of  all  guiding  facts,  had  to  fall 
back  on  imagination.  Itself  sorely  oppressed,  it  naturally  pictured 
its  founder  through  tLe  medium  of  its  own  despondency.  Had  he 
been  an  illustrious  Roman  or  Greek,  the  Grecian  love  of  beauty  would, 
doubtless,  have  created  an  ideal  of  faultless  perfection,  but  in  its  first, 
dark  years,  the  sorely-tried  Church  fancied  their  Lord's  visage  and 
form  as  ''marred  more  than  those  of  other  men,"  and  that  He  must 
have  had  no  attractions  of  personal  beauty.  Justin  INIartyr  speaks  of 
Him  as  without  beauty  oi  attractiveness,  and  of  mean  appearance. 
Clement  of  Alexandria  des,.-ribes  Him  as  of  an  uninviting  appearance, 
and  almost  repulsive.  Teitulliau  says  He  had  not  even  ordinary 
human  beauty,  far  less  heavenly.  Origen  went  so  far  as  to  say  that 
He  was  "small  in  body  and  deformed,  as  well  as  low-born,"  and  that 
"His  onljf  beauty  was  in  His  soul  and  life."  About  the  same  time, 
however,  the  Christian  Gnostics,  who  had  not  such  an  antipathy  to 
heathen  art,  began  to  make  likenesses  of  Him  of  another  type,  in 
paintings,  gems,  or  metal,  and  small  statues  of  Him,  which  they 
crowned  and  honoured  in  the  heathen  fashion.  The  features  were 
said  to  have  been  copied  from  a  portrait,  fancifully  thought  to  have 
been  taken  by  order  of  Pilate.  The  ideal,  however,  prevailed  more 
and  more,  for  the  lialf-heathen  sects  who  used  these  likenesses  had 
the  Greek  feeling  tha'  the  gods  must  needs  be  divinely  beautiful.  In 
the  third  century  the  conception  thus  invented  found  its  way  into  the 
private  chapel  of  the  emperor  Severus.  by  the  side  of  illustrious  kings 
and  emperors,  and  of  "the  holy  souls,"  of  Abraham,  Orpheus,  Apol- 
louius,  and  other  worthies.  It  is  possible  that  degrading  caricatures 
of  Jesus,  which  had  become  common  among  the  heathen,  led  to  thia 
nobler  conception  of  His  beauty. 

The  triumph  of  Christianity  over  heathenism  found  a  partial  revenga 


316  THE  LIFE  OF  CITRIST. 

in  the  footing  gained  in  the  Church  for  a  more  kindly  estimate  of  what 
had  now  lost  its  religious  power.  The  first  Christian  art  bearing  on 
Jesus — that  of  the  catacombs — was,  however,  purely  symbolical.  The 
figure  of  a  fish  stood  for  His  name,  from  the  significance  of  the  Greek 
letters  in  the  word  that  expressed  the  idea,  or  He  was  represented  by 
the  symbol  of  a  lamb,  or  of  a  shepherd.  After  a  time,  the  further 
ideal  of  a  teacher  of  mankind  was  added,  and,  gradually,  in  the  fourth 
century.  He  was  pictured  as  a  child,  after  which  it  was  an  easy  step 
to  portray  Him  on  the  Cross.  With  the  general  introduction  of  such 
likenesst's,  the  idea  of  any  repulsive  appearance  was  necessarily  ir- 
reconcilable. Eusebius,  of  Csesarea,  describes  a  statue  which  he  him- 
self saw  at  Panias,  or  Caesarea  Philippi,  the  reputed  birthplace  and 
residence  of  the  woman  who  was  healed  of  the  issue  of  blood.  "At 
the  gates  of  her  house,"  says  he,  "on  a  raised  pedestal,  stands  a 
brazen  image  of  a  woman  on  her  bended  knee,  with  her  hands  stretched 
out  before  her  like  one  entreating.  Opposite  her  is  an  image  of  a 
man,  erect,  of  the  same  materials,  in  a  full  pallium,  stretching  out  his 
hand  to  the  woman."  "  Before  her  feet,"  he  adds,  "and  on  the  same 
pedestal,  a  strange  kind  of  plant  grows,  which  rises  as  high  as  the  hem 
of  the  brazen  garment,  and  is  an  antidote  to  all  kinds  of  diseases. 
This  statue,  they  say,  is  a  statue  of  Jesus  Christ. "  Unfortunately,  the 
credulity  which  believed  in  the  miraculous  plant  is  a  poor  guarantee 
for  the  worth  of  a  vague,  popular  fancy  as  to  the  statue.  It  was, 
doubtless,  a  relic  of  Grecian  art,  transformed  by  a  fond  reverence  into 
a  memorial  of  Jesus.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  paint- 
ings, claiming  to  be  actual  resemblances  of  our  Lord,  of  Peter,  and  of 
Paul,  were  to  be  found  in  the  time  of  Eusebius,  for  he  says  that  he 
himself  had  seen  them,  and  thought  them  old  thanks-memorials  of 
devout  heathen  who  had  reverenced  Christ  and  honoured  Him  in  this 
way,  as  they  were  accustomed  to  honour  their  own  gods. 

The  old  conception  of  the  appearance  of  Jesus,  borrowed  from  the 
words  of  Isaiah,  had  now  finally  given  place  to  one  which  exalted 
His  beauty  to  the  utmost,  as  the  natural  outward  expression  of  the 
divine  purity  and  perfection  of  His  inner  being.  Gregory  of  Nyssa 
applies  the  imagery  of  the  Song  of  Solomon  to  His  person,  no  less 
than  to  His  doctrine.  Jerome  embodies  in  his  words  the  glorious  ideal 
which  Christian  art  vsas  afterwards  to  develop,  basing  the  thought  of 
Him,  no  longer  on  the  description  of  the  suffering  "  servant  of  God," 
in  Isaiah,  but  on  the  words  of  the  fortj'-fiflh  Psalm — "  Thou  art  fairer 
than  the  children  of  men."  "Assuredly,"  says  he,  "that  splendour 
and  majesty  of  the  hidden  divinity,  which  shone  even  in  His  human 
countenance,  could  not  but  attract,  at  first  sight,  all  beholders.  Unless 
he  had  had  somethir^i:  heavc^nly  in  His  appearance,  the  apostles  would 
not  immediately  have  followed  Him."  Chrysostom  tells  us  that  "the 
Heavenly  Father  poured  out  on  Him,  in  full  streams,  that  personal 
beauty  which  is  distilled  only  drop  by  drop  upon  mortal  man ;"  and 
Augustine,  with  his  wonted  vigorous  eloquence,  says,  that  "He  wa« 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  31?- 

beautiful  in  His  mother's  bosom,  beautiful  in  the  aims  of  His  parents, 
beautiful  on  the  cross,  and  beautiful  in  the  sepulchre. "  But  that  this 
glowing  language  was  only  metaphor  is  beyond  dispute,  from  the 
words  of  Augustine  himself.  "Of  His  appearance,"  says  he,  "we 
are  wholly  ignorant,  for  the  likenesses  of  Him  vary  entirely,  accord- 
ing to  the  fancy  of  the  artist."  Different  races  had  already  created 
distinct  and  different  ideals,  in  harmony  with  their  local  standards  of 
perfection.  The  old  conception  of  His  being  without  form  or  beauty  , 
did  not,  however,  at  once  lose  its  power.  St.  Basil  clung  to  it  strenu-  * 
ously,  and  the  monks  of  his  order  are  said  to  have  reproduced  it  in 
paintings  so  late  as  the  eighth  century.  The  avistere  Cyril  of  Alex- 
andria went  so  far  as  to  maintain  that  He  was  ' '  mean  in  appearance 
beyond  all  the  sons  of  men, "  a  proof,  in  its  very  contrast  with  the 
then  prevailing  conception,  that  there  was  no  historical  portrait  to 
which  to  appeal,  nor  even  a  traditional  ideal  respecting  our  Lord's 
appearance. 

Images  of  Christ  met  at  first  with  earnest  opposition,  partly  because 
it  seemed  impossible  adequatelj^  to  represent  the  glorified  Saviour  in 
human  form,  and  partly,  no  doubt,  because  heretic  sects  were  the 
first  to  introduce  them.  Cyril  of  Alexandria  is  credited  with  having 
brought  them  into  the  service  of  the  Church.  Once  in  some  measure 
sanctioned,  their  use,  especially  in  the  East,  spread  far  and  wide,  and 
legends  were  invented  to  support  their  authenticity  as  likenesses  of 
the  Saviour.  John  of  Damascus,  in  his  fierj'  zeal  in  the  great  con- 
troversy on  the  use  of  images,  sought  to  paralyze  the  opposition  of  the 
iconoclast  emperor  Constantine  Copronymus,  by  bringing  forward  a 
legend  wjiich  we  first  meet  at  the  close  of  the  fifth  centur}^  that  Ab- 
garus,  king  of  Edessa,  had  once  sent  a  painter  to  Jesus  to  take  His 
portrait,  but  the  artist  failed,  from  the  dazzling  brightness  of  the 
Saviour's  features.  Jesus,  the  legend  went  on  to  say,  honouring  the 
spirit  tliat  had  prompted  the  attempt,  impressed  His  likeness  on  the 
cloth  with  which  He  was  wont  to  wipe  His  brow,  and  sent  it  to  Ab- 
garus.  But,  though  a  letter  of  Abgarus  to  Jesus,  and  of  Jesus  to 
Abgarus,  are  noticed  as  early  as  the  middle  of  the  second  century,  by 
Justin  Martyr,  this  wondrous  story  of  the  miraculous  portrait  appears 
only  as  an  addition  of  centuries  later. 

Not  to  be  outdone,  the  Western  Church  created  its  own  version  of 
this  wondrous  legend  in  that  of  Veronica,  a  fabled  saint  of  Jerusalem, 
who,  seeing  Jesus  pass,  on  His  way  to  Calvary,  His  face  streaming  ■ 
with  the  blood  of  the  crown  of  thorns,  unwound  the  cloth  of  her  tur- 
ban and  gave  it  Him  that  He  might  wipe  His  brow.  In  return,  it  is 
said,  the  loving  disciple  received,  on  the  cloth,  an  imprintetl  likeness 
of  her  Lord,  not  calm  and  peaceful,  however,  like  that  of  Edessa,  but 
saddened  by  pain  and  sorrow.  A  third  miraculous  likeuess  of  Christ's 
whole  body  was  averred  to  have  been  left  on  the  linen  in  which  He 
had  been  wrapped  in  the  sepulchre,  and  it  was  said  that  this  passed 
into  the  possession  of  Nicodemus,  and  then  to  the  Chi'istiaus  of  Jeni« 


318  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

salem,  from  whom,  after  passing  through  wonderful  fortunes,  it  waB 
brought  at  last,  in  the  year  1578,  to  Turin,  where  it  now  is.  Veroni- 
ca's cloth  is  now  in  St.  Peter's,  at  Rome,  though  Milan,  in  northern 
Italy,  and  Jaen,  in  Spain,  both  boast  that  they  have  the  authentic 
relic ! 

The  earliest  images  of  Christ,  as  has  been  said,  were  those  intro- 
duced among  the  Gnostics,  and  of  these  two,  at  least,  with  some  claim 
to  authenticity,  are  still  extant.  Like  the  images  of  Pythagoras, 
Plato,  Aristotle,  and  other  sages,  which  these  strange  sects  consecrated 
along  with  that  of  the  Saviour,  they  are  small,  and  rather  medallions 
than  busts.  The  one  is  of  stone,  with  a  head  of  Christ,  j'oung  and 
beardless,  in  protile — the  name  ;i;/'j?5ro?:(Christos)  in  Greek  characters, 
and  the  symbolical  fish,  below.  The  other  is  a  kind  of  medal,  repre- 
senting Christ  with  His  hair  parted  over  His  forehead,  covering  the 
eai's,  and  falling  down  on  the  shoulders.  It  has  the  name  of  Jesus,  in 
Hebrew,  below  it.  Perhaps  it  was  the  work  of  some  Jewish  Chris- 
tian. In  the  fifteenth  century,  the  historian  Nicephorus  ventured  on 
a  fuller  sketch  of  the  person  of  Christ  than  had  been  previously 
given,  and  it  may  be  well  to  quote  it,  if  only  to  reproduce  the  concep- 
tion formed  by  the  Churcli  of  the  Middle  A^es.  "  I  shall  describe," 
says  Nicephorus,  "  the  appearance  of  our  Lord,  as  handed  down  to 
lis  from  antiquity.  He  was  very  beautiful  His  height  was  fully 
seven  spans;  His  hair  bright  auburn,  and  not  too  thick,  and  was 
inclined  to  wave  in  soft  curls.  His  eyebrows  Avere  black  and  arched, 
and  His  eyes  seemed  to  shed  from  them  a  gentle  golden  light.  They 
were  very  beautiful.  His  nose  was  prominent ;  His  beard  lovely,  but 
not  very  long.  He  wore  His  hair,  on  the  contrary,  very  long,  for  no 
scissors  had  ever  tr-jched  it,  nor  any  human  hand,  except  that  of  His 
mother  when  she  played  with  it  in  His  childhood.  He  stooped  a 
little,  but  His  body  was  well  formed.  His  complexion  was  that  of 
the  ripe  l)rown  Avheat,  and  His  face  like  His  mother's,  rather  oval 
than  round,  with  only  a  little  red  in  it,  but  through  it  there  shone 
dignity,  intelligence  of  soul,  gentleness,  and  a  calmness  of  spirit  never 
disturbed.  Altogether,  He  was  very  like  His  divine  and  immaculate 
mother. " 

What  the  imaginary  description  of  Christ  by  Nicephorus  has  been 
in  the  Eastern  Churcli,  that  of  the  fictitious  letter  of  Lentulus  to  the 
Roman  Senate  has  been  to  the  Western.  It  first  appeared  at  the  close 
of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  the  Avorks  of  Anselm  were  collected 
and  printed,  and  is  the  forgery  of  some  monk  Avho  sought  a  good  end 
by  one  of  the  pious  frauds  then  A'ciy  Avidely  in  favour.  The  internal 
evidence  alone  shows  that  it  is  a  mere  fabrication,  and  as  CA'en  Nice- 
phorus makes  no  allusion  to  it,  its  date  may  safely  be  assumed  as 
later  than  his  lifetime.  "There  has  appeared,"  says  Lentulus,  "and 
etill  lives,  a  man  of  great  virtue,  called  Jesus  Christ,  and,  by  His 
disciples,  the  Son  of  God.  He  raises  the  dead,  and  heals  the  sick. 
H«  is  a  man  tall  iu  stature,  noble  in  appearance,  Avith  a  re\'erend 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  819 

countenance,  which  at  once  attracts  and  keeps  at  a  distance  those 
bcholdins;  it.  His  hair  is  waving  and  curl 3-:  a  little  darlver  and  of 
richer  brightness,  where  it  flows  down  from  the  shoulders.  It  is 
divided  in  the  middle,  after  the  custom  of  the  Nazarenes  (or  Naza- 
rites).  His  brow  is  smootli,  and  wondrously  serene,  and  His  features 
liave  no  wrinkles,  nor  any  blemish,  while  a  red  glow  makes  His 
cheeks  beautiful.  His  nose  and  mouth  are  perfect.  He  has  a  full 
ruddy  beard,  the  colour  of  His  hair,  not  long,  but  divided  into  two. 
His  eyes  are  bright,  and  soera  of  different  colours  at  different  times. 
He  is  terrible  in  His  threatenings;  calm  in  His  admonitions;  loving 
and  loved;  and  cheerful,  but  with  an  abiding  gravity.  No  one  ever 
saw  Him  smile,  but  He  often  weeps.  His  hands  and  limbs  are  per- 
fect. He  is  gravely  eloquent,  retiring,  and  modest,  the  fairest  of  the 
sons  of  men." 

It  may  be  interesting  to  add  to  these  older  ideals  that  of  a  "UTiter 
of  the  present  day.  "Our  eyes  were  restlessly  attracted  to  Ilim," 
says  Delitzsch,  in  one  of  his  beautiful  stories,  "for  He  was  the  centre 
of  the  group.  He  was  not  in  soft  clothing  of  byssus  and  silk,  like 
the  courtiers  of  Tiberias  or  Jerusalem,  nor  did  He  wear  long  trailing 
robes,  like  some  of  the  "Pharisees.  On  His  head  was  a  white  keffiyeh 
— a  square  of  linen  doubled  so  that  a  corner  fell  down  on  each 
shoulder,  and  on  the  back;  a  tillet  or  agoul  round  the  head,  keeping 
it  in  its  place.  On  His  bodj'  He  Avore  a  tunic,  which  reached  to  His 
wrists  and  to-His  feet,  and  over  this  a  blue  tallith,  with  tlie  prescribed 
ta-;sels,  of  blue  and  white,  at  the  four  corners,  hung  down  so  that  the 
under  garment,  which  was  grey,  striped  with  red,  was  little  seen. 
His  feet  shod  with  sandals,  not  shoes,  were  only  visible  now  and  then, 
as  He  walked  or  moved." 

"He  was  a  man  of  middle  size,  with  youthful  beauty,  still,  in  His 
face  and  form.  The  purity  and  charm  of  early  manhood  blended  in 
His  countenance  with  the  ripeness  of  mature  years.  His  complexion 
was  fairer  than  that  of  those  around  Him,  for  they  had  more  of  the 
bronze  colour  of  their  nation.  He  seemed,  indeed,  even  pale,  under 
the  white  sudar,  for  the  ruddy  g^ow  of  healtli  u<u;d  at  His  years  was 
wanting.  The  type  of  His  features  was  hardly  .Jewish,  but" rather  aa 
if  that  and  the  Greek  types  blended  into  a  perfect  beauty,  which, 
while  it  awakened  reverence,  filled  the  heart,  still  more,  with  love. 
His  eyes  loolied  on  you  with  light  which  seemed  broken  and  softened, 
as  if  by  passing  through  tears.  He  stooped  a  little,  and  seemed  com- 
muning with  liis  own  thought.s,  and  when  He  moved  there  was  no 
affectation  as  with  some  of  the  Iiabljis,  but  a  natural  dignity  and 
grace,  like  one  who  feels  himself  a  Idng,  though  dressed  "in  lowly 
robes. " 

We  owe  our  knowledge  of  the  period  immediately  following  the 
Temptation  to  tlie  narrative  of  the  fourth  Gospel.  v,'ritten  after  the 
others.  The  splendour  of  the  later  ministry  in  Galilee  seems  to  have 
avershadowed  the  humbler  be^jinnings,  of  the  earlier  period,  in  the 


820  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

other  Gospels,  so  that  they  are  almost' passed  over  by  them.  Happily, 
however,  John  preserves  for  iis,  in  comparative  detail,  the  incidents 
of  these  silent  months,  in  which  the  public  life  of  Jesus  was  slowly 
opening  into  full  flower.  How  much  would  have  been  lost  had  his 
record  not  been  given?  There  is  a  peculiar  charm  in  the  glimpses 
they  supply  of  the  early  spring-time  of  the  Saviour's  ministry:  a 
tender  fragrance  all  their  own. 

The  first  great  crisis  of  His  life  being  over,  with  its  forty  days  of 
temptation  and  proof,  its  long  fasting,  its  gi'eat  victory,  and  its  minis- 
trations of  angels,  Jesus  returned  to  the  Jordan,  and  mingled,  un- 
noticed and  unknown,  in  the  crowd  round  the  Baptist.  It  was 
apparently  the  early  spring;  at  least,  a  fine  tradition  of  the  early 
Church  would  have  it  so,  perhaps  to  link  together  the  opening 
spiritual  year  with  the  beauty  of  the  reviving  year  of  nature.  He 
may  have  held  communion  once  and  again  with  John,  but  He  lived 
apart  from  him,  silently  passing  to  and  fro  among  the  mviltitudes. 
Only  the  day  before  His  an-ival,  John  had  renewed  his  homage  to 
Him  in  His  absence,  before  a  deputation  from  the  ecclesiastical 
authorities  of  the  Temple,  sent  to  investigate  his  own  teaching  and 
authority.  "  Was  he  the  Christ?  or  Elijah?  or  the  expected  prophet, 
Isaiah,  Jeremiah,  or  some  other?"  The  nobly  humble  man,  though 
at  the  height  of  his  glory,  with  the  nation  looking  up  to  him,  in 
reverence,  as  a  prophet,  hacl  no  thought  of  hesitation  in  his  answer. 
Jesus  was  unknown,  but  John  yields  "Him  the  first  place,  and  pro- 
claims himself  unworthy  to  perform  the  lowliest  olfices  for  One  so 
exalted.  "  I  am  only  he  of  whom  Isaiah  speaks,  as  a  voice  crying  in 
the  wilderness,  'Make  straight  the  way  of  the  Lord.'  I  only  baptize 
with  water,  but  there  stands  among  you  One  whom  ye  know  not — He 
Vho  is  to  come  after  me;  lam  not  worthy  to  kneel  before  Him  to 
loose  the  thong  of  His  sandal."  The  symbol  of  servitude  and  subjec- 
tion offered  by  a  slave  to  a  new  master  was  to  untie  his  shoe  and  bind 
it  again,  but  even  this  was  too  great  an  honour,  in  John's  opinion,  lo 
be  permitted  him  to  pay  to  Christ. 

He  had  often  borne  similar  testimony,  lifting  up  his  voice  and 
crying  aloud,  in  his  addresses  to  tTie  people,  to  make  known  the 
speedy  manifestation  of  the  Great  Expected  One,  but,  now,  he  was 
able  to  bear  witness  to  Him  in  His  presence.  As  he  was  standing  the 
next  day  among  his  followers,  Jesus  Himself  approached,  doubtless 
to  speak  with  him  on  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  in  which 
both  were  so  entirely  engrossed.  He  was  still  unknown,  imrecognized, 
and  unnoticed,  and  He  would  not  reveal  Himself  by  any  act  of  self- 
assertion  on  His  own  part.  But  the  very  end  of  John's  mission  from 
God  was  that  "  He  shoTild  be  made  manifest  to  Israel,"  and  the  hour 
had  now  come  to  draw  aside  the  veil.  Pointing  to  Him  while  He 
was  yet  at  a  distance,  he  proclaims  His  glory  in  words  which  must 
have  thrilled  those  who  heard  them:  "Behold  the  Lamb  of  God,  who 
takes  away  the  an  of  the  world.     This  is  He  of  whom  I  said,  '  After 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  821 

me  comes  a  Man  who  is  preferred  before  me,  for  He  was  before  me.' 
And  I  knew  Him  not  (as  the  Messiah);  but,  that  He  should  be  made 
manifest  to  Israel,  therefore  am  I  come  baptizing  with  water.  I  have 
seen  the  Spirit  descending  as  a  dove  out  of  heaven,  and  it  abode  upon 
Him.  And  I  knew  Him  not  (as  the  Messiah);  but  He  that  sent  me 
to  baptize  with  water,  the  Same  said  unto  me,  '  Upon  whom  thou 
shalt  see  the  Spirit  descending,  and  remaining  on  Him,  He  it  is  who 
baptizes  with  the  Holy  Spirit.'  And  I  have  seen  and  borne  witness 
that  this  is  the  Son  of  God." 

It  is  possible,  as  Milman  suggests,  that  flocks  of  lambs,  intended 
for  the  Temple  sacrifices,  then  passing,  from  the  rich  pastures  of 
Perea,  to  the  ford  beside  which  John  Avas  baptizing,  may  have 
suggested  the  name  "  Lamb  of  God,"  by  which  he  consecrated  to  the 
Church,  for  ever,  that  most  cherished  symbol  of  the  Redeemer. 
Jesus  was  rheek  and  gentle  like  the  lamb,  but  there  was  much  more 
in  the  use  of  such  a  name  by  the  son  of  a  priest — a  Nazarite,  and  a 
prophet,  like  .lohn.  The  idea  of  sacrifice  was  natural  and  inevitable 
to  him,  in  connection  Avith  it.  The  nation,  indeed,  in  Christ's  day, 
had  so  little  idea  of  a  suffering  and  d^ing  Messiah,  that  .Jonathan 
Ben  Uzziel,  the  contemporary  of  Christ,  while  he  sees  the  Messiah  in 
the  "Servant  of  God,"  of  Isiiiah's  prophecies,  ingeniously  explains 
His  sufferings  as  meaning  those  of  Israel.  But  the  number  of  passages 
which  spoke  of  the  Messiah  as  suffering,  even  then  arrested  attention, 
and  raised  the  difficulty  which  the  Rabbis  of  a  later  day  tried  to  solve, 
by  assuming  that  there  Avould  be  two  Messiahs — one,  the  son  of 
Joseph,  who  should  suffer  and  die ;  tlie  other,  the  son  of  David,  who 
should  live  and  reign.  Even  then,  the  Rabbis  saAV  in  the  Avords  of 
Zechariah,  "  They  shall  look  on  Him  whom  they  have  pierced,"  and 
in  the  words  of  Isaiah,  in  his  fifty-third  chapter,  a  reference  to  the 
Messiah,  and,  hence,  the  Jew^  in  Justin's  dialogue,  written  about  a 
hundred  years  after  Christ,  saAV  nothing  surprising  in  the  idea  of 
the  Messiah  suffering,  though  he  revolted  from  the  thought  of  His 
dying  in  a  Avay  cursed  by  the  LaAV,  like  crucifixion,  a  difficulty  met 
with  by  St.  Paul  himself. 

John,  Avho  had  studied  Isaiah  so  deeply,  and  was  so  penetrated  by 
his  spirit,  could  not  Iiave  overlooked  those  verses  which  speak  of  the 
"  Servant  of  God."  as  "  brought  like  a  lamb  to  the  slnughter,"  and  as 
"bearing  tlie  iniquities  of  many,"  and  "making  intercession  for  the 
transgi-essors, "  nor  the  words  of  Zechariah.  which  even  the  Rabbis 
referred  to  the  Messiah.  But  his  language,  after  the  return  of  Jesus 
from  the  Avilderness,  shows  a  striking  contrast  to  his  previous  tone. 
Before  that,  he  spoke  of  the  Messiah  only  a'S  having  the  fan  in  His 
hand,  and  as  laying  the  axe  at  the  root  of  the  tree,  and  as  baptizing 
with  fire  as  well  as  the  Spirit.  Noav,  lie  sees  in  Him  only  the  meek, 
pure,  and  patient  Lamb,  destined  by  God  to  sacrifice.  That  He  Avas 
to  "  take  away  the  sin  of  the  Avorld,"  leaA'es  no  question  as  to  the 
«<ense  in  which  John  saw  in  Him  the  "Lamb  of  God."     Isaiah  had 


823  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

painted  "the  Servant  of  God"  as  making  peace  for  the  people,  by 
His  vicarious  sufferings  for  them,  and  this  "  Servant"  Jolm  sees  in 
Jesus.  Fitly  typified  by  "  Tlie  Lamb,"  from  His  gentle  patience,  He 
is  still  more  so,  as  the  Antitype  of  Old  Testament  sacrifice.  To 
exclude  the  idea  of  expiatory  suffering,  is  to  trifle  with  the  words  of 
the  Baptist,  and  the  ingenious  fancy  that  finds  an  allusion  to  the 
pastoral  imagery  of  the  twenty-third.  Psalm,  is  even  more  arbitrary. 
John  saw  in  Jesus  the  propitiation,  which  was,  even  then,  bearing 
and  carrying  away  the  sin  of  the  world. 

How  was  it  that  John  realized  so  much  more  clearly  than  any 
Bround  him  the  true  ideal  of  the  Messiah,  as  the  sacrificial  Lamb, 
appointed  of  God,  on  whom  had  been  laid  the  sins  of  a  guilty  world? 
It  can  be  explained  only  by  remembering  that  his  very  mission  was 
to  reveal  Him  to  the  world.  For  this,  he. tells  us,  he  had  been  sent, 
and  his  commission,  therefore,  implied  a  disclosure  to  him,  not  only 
of  the  person,  but  the  true  work  of  the  Messiah.  We  know  that 
revelation  from  above  pointed  out  Jesus  to  him  by  a  heavenly  sign, 
and,  from  the  same  source,  v/e  may  assume,  he  learned  the  great  truth 
thht,  as  the  Messiah,  He  would  expiate  the  sin  of  the  Avorld  by  His 
sufferings.  It  may  be  that  Jesus  Himself  talked  with  him  of  "His 
decease,  which  He  should  accomplish  at  Jerusalem."  But  this, 
itself,  would  be  a  revelation.  Only,  however,  by  communication 
from  a  higher  source,  could  the  idea  have  been  formed  of  a  suffering 
Messiah --an  idea  so  alien  to  the  conceptions  of  the  day,  though  dimly 
realized  by  individuals,  like  the  aged  Simeon,  or  Zacharias,  to  whom 
a  propheiic  insight  had  been,  for  the  moment,  given.  "We  have 
heard  out  of  the  Law,"  said  the  people  to  Jesus  Himself,  "that  the 
Christ  abide.!h  for  ever" — that  is,  should  never  die — "and  how  sayest 
Thou,  'The  Son  of  Man  must  be  lifted  up?'  Who  is  this  Sou  of 
Man?"  It  was  in  the  face  of  such  a  universal  contrast  of  thought, 
that  John  announced  the  great  truth,  with  clear  and  precise  distinct- 
ness, noting  evea  its  having  already  begun,  and  its  future  world- 
embracing  greatness.  The  more  novel  the  conception  of  a  sufl'ering 
Messiah  to  the  nation;  the  more  ditHcult  it  proved  to  bring  it  home 
even  to  the  disciples  themselves;  the  more  it  needed  to  be  slowly 
developed  by  the  facts  of  Christ's  life  and  death,  to  secure  its  being 
understood;  the  more  justified  is  the  thought  of  a  special  revelation, 
throwing  light  into  the  Baptist's  soul,  on  the  full  meaning  of  ancient 
*  prophecy. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  however,  that,  with  all  these  heaA^enly 
revelations,  the  knowledge  of  Jolm  was  as  minute  and  defined  as  that 
of  those  whose  minds  the  teachings  of  Jesus  afterwards  illuminated 
from  above.  A  generation  later,  some  disciples  of  John,  living  at 
Ephesus,  when  asked  by  Paul,  ' '  If  they  had  received  the  Holy  Ghost 
Bxnce  they  believed?"  answered  that  they  had  not  so  much  as  heard 
of  there  being  any  Holy  Ghost  at  all.  The  Jews  of  John's  day  thought 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  only  vaguely,  as  the   "  Spirit  of  Jehovah" — the 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  823 

(ffiluence  of  the  divine  power  and  grace,  and  we  owe  it  to  the  Gospels 
and  the  Epistles  thaf  we  now  have  clearer  conceptions. 

John  had  pointed  to  Jesus  as  "the  Lamb  of  God,"  and  had  thus, 
doubtless,  tixed  the  attention  of  those  around  him  on  one  associated 
with  a  symbol  so  saci'ed  and  tender.  But  he  did  not  confine  himself 
to  a  title  not  yet  familiar,  as  addressed  to  the  Messiah,  and  added  one 
which  liad  already  been  appropriated  to  Him  in  the  literature  of  the 
nation — "I  saw,  and  bare  recoixi  that  this  is  the  Sou  of  God."  The 
Sibylline  verses,  the  Book  of  Enoch,  and  the  Fourth  Book  of  Esdras, 
had,  for  generations,  applied  this  title  to  the  expected  Messiah,  and, 
thus,  there  could  be  no  misapprehension  in  the  mind  of  any  who 
heard  it  given  to  Jesus.  It  was  His  formal  proclamation  by  the 
appointed  herald. 

It  seemed  as  if  this  wondrous  testimony  had  been  lost  on  those  who 
heard  it,  but  though  the  multitude  took  little  heed  of  it,  there  were 
some  hearts  in  wliich  it  found  a  worthy  response.  The  next  day,  as 
John  was  standing  with  two  of  his  disciples,  Jesus  again  passed,  and 
was  again  proclaimed  in  the  same  words.  Fixing  his  eyes  earnestly 
on  Him,  John  called  on  his  companions  to  "behold  the  Lamb  of 
God."  It  was  enough.  ThejMiiight  not  realize  the  full  import  of 
the  name,  but  they  felt  the  divine  attractiveness  of  Him  to  whom  it 
■was  given.  They  were  waiting  with  itnxious  hearts  for  the  Messiah, 
and  they  heard  John  proclaim  that  Jesus  was  He,  and,  forthwith,  left 
John,  to  follow  Him  whom  he  thus  lionoured. 

Jesus,  Himself,  now  about  to  begin  His  public  ministry,  was  ready 
to  receive  disciples.  He  had  permanently  abandoned  His  obscure  life 
of  Nazareth,  and  was,  henceforth,  to  be  a  Rabbi  in  Israel. 

The  teachers  of  the  day  had  round  them  an  inner  circle  of  disciples, 
able,  in  some  measure,  to  represent  them  in  public,  in  their  own 
absence,  by  speaking  in  the  synagogues,  answering  ciucstions,  or 
undertaking  missionary  journeys,  and  these  were  to  be  the  special 
duties  of  the  disciples  of  Jesus.  They  were  to  be  ti-ained  by  Him  in 
the  mysteries  of  the  Kingdom,  as  those  of  the  Rabbis  were  in  the 
mysteries  of  the  Law.  No  teacher  assumed  his  office  in  Israel  without 
a  group  of  such  followers  round  him,  for  it  was  reckoned  a  grave  sin 
for  a  Rabbi  to  be  at  any  time  without  some  one  to  instruct  in  the  Law, 
and  even  their  scholars  were  required  to  converse  habitually  on  this 
one  study  of  their  lives.  "  When  two  scholars  of  the  wise,"" says  the 
Talmud,  "  are  making  a  journey  together,  and  do  not  make  the  Law 
the  subject  of  their  conversation,  they  deserve  to  be  burned  alive,  as 
is  written  in  2  Kings  ii.  11."  It  was,  therefore,  only  an  adoption  of 
the  custom  of  the  day  which  Jesus  now  followed. 

The  two  who  now  joined  Him  seem  to  have  hitherto  formed  part 
of  such  an  inner  circle  round  John,  and  were  the  beginning  of  a 
group  of  trusted  friends,  wit.x  whom  He  could  associate,  and  of 
as.sistants  in  His  great  work,  while,  a'lso,  a  centre  round  which  others 
might  gather.     He  drew  them  to  Him,  hoAvever,  in  a  Avay  new  and 


834  ;  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Bi.gnificant,  for  He  did  not  wait  till  they  asked  leave  to  follow  Him, 
and  did  not  court  their  aid,  but  called  on  them  to  follow  Him,  retain- 
ing, thus,  a  relation  of  superiority  even  in  this  detail. 

He  could,  hence,  more  freely  admit  them  to  the  most  endearing  and 
familiar  Intimacy;  and  speak  of  them,  before  long,  as  His  friends,  His 
brethren,  and  even  His  children  and  little  ones,  though,  also.  His  ser- 
vants. He  had  chosen  them,  not  they  Him ;  and  thus  He  could  the 
better  train  them  to  be  teachers  in  His  own  society,  alluring  the 
world  to  it  by  the  example  of  their  lives,  or  spreading  it  by  their 
ministrations.  Standing  towards  them  in  a  relation  so  dignified,  they 
were  at  once  His  friends,  and  the  servants  Avhom  He  could  employ  as 
diligent  fishers  of  men,  and  labourers  in  the  great  vineyard  of  the 
kingdom  of  God. 

Though,  like  the  Eabbis,  a  teacher  of  the  nation,  in  the  streets,  in 
the  houses,  and  in  the  synagogues,  as  the  custom  of  the  day  required, 
Jesus  did  not  try  to  gain  His  immediate  followers  from  their  order, 
or  from  their  disciples,  for  He  had  little  sympathy  with  them.  He 
rather  sought  simple  children  of  the  people,  free,  as  far  as  possible, 
from  prejudice  and  self-sufhciency,  and  marked  only  by  their  sin- 
cerity, humility,  intellectual  shrewdness,  and  religious  sensibility. 
The  less  they  knew  of  the  schools,  the  less  they  would  have  to  un- 
learn ;  the  more  they  derived  from  Him,  the  more  undoubting  their 
loyalty  to  Him.  He  found  the  class  He  wanted,  mostly  in  lowly  fish- 
ermen and  countrymen. 

Of  the  first  two  disciples,  the  one  was  Andrew,  a  fisherman,  from 
Bethsaida  on  the  Lake  of  Galilee;  the  other,  doubtless,  was  .John 
himself,  a  native  of  the  same  town — though,  with  his  wonted  modesty, 
he  withholds  his  name.  No  wonder  he  remembered  every  incident 
of  his  introduction  to  Christ,  so  minutely,  after  many  years,  for  it  was 
the  birth-hour  of  his  religious  life.  Very  probably  the  proposal  to 
join  the  new  teacher  came  from  him,  and,  if  so,  he  was  the  first  to 
follow  Jesus,  as  he  was  the  last  to  leave  Him.  The  two  had  heard 
Him  announced  as  the  Lamb  of  God,  and  as  such  they  sought  Him. 
Can  we  wonder  that  the  name  became  such  a  favourite  with  him,  who, 
hereafter,  was  the  beloved  disciple,  that  we  find  it  in  his  writings 
alone,  or  that  he  repeats  it  in  the  Apocalypse  more  than  thirty  times? 

The  two  followed  Jesus,  anxious  to  speak  to  Him,  but  in  modest 
difficulty  how  to  approach  Him.  Their  embaiTassment,  however, 
was  brief,  for  Jesus,  hearing  their  footsteps  behind  Him,  and  judging, 
with  the  quick  instinct  of  sympathy,  that  He  was  being  sought  for 
the  first  time,  turned  and  spoke  to  them.  Asking  them  what  they 
seek,  He  is  answered  in  their  confusion,  by  the  counter-question,  — 
"Eabbi,  where  dwellest  Thou?"  The  multitudes  attending  such 
gatherings  as  John's  preaching,  were  wont  to  run  up  temporary 
booths  of  wattled  boughs,  with  a  striped  abba,  or  outer  cloak,  thrown 
over,  for  cover,  and  some  one  had  given  Jesus  a  share  in  such  a 
shelter,  for  it  is  not  likely  that  there  were  houses  near.     Eabbis  on 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  825 

their  journeys  were  alwaj's  welcome  to  hosjiitalit}',  and  He  was  re- 
garded as  one,  by  at  least  a  few,  alroad}\  The  title  had  been  given 
even  to  John,  as" it  now  was  to  Jesus,  for  although  the  authorities  at 
Jerusalem  discountenanced  those  who  had  not  studied  in  the  schools, 
and  the  peojile  half  distrusted  any  teaching  which  did  not  address 
them  on  school  authority,  the  recognition  was  never  withheld  where 
evident  knowledge  of  the  LaAv,  or  worthiness  to  teach,  was  seen. 
Jewish  traders  and  Galila-an  teachers,  who  had  no  diploma  from  tho 
schools  of  Jerusalem,  were  accepted  as  Rabbis  in  Rome;  and  in  Pales- 
tine, the  dignity  and  wisdom  of  Jesus  drew  forth  towards  Him  the 
title  of  Rabbi  and  Teacher,  not  only  from  the  people  and  the  disciples, 
but  even  from  the  Pharisees  and  l{abl)is  themselves. 

The  simple  words  of  invitation,  "  Come  and  see,"  were  enough  to 
open  the  relationship  between  Jesus  and  liearts  so  eager  to  know 
more  of  Him,  and,  presently,  they  were  with  Him,  where  He  dwelt. 
The  day  passed  quickly,  for  they  did  not  mark  the  hours,  as  they 
stretched  on  from  noon,  when  they  had  come,  till  towanls  night.  His 
discourse,  His  teaching,  and  His  whole  Being,  excluded  all  other 
thoughts.  If  any  doubt  respecting  Him  had  remained,  it  soon  passed 
aAvaj'.  Both  were,  henceforth,  His  followers,  and  both  equally  recog- 
nized in  Him  the  promised  Messiah.  The  night  approached,  but 
neither  was  willing  to  leave.  They  had  found  rest  to  their  souls. 
All  day  long,  and  into  the  quiet  watches  of  the  night,  they  had  lis- 
tened to  His  first  opening  of  His  great  message  of  mercy  from  the 
Father,  and  they  would  fain  hear  stfill  more.  But,  as  Jeremy  Taylor 
puts  it — "in  accidents  of  the  gi'catest  pleasure,  our  joys  cannot  be 
contained  within  the  limits  of  the  possessor's  thoughts."  Andrew 
had  a  brother,  Simon,  and  longed  to  bring  him  to  Jesus.  Retiring, 
therefore,  for  a  time,  he  soon  returned  with  him  in  company.  It  was 
a  matter  of  the  gravest  moment,  on  the  one  side,  that  a  right  choice 
of  disciples  should  be  made,  and  it  was  no  less  momentous  on  the 
other,  that  there  should  be  no  self-deception ;  but  on  neither  side  was 
there  long  hesitation,  or  cautious  inquirj^  or  demand  for  evidence  of 
character,  or  crafty  wariness.  Everything  was  simple  and  direct,  in 
all  the  fulness  of  mutual  contidence  and  trust.  To  see  Jesus,  and 
hear  Him  speak,  was  enough,  and  He,  on  His  part,  ' '  needed  not  that 
any  should  testify  of  man:  for  He  knew  what  was  in  man."  Looking 
steadfastl}^  at  Simon,  He  saw  in  him,  as  in  John  and  Andrew,  the 
characteristics  He  required  in  His  followers.  The  rare  unbending  ^ 
firmness  of  purpose,  the  tenacious  fidelity,  the  gT\-ift  decisiveness,  the 
Galiltran  fire  and  manliness,  and  the  tender  religiousness  of  spirit, 
which  marked  him  to  the  end  of  his  life,  were  read  at  once.  Jesus  had 
found  in  him  His  firmest,  most  rock-like  servant  and  confessor;  the 
man  who,  from  this  first  moment — except  for  one  sad  instant — amidst 
all  changes  and  trials,  and  the  ever-growing  storms  of  the  world, 
would  never  be  untrue  to  Him.  "  Tliou  art  Sunon,"  said  lie,  "the 
son  of  Jonas.    Henceforth  thou  shalt  be  called  'The  Rock.'"    ^o 


S2Q  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

wonder  that  lie  is  "best  known  as  Cephas,  or  Peter,  the  Aramaic  and 
Greek  equivalents  of  this  honourable  distinction.  The  Christian 
Church  was  already  founded  in  these  thrt*  disciples-. 

With  the  fine  modesty  of  his  nature,  John  says  nothing  of  himself 
in  relation  to  a  day  so  eventful  in  his  history.  The  kingly  soul  of 
Jesus  e\'idently  enchained  him  at  once.  Henceforth,  he  was  alto- 
gether His.  though,  for  a  time,  dismissed  to  his  home.  But,  once 
more  permitted  to  follow  Him,  he  is  ever  found  at  His  side,  forgetting 
himself  in  his  love  for  his  Master,  and  lost  in  the  contemplation  of 
I  His  life  and  words.  We  do  not  know  the  stages  by  which,  from  this 
{moment,  onwards,  his  faitli  in  the  Saviour  grew,  till  it  reached  that 
'blending  of  soul  with  soul,  in  inmost  love,  which  made  him,  to  the 
end  of  his  long  life,  the  ideal  disciple.  Writing  last  of  all,  he  allows 
himself  to  be  seen  only  twice  in  the  story  of  his  Master — now,  when 
he  came  with  Andrew,  as  the  first  to  join  Christ,  and  at  the  close,  on 
Calvary,  when  he  lifts  the  veil  for  a  moment  from  the  uuiciue  relation 
in  which  he  stood  to  his  Lord. 

The  earliest  traditions  join  his  brother  James  with  John,  as  one  of 
the  very  first  disciples,  for  though  John,  from  the  same  delicacy  as 
shrank  from  speaking  of  himself,  does  not  mention  his  brother's 
name,  the  other  three  Gospels  always  number  him  with  the  earliest 
adliercnts  of  Jesus.  There  can  be  little  question  that,  as  Andrew 
went  to  seek  his  brother  Simon,  John,  also,  brought  James  to  Jesus. 
The  intimation  that  Andrew  went  first  on  his  errand  of  love,  seems  to 
leave  us  to  infer  that  he  himself  went  next. 

The  four  disciples  had  it  in  common  that  they  belonged  to  the  same 
town,  Bethsaida,  that  they  Avere  of  the  fisher  population,  and  that 
both  families  were  in  a  comparatively  prosperous  position.  We  know 
nothing  of  the  father  of  Andrew  and  Simon,  but  James  and  John 
were  the  sons  of  one  Zabdai,  and  Ave  know,  from  comparison  of  texts, 
that  their  mother  was  Salome,  so  honourably  mentioned  in  the  Gos- 
pels. Writers  so  acute  as  Ewald  have  seen  in  her  a  sister  of  Mary, 
the  mother  of  Jesus,  and,  if  so,  John  and  James  were  cousins  of  their 
Master.  If  it  be  correct  to  honour  Salome  thus,  she  was  present  with 
Mary  at  the  crucifixion.  In  any  case,  she  belonged  to  the  number  of 
pious  souls  ready  to  accept  a  Messiah  such  as  Jesus,  and  hence  her 
sons  must  have  received  the  priceless  blessing  of  a  godly  training  and 
i  example.  It  seemiS  as  if  we  could  almost  trace  the  beloved  disciple  in 
,'  the  character  of  a  mother,  Avho  "ministered  to  Jesus  of  her  substance" 
while  He  lived,  and  did  not  forsake  Him  even  Avheu  He  hung  on  the 
cross. 

To  begin  His  public  career  in  a  way  so  humble  and  uno.stentatious, 
was  in  strict  keeping  Avith  the  Avork  and  character  of  Christ.  It  was 
easier  for  Ilim  to  train  a  fcAV,  and  gradually  raise  them  to  the  high 
etandard  required  in  His  immediate  folloAvers.  That  His  first  adher- 
ents Avere  attracted  only  by  religious  considerations,  tended  to  guard 
against  any  seeking  to  join  Him  who  T>'ere  not  moved  to  do  so  by  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  327 

trae  spiritual  Rympatliy — itself  the  pledge  of  their  fitness  for  disciples. 
To  have  drawn  around  Him  great  multitudes,  by  a  display  of  super- 
natural powers,  would  have  destroyed  all  His  plans,  for  He  could 
have  found  no  such  sympathj''  in  crowds  thus  gathered.  Having, 
therefore,  begun  with  the  lowly  band  of  four,  He  turned  His  thoughts 
once  more  towards  home,  and  set  out,  with  them,  to  Galilee,  next  day. 
A  fifth  disciple  joined  Him  on  the  homeward  journey — Philip,  a  tov»'ns' 
man  of  the  others.  Nothing  is  told  of  the  circumstances,  though  thero 
can  be  no  doubt  that  he  had  heard,  of  Jesus,  either  from  the  Baptist, 
to  whom,  like  the  otliers,  he  seems  to  have  gone  out;  or  from  the  four, 
■  as  they  travelled  with  him  on  his  own  return.  The  simple  words 
"Follow  me,"  so  often  uttered  afterwards,  were  enough  to  add  him 
to  the  others. 

The  family  of  Mary,  in  which  we  no  longer  hear  any  mention  of 
Joseph — now,  apparently,  dead  for  a  number  of  years — seem  at  this 
time  to  have  left  Nazareth  for  a  short  sojourn  at  Cana,  a  village  a 
few  miles  directly  north  of  their  own  town,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hills  behind  it.  A  little  later,  Capernaum  was  chosen  instead,  but  it 
was  to  Cana,  not  Nazareth,  that  Jesus  returned  from  the  Jordan.  It 
lay  upon  an  almost  isolated  hill,  rising  proudly  above  the  pasture- 
land  of  the  little  valley  of  El  Battauf,  and  was  afterwards  a  place  of 
some  importance,  in  the  last  Jewish  war,  from  its  strong  position. 

Jesus  and  His  companions  had  scarcely  reached  it,  before  Philip, 
full  of  natural  joy  at  his  discovery  of  the  Messiah,  in  Jesus,  sought 
out  a  friend  who  lived  in  Cana,  Nathanael  by  name,  to  let  him  know 
that  he  had  found  Him  ' '  of  whom  Moses  in  the  Law,  and  the  prophets 
wrote — Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  Son  of  Joseph."  Nazareth  was  only  a 
few  miles  oft',  but  so  privately  had  Jesus  lived  in  it  that  the  name  was 
new  to  Nathanael,  and  the  town,  besides,  had  a  ctuestionable  name. 
"Can  any  good  thing,"  asked  he,  "come  out  of  Nazareth?" 

Jesus  had  won  Peter  by  the  greeting  which  had  made  him  feel, 
that,  by  a  knowledge  beyond  human,  He  had  already  fixed  His  eye  on 
him,  before  His  coming,  as  a  future  disciple.  A  similar  display  of 
superhuman  knowledge  now  kindled  faith  in  Nathanael.  As  he  ap- 
proached, Jesus  greeted  him  as  "  an  Israelite  indeed,  in  whom  there 
was  no  guile."  A  glance  had  been  enough  to  show  that  he  was  one 
whose  simplicity  and  iiprightness  of  spirit  marked  him  as  a  member 
-of  the  true  Israel  of  God.  Nathanael  felt  that  he  was  known,  but 
wondered  how  Jesus  could  have  learned  about  him.  A  few  Avords 
more,  and  he  was  won  for  ever.  He  had  been  sitting  alone,  under 
the  fig-tree  before  his  house,  or  in  his  garden,  hidden,  as  he  thought, 
from  a*ll,  when  Philip  spoke  to  him.  "Before  that  Philip  called 
thee,"  said  Jesus,  "when  thou  wast  under  the  fig-tree,  I  saw  thee." 
The  first  words  had  struck  him,  but  these,  recalling  the  moments  just 
gone,  when,  very  likely,  in  his  fancied  seclusion,  he  had  been  ponder- 
ing tlie  misery  of  Israel,  and  longing  for  the  Great  Deliverer, — showed 
that  his  inmost  soul  had  been,  all  the  while,  open  to  the  eye  of  Jesus, 


S38  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  completed  the  conquest  of  his  soul.  "Rabbi,"  said  he,  "Thou 
art  the  Son  of  God;  Thou  art  the  King  of  Israel."  He  felt  that,  the 
heart  of  the  Messiah  of  God  had  turned  tenderly  towards  him,  even 
before  they  had  met. 

The  simple,  prompt  faith  of  Nathanael  was  no  less  pleasing  to  Jesus 
than  honouring  to  himself.  There  was  something  so  fresh,  so  fervent, 
so  full-hearted  in  the  words,  now  at  the  very  beginning  of  Christ's 
public  work,  that  they  won  a  reply  alike  gracious  and  sublime.  "Be- 
cause I  said  unto  thee,  I  saw  thee  under  the  fig-tree,  believest  thou? 
Thou  shalt  see  greater  things  than  these."  Far  higher  grounds  of. 
faith  would,  henceforth,  be  granted,  for,  from  this  time,  "the heavens 
■would  be  seen,  as  it  were,  open,  and  the  angels  of  God  ascending  and 
descending  upon  the  Son  of  Man," — the  name  consecrated  to  the  Mes- 
siah from  the  days  of  Daniel — and  now  permanently  chosen  as  His 
own.  When  He  begins  His  work  in  its  full  activity,  there  will  be  no 
longer  a  momentary  opening  of  heaven,  as  lately  on  the  Jordan,  but 
a  constant  intercourse  between  it  and  earth,  as  of  old  in  the  vision  of 
Jacob;  heavenly  ministrations  bringing  covmtless  blessings  down,  and 
bearing  back  the  tidings  of  the  work  of  mercy,  in  reconciling  man  to 
God.  Language  like  this  is,  of  course,  metaphorical.  It  may  be  un- 
derstood literally,  in  one  or  two  cases,  in  the  Saviour's  history,  but 
He  cannot  have  referred  to  these.  He,  rather,  .spoke  of  the  connec- 
tion between  earth  and  heaven,  Avhich  He  had  opened.  They  would 
be  no  longer  isolated  from  each  other.  Intercourse  between  them 
was  henceforth  renewed,  never  again  to  cease ;  intercourse,  at  first, 
between  Him  and  His  Father,  but  gradually  spreading  over  the  earth, 
as  men  caught  His  image,  and  reproduced  Ills  spirit.  The  angels  de- 
scending from  heaven  with  gifts  for  the  Son  of  Man  to  dispense  to  His 
brethren,  would  be  visible  to  aU  who  saw  the  results,  in  His  kingdom 
over  the  earth. 

Nathanaels  name  does  not  occur  in  the  list  of  the  apostles,  but  it 
has  been  assumed  from  the  earliest  times  that  he  was  Bartholomew, 
who  is  always  named  next  to  Philip.  It  was  a  Jewish  custom  to 
change  the  name  when  a  public  profession  of  religion  was  made. 
"Four  things,"  says  R.  Isaac,  "have  power  to  change  a  man's  des- 
tiny— alms,  prayer,  change  of  heart,  and  change  of  name."  We  have 
instances  of  such  change  of  name  in  Simon,  who  is  also  indifferently 
mentioned  as  Peter,  and  as  the  son  of  Jonas,  and  in  Barnabas,  whose 
proper  name  was  Joses.  Nathanael  may  have  been  the  personal 
name,  while  Bartholomew  was  simply  an  allusion  to  him  as  the  son 
of  TaLmai. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE  OPENING  OP  CHKIST's  PUBLIC  MTMSTRY. 

The  plain  of  El  Battauf,  on  a  hill  in  which  rose  the  village  of 
Cana,  now  utterly  forsaken,  stretches  cmt  in  a  pleasant  rolling  green 
sea,  embayed  in  a  framework  of  softer  or  steeper  hills.  On  the  south, 
the  ■whitewashed  tomb  of  a  Mohammedan  saint  marks  the  top  of 
the  hill  behind  Nazareth,  and  a  little  to  the  west  of  this,  the  ruined 
tower  of  Sepphoris  rises  from  a  lower  ridge.  Entering  the  plain 
from  the  north,  the  first  village  is  Kcfr  Menda,  with  its  deep  spring, 
the  water  of  which  is  carefidly  kept  for  use  in  the  hot  summer  ;  rain 
water,  collected  in  an  open  pool,  being  used  at  other  times.  The 
flat  roofs  of  many  of  the  poor  cottages  show  frail  shelters  of  wattled 
wands  and  twigs,  the  sleeping  places  of  the  inmates  be^ow,  in  the 
sultry  summer  nights.  They  are,  doubtless,  the  counterparts  of  the 
booths  of  branches  of  olives,  pines,  myrtles,  palms,  and  other  trees, 
which  the  ancient  Jews,  in  Nehemiah's  day,  made  on  their  house- 
roofs  in  Jerusalem,  at  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles. 

The  plain  undulates  in  alternate  grass  and  grain  fields,  between 
two  and  tln-ce  miles,  from  Kcfr  l\Icnda  to  Sefuriyeh,  the  ancient 
capital  of  Galilee,  the  "  bin!  like  "  Sepphoris.  Several  broad  caravan 
roads,  which  lead  to  the  fords  of  the  Jordan,  cross  it ;  groves  of  figs 
and  olives  fringe  the  southern  edge,  and  parts  of  the  slopes,  of  the 
hill  on  which  Sefuriyeh  stands.  One  overtakes  asses  bearing  heavy 
loads  of  rich  grass  to  the  village,  some  of  tliem,  perhaps,  with  an  ear 
cropped  off  ;  the  penalty  allowed  to  be  inflicted  by  any  peasant  who 
lias  caught  it  feeding  in  his  unprotected  patch  of  grain.  Sefuriyeh 
is,  even  still,  a  large  and  prosperous  village,  stretching  out  on  the 
western  and  southern  slopes  of  its  hill.  A  half-fallen  tower,  of  great 
antiquity,  crowns  the  height,  and  from  its  top  the  c^ye  ranges  over  a 
pleasant  landscape — the  soft  green  plain,  the  fig  and  olive  groves 
fringing  it,  Kefr  Menda  to  the  north,  Cana  of  Galilee  a  little  further 
east,  and,  to  the  south-east,  the  white  tomb  on  the  hill  of  Nazareth  ; 
a  southern  sky,  with  its  deep  blue,  overarching  all.  It  is  a  delight 
f  ul  idyllic  picture,  on  the  small  scale  that  marks  everything  in  Pales- 
tine. 

Cana — the  reedy  place — as,  no  doubt,  the  first  settlers  found  the 
plain  below  it.  before  it  was  drained  and  cultivated,  is  now  so  utterly 
desolate  tliat  it  is  the  favorite  hunting  ground  of  the  neighborhood  ; 
even  leopards  being  shot  at  times  among  its  broken  houses,  while  the 
wuld  boar  and  the  jackal  find  haunts  in  the  thick  jungle  of  oak 
coppice,  on  the  slopes  of  the  wadys  around.  The  houses  are  built  of 
limestone,  and  some  of  them  may  have  been  inhabited  within  the 
last  fifty  years.     Sepp  found  the  whole  space  on  which  the  village 


330  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

seemed  to  have  stood,  only  about  a  hundred  paces,  each  way.  "t 
met,"  says  he,  "not  a  living  soul;  not  even  a  dbg:  the  watchman 
one  never  misses  in  Palestine  was  not  there  to  give  a  sound.  My 
step  echoed  through  the  deserted  little  street  and  open  square,  as  if 
in  the  dead  of  night;  only  Hies  held  their  marriage  rejoicings  in  the 
sunshine;  while  a  splendid  rainbow  stretched  over  the  ruined  tower 
of  Sepphoris." 

It  was  very  different  in  the  days  when  Jesus  came  to  it  from  His 
visit  to  the  preaching  of  John,  on  the  Jordan.  A  marriage  was  afoot 
in  the  circle  of  Mary's  friends;  possibly  of  her  connections.  That 
Mary  and  Jesus  were  invited  to  the  usual  rejoicings,  and  that  they 
accepted  the  inviti^ion,  marks  the  worth  of  those  who  had  given  it, 
for  the  presence  of  the  saintly  mother  and  her  Son  at  such  a  time, 
are  a  pledge  that  all  that  was  innocent  and  beautiful  characterized 
the  festivities. 

A  marriage  in  the  East  has  always  been  a  time  of  great  rejoicing. 
The  bridegroom,  adorned  and  anointed,  and  attended  by  his  grooms- 
men, "the  sons  of  the  bridechamber,"  went,  of  old,  as  now,  on  the 
marriage  day,  to  the  house  of  the  bride,  who  awaited  him,  veiled 
from  head  to  foot,  alike  from  Eastern  ideas  of  propriety,  and  as  a 
symbol  of  her  subjection  as  a  wife.  A  peculiar  girdle— the  "  attire" 
"which  a  bride  could  not  forget — was  always  part  of  her  dress,  and  a 
wreath  of  myrtle  leaves,  either  real,  or  of  gold,  or  gilded  work — like 
our  wreath  of  orange  blossoms — was  so  indispensable  that  it  came 
to  be  used  as  a  term  for  the  bride  herself.  Her  hair,  if  she  had  not 
been  married  before,  was  left  flowing ;  her  whole  dress  was  perfumed, 
and  she  glittered  with  as  many  jewels  as  the  family  boasted,  or,  if 
poor,  could  borrow  for  the  occasion.  Her  bridal  dress,  her  special 
ornaments,  the  ointment  and  perfumes  for  her  person,  and  presents 
of  fruit  and  other  things,  had  been  sent  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  day 
by  the  bridegroom ;  the  bride,  on  her  part,  sending  him,  as  her  pre- 
scribed gift,  a  shroud,  vrhich  he  kept  and  wore,  as  she  did  hers,  on 
each  New  Year's  Day  and  Daj^  of  Atonement.  The  Eabbis  had 
fixed  Wednesday  as  the  day  on  which  maidens  should  be  married, 
and  Friday  for  Avidows,  so  that,  if  the  bride  at  Cana  was  now  married 
for  the  tirst  time,  we  know  the  day  of  the  week  on  which  the  cere- 
mony took  place.  She  might  be  very  young,  for  girls  become  wives 
in  the  East  when  tAvclve  or  fourteen,  or  even  younger.  The  bride- 
groom and  bride  both  fasted  all  day  before  the  marriage,  and  con- 
fessed their  sins  in  prayer,  as  on  the  Day  of  Atonement.  "When  the 
bride  reached  the  house  of  her  future  husband's  father,  in  which  the 
marriage  was  celebrated,  the  bridegroom  received  her,  still  deeply 
veiled,  and  conducted  her  within,  Avilli  great  rejoicings.  Indeed,  he 
generally  set  out  from  liis  father's  house  in  the  evening  to  meet  her, 
with  tiute-plaj'ers  or  singers  before  him;  his  groomsmen,  and  others, 
with  flaring  torches  or  lamps,  escorting  him  amidt^t  loud  rejoicing, 
■wluch  rose  still  higher  as  he  led  her  back.     Neighboui's  thronged 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  33t 

into  the  streets.  Flutes  and  drums  and  shrill  cries  filled  the  air,  and 
the  procession  was  swelled  as  it  passed  on,  liy  a  train  of  maidens, 
friends  of  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  who  hail  been  waiting  for  it. 
The  Talmud  has  preserved  a  snatch  of  one  of  the  songs  sung  by  the 
bridesmaids  and  girls  as  they  danced  before  the  bride,  on  the  way  to 
the  bridegroom's  house.  In' a  free  translation  it  runs  something  like 
this:=- 

"  Her  eyelids  are  not  stained  with  blue. 
Her  red  cheeks  are  her  ov\ti; 
Her  hair  hangs  wavins:  as  it  grew, 
Her  grace  were  wealth,  alone  1" 

In  the  house  of  the  bridegroom's  father,  which  was,  for  a  time, 
the  home  of  the  young  couple,  things  went  merrilj',  for  a  feast  was 
provided,  to  which  all  the  friends  and  neighbours  were  invited.  It 
was  an  essential  part  of  the  ceremony,  for  even  so  early  as  Jacob's 
day,  "  to  make  a  feast"  had  become  the  common  expression  for  the 
celebration  of  a  marriage. 

The  bride  did  not  sit  at  this  feast,  however,  but  remained  apart, 
among  the  women,  shrouded  in  the  long  white  veil  of  betrothal; 
unseen,  as  yet,  even  by  her  husband.  Nor  did  she  take  any  part 
in  the  festivities,  or  appear  at  all.  It  was  only  when  husband  and 
wife  were  finally  alone,  that  the  veil  was,  for  the  first  time,  removed. 

]\Ieanwhile,  the  family  rejoicings  went  on  apace.  The  feast  was 
provided  at  the  cost  of  the  bridegroom,  and  continued,  usually,  for 
seven  days,  with  the  greatest  mirth.  The  bridegroom  wore  a  crown, 
often  of  flowers — the  crown  with  which,  in  the  Song  of  Solomon,  it 
is  said,  "his  mother  crowned  him  in  the  day  of  his  espousals,  iu. 
the  day  of  the  gladness  of  his  heart," — and  sat  "decked,  like  a 
priest,  in  his  ornaments ;"  the  bride  sitting  apart  among  the  women, 
"adorned  with  her  jewels."  Singing,  mu.';ic,  and  dancing,  merry 
riddles,  and  the  play  of  wit,  amused  the  house,  night  after  night, 
while  the  feast  was  prolonged,  and  it  was  only  after  it  had  woru 
itself  out,  that  life  settled  down  again  into  colourless  monotony. 

It  was  to  some  such  festivity  that  Jesus  had  been  invited  with  H'la 
five  disciples,  ^he  earthen  floor  and  the  ledge  round  the  wall  would 
be  spread  with  carpets,  the  walls  hung  with  garlands:  the  spirits  of 
all  bright  and  cheerful  as  the  decorated  chamber,  and  the  modest 
rejoicings  in  no  way  clouded  by  the  presence  of  ilary's  Son  and  His 
followers.  There  was  no  excess,  we  may  be  sm-e,  but  the  flow  of 
harmless  entertainment  brightened  all  faces.  John  had  been  an 
nscetic — the  highest  form  of  religiotis  life  hitherto  known  iu  Israel. 
He  had  spent  his  days  in  penitential  austerity  and  wilderness  seclu- 
sion; had  drunk  no  wine,  had  eaten  no  pleasant  food,  and  had  kept 
apart  from  human  affairs  and  relationships.  But  a  new  and  higher 
ideal  of  religion  was  nov/  to  be  introduced.  Jesus  came  to  spirit- 
ualize the  humblest  duties  of  life,  and  sanctify  its  simplest  incidents, 
80  as  to  ennoble  it  as  a  v.'hole.      Henceforth,  pleasures  and  enjoy. 


«82  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ments  were  not  to  be  shunned  as  unholy;  religion  was  not  to  thrive 
en  the  mortification  of  every  human  instinct,  and  the  repression  of 
every  cheerful  emotion.  It  would  mix  with  the  crowd  of  men,  affect 
no  singularity,  take  part  in  the  innocent  festivities  of  life,  interest 
itself  in  all  that  interested  men  at  large,  and  yet,  amidst  all,  remain 
consecrated  and  pure ;  in  the  world,  by  sympathy  and  active  brother- 
hood, but  not  of  it ;  human  in  its  outward  form,  but  heavenly  in  its 
elevation  and  spirit. 

The  rejoicings  had  continued  for  some  evenings,  when  a  misfor- 
tune happened  that  threatened  to  disgrace  the  bridegroom  and  his 
familj^  for  life  in  the  eyes  of  their  neighbours.  The  supply  of  wine  ran 
out.  As  in  all  winegrowing  countries,  the  population  were  not  only 
temperate,  but  simple  in  their  whole  living,  beyond  what  the  natives 
of  a  colder  climate  can  imagine.  Yet  wine  was  their  symbol  of  joy 
and  festivity.  Jotliam,  in  the  far-back  days  of  the  Judges,  had 
praised  it  as  "cheering  God  and  man,"  and  among  other  passages,  a 
Psalm  had  spoken  of  it  as  making  glad  the  heart,  though  its  immod- 
erate use  had  been  condemned  in  many  Scriptures.  "Wine  is  the 
best  of  all  medicines,"  said  a  Hebrew  proverb:  "  where  wine  is  want- 
ing, doctors  thrive."  "May  thenj  be  always  wine  and  life  in  the 
mouth  of  the  Rabbi,"  was  one  of  the  toasts  at  their  festivities.  But, 
withal,  this  referred  only  to  its  moderate  use.  Among  the  parables 
in  which  the  people  delighted,  one  ran  thus — "  When  Noah  planted 
his  vineyard,  Satan  came  and  asked  him  v.hat  he  was  doing?  'Plant- 
ing a  vineyard,'  was  the  reply.  'What  is  it  for?'  'Its  fruits,  green 
or  diy,  are  sweet  and  pleasant:  we  make  wine  of  it,  which  gladdens 
the  heart.'  '  I  should  like  to  have  a  hand  in  the  planting,'  said  Satan. 
'Good,'  replied  Noah.  Satan  then  brought  a  lamb,  a  lion,  a  sow,  and 
an  ape,  killed  them  in  the  vineyard,  and  let  their  blood  run  into  the 
roots  of  the  vines.  From  this  it  comes  that  a  man,  before  he  has 
taken  wine,  is  simple  as  a  lamb,  which  knows  nothing,  and  is  dumb 
before  its  shearers;  when  he  has  drunk  moderately,  he  grows  a  lion, 
and  thinks  there  is  not  his  like;  if  he  drink  too  much,  he  turns  a 
swine,  and  wallows  in  the  mire;  if  he  drink  still  more,  he  becomes  a 
lilthy  ape,  falling  hither  and  thither,  and  knowing  nothing  of  what 
he  does.  * 

The  good  and  the  evil  of  wine  were  thus  familiar,  but  we  may  be 
certain  that  only  its  better  side,  as  enjoyed  among  a  people  at  once 
simple  and  sober,  avIio  held  excess  in  abhorrence,  and  in  a  household 
where  license  was  not  to  be  thought  of — was  seen  at  the  marriage  in 
Cana,  and  this  temperate  use  of  it  Jesus  cheerfully  sanctioned.  Mary, 
with  her  gentle  womanly  feeling  for  the  shame  of  seeming  iuhospi- 
tality  that  threatened  the  host,  indulged  the  hope  that  He  whose  mys- 
terious birth,  honoured  by  a  special  star,  and  the  songs  of  angels,  and 
whose  changed  look  and  bearing,  since  His  Jordan  visit,  could  not 
have  escaped  her,  would  now  put  forth  the  hidden  powers  she  might 
"well  believe  Him  to  have,  to  brighten  the  familj^  circle,  in  whose  life 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  833 

this  feast  was  so  great  an  event.  She  had,  however,  to  learn,  by  a 
gentle  rebuke,  that  His  human  relation  to  her  was  now  merged  and 
lost  in  a  higher.  Using  an  everyday  form  of  words,  of  immemorial 
age  in  the  nation,  witli  a  look  of  love  and  tenderness.  He  waived  her 
implied  solicitation  aside — "Woman,  what  is  there  to  me  and  thee? 
Mine  hour  is  not  yet  come."  There  was  no  disrespect  in  the  word 
"woman,"  for  He  used  it  afterwards  to  her,  when  on  the  cross,  in  His 
last  tender  offices  of  love.  It  was  as  if  He  had  said,  "Our  spheres 
lie  apart.  Hitherto  you  have  known  me  as  j'our  Son.  Henceforth,  I 
am  much  more.  My  divine  powers  are  only  for  divine  ends :  at  the 
call  of  my  Father  alone,  for  His  glor}^  only.  He  fixes  my  hour  for 
all  the  works  He  wills  me  to  do,  and  in  this  case  it  has  not  yet  come." 
"  Whatsoever  He  saith  unto  you,  do  it,"  said  Mary,  on  hearing  His 
answer — for  it  had  no  harshness  to  her. 

The  superstitious  dread  of  ceremonial  uncleanness,  among  the 
Jews,  made  ample  provision  necessary  in  every  household,  for  con- 
stant washings  of  vessels,  or  of  the  person.  No  one  ate  without 
washing  the  hands ;  each  guest  had  his  feet  washed  on  his  arrival, 
for  sandals  were  left  outside  and  only  naked  feet  allowed  to  touch 
a  host's  floor;  and  the  washing  of  "cups,  and  jugs,  and  bottles," 
as  the  Talmud  tells  us,  "went  on  the  whole  day."  Six  great 
jars  of  stone,  therefore,  for  such  purifications,  stood  ranged  outside 
the  door,  or  in  the  chamber;  their  narrow  mouths  likely  filled  with 
green  leaves,  as  is  still  the  custom,  to  keep  the  water  cool.  "Fill  the 
water  pots  with  water,"  said  Jesus,  adding,  when  they  had  carefully 
filled  them  to  the  brim,  ' '  Draw  out,  and  take  supplies  to  the  governor 
of  the  feast."  But  the  water  was  now  glowing  wine.  His  words  to 
His  mother  and  the  servants  had  been  unnoticed  by  the  company, 
and  the  fresh  supply,  when  tasted  first,  as  the  fashion  was,  by  the 
chief  man  of  the  feast,  on  whom  it  fell  to  see  to  the  entertainment 
of  the  guests,  was  found  so  good,  that  he  goodhumouredly  rallied 
the  bridegroom  on  keeping  the  best  to  the  last. 

The  "glory"  of  Jesus  had  always  shone,  to  those  who  had  eyes  to 
see  it,  in  the  spotless  beauty  of  His  life,  but  this  was  a  revelation  of 
it  in  a  new  form.  It  was  the  "  beginning"  of  His  miracles,  wrought, 
as  was  fitting,  in  stillness  and  privacy,  without  display, — to  cheer  and 
brighten  those  around  Him.  His  presence  at  such  a  feast  showed  Hia 
sympathy  with  human  joys,  human  connections,  and  human  relation- 
ships. He  taught  by  it,  for  the  first  time,  that  common  life  in  all  its 
phases,  may  be  raised  to  a  religious  dignity,  and  that  the  loving 
smile  of  God,  like  the  tender  blue  above,  looks  down  on  the  whole 
round  of  existence.  He  had  not  been  invited  as  the  chief  guest, 
or  as  in  any  way  distinguished,  for  He  was  not  yet  The  Teacher, 
famed  throughout  the  land,  nor  had  His  miracles  begun  to  reveal 
His  higher  claims.  But  He  took  the  place  assigned  Him  as  one  among 
the  many,  as  naturally  as  the  lowliest  of  the  company,  and  remained 
unknown  tiU  His  divine  glory  tevealed  Him. 


8f34  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

1113  miraculous  power,  indeed,  was  only  one  aspect  of  this  "glory." 
In  a  Lir  higher  sense  it  was  "manifested"  in  His  Person,  it  was, 
douLtless,  amazing  to  possess  such  powers,  but,  that  One  whose  word, 
or  mere  will,  could  command  the  obedience  of  nature,  should  mingle 
as  a  friend  in  an  humble  marriage  festivity,  a  man  amongst  men,  was 
still  more  wonderful.  JSTothing  could  better  illustrate  His  perfect 
manhood,  than  His  identifying  Himself  thus  with  the  humble  inci- 
dents of  a  private  circle.  He  had  grown  up  under  the  common  ordi- 
nances of  human  existence,  as  a  child,  a  son,  a  brother,  a  friend,  and 
a  neighbour.  Asa  Jew,  He  had  shared  in  the  social,  civil,  and  religious 
life  of  His  nation.  His  presence  at  this  marriage,  showed  that  He 
continued  the  same  familiar  relations  to  His  fellow-men,  after  His 
consecration  as  before  it.  Neither  His  nationality,  nor  education,  nor 
mental  charactei'istics,  nor  natural  temperament,  narrowed  His  sym- 
pathies. Though  burdened  with  the  high  commission  of  the  Messiah, 
He  retained  a  vivid  interest  in  all  tilings  human.  With  us,  any 
supreme  i^re-occupation  leaves  only  apathy  for  other  things.  But  in 
Christ,  no  one  faculty  or  emotion  appeared  in  excess.  His  fulness  of 
nature  suited  itself  to  every  occasion.  Strength  and  grace,  wisdom 
and  love,  courage  and  purity,  which  are  the  one  side  of  our  being, 
were  never  displayed  so  harmoniously,  and  so  perfectly,  as  in  Him, 
but  the  incidents  of  this  marriage  feast  show  that  the  other  side,  the 
feminine  gentleness  and  pvu'ity,  which  are  the  ideal  "\irtues  of  woman, 
were  no  less  His  characteristics.  They  throw  light  *on  the  words  of 
St.  Paul,  "  In  Him  is  neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  bond  nor  free,  male  nor 
female."  He  could  subdue  Pilate  by  His  calm  dignity,  but  He  also 
ministered  to  the  happiness  of  a  village  festival.  He  could  with- 
stand tlie  struggle  with  the  Prince  of  Darkness  in  the  wilderness,  and 
through  life,  but  He  wept  over  the  grave  of  Lazarus.  He  could  let 
the  rich  young  ruler  go  his  way  to  perish,  if  he  would,  but  He  sighed 
as  He  liealcd  the  man  that  was  dumb.  He  pronounced  the  doom  of 
Jerusalem,  with  a  lofty  sternness,  but  He  wept  as  He  thought  how  it 
had  neglected  the  things  of  its  peace.  He  craved  sympathj^  and  He 
showed  it  with  equal  tenderness:  Pie  was  calm  amidst  the  wildest 
popular  tumult,  but  He  sought  the  lonely  mountain  for  midnight 
prayer.  He  sternly  rebuked  Peter  for  hinting  a  temptation,  but  He 
blamed  His  sleep  in  Gethsemane  on  the  weakness  of  the  flesh.  He 
gave  away  a  crown  when  on  the  cross,  but  He  was  exceedingly  sor- 
rowful unto  death  in  the  garden.  He  never  used  His  miraculous 
powers  to  relieve  Himself,  but  He  provided  for  the  multitude  in  the 
wilderness.  His  judges  quailed  before  Him,  but  He  forgot  His  dying 
agonies,  to  commend  His  mother  to  the  lifelong  care  of  a  friend.  He 
rebuked  death,  that  He  might  give  her  son  back  to  the  widow;  and 
He  took  part  in  the  rejoicings  of  an  humble  marriage,  that  He  might 
elevate  and  sanctify  human  joys.  In  the  fullest  sense  He  was  a  man, 
but  not  in  the  sense  in  which  manly  virtues  are  opposed  to  those  of 
■wouxau.  for  He  shovv-cd  no  less  the  gentleness,  pui'ity,  and  tenderness 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  S35 

of  the  one  sex,  than  the  strength  and  nobility  of  the  other.  He  was 
the  Son  of  Man,  in  the  grand  sense  of  being  representative  of  humanity 
as  a  wlaole.     Man  and  woman,  alike,  havs  in  Him  their  perfect  ideal. 

An  Indian  apologue  tells  us  that  a  Brahmin,  one  of  whose  disciples 
had  been  perplexed  respecting  miracles,  ordered  a  flower-pot  filled 
with  earth  to  be  brought  him,  and  having  put  a  seed  into  it  before 
the  doubter,  caused  it  to  spring  up,  blossom,  and  bear  fruit,  while  he 
still  stood  by.  "  A  miracle,"  cried  the  j'oung  man.  "  Son,"  replied 
the  Brahmin,  "  what  else  do  j'ou  see  done  here  in  an  hour  than  nature 
does  more  slowly  round  the  year?"  The  wine  which  the  guests  had 
drunk  from  the  bridegroom's  bounty,  and  possibly  fromthe  added 
gifts  of  friends,  had  been  slowly  matured  from  the  vine  by  mj'sterious 
elaboration,  from  light,  and  heat,  and  moisture,  and  the*  salts  of  the 
earth,  none  of  which  had  more  apparent  affinity  to  it  than  the  water 
which  Jesus  transformed  The  miracle  ii^  nature  was  not  less  real  or 
wonderful  than  that  of  the  marriage  feast,  and  strikes  us  less,  only  by 
its  being  familiar.  At  the  threshold  of  Christ's  miraculous  works  it 
is  well  to  realize  a  fact  so  easily  overlooked.  A  miracle  is  only  an 
exercise,  in  a  new  way,  of  the  Almighty  power  we  see  daily  produc- 
ing perhaps  the  same  results  in  nature.  .lufinitgly  varied  forces  are 
at  work  around  us  every  moment.  From  the  sun  to  the  atom,  from 
the  stone  to  the  thinking  brain  and  beating  h.eart,  they  circulate 
sleeplessly,  through  all  things,  for  ever.  As  they  act  and  react  oa 
each  other,  the  amazing  result  is  produced  which'we  know  as  nature, 
but  how  many  mysterious  inter-relations,  of  which  we  know  nothing, 
may  offer  endlessly  varied  means  for  producing  specific  ends,  at  the 
command  of  God?  Nor  is  there  anything  more  amazing  in  the  works 
of  Christ  than  in  the  daily  phenomena  of  nature.  The  vast  universe, 
embracing  heavens  above  heavens,  stretching  out  into  the  Infinite— 
with  constellations  anchored  on  the  vast  expanse  like  tiny  islet  clu.sters 
on  the  boundless  ocean,  is  one  gi'eat  miracle.  It  was  wonderful  to 
create,  but  to  sustain  creation  is,  itself,  to  create  anew,  each  moment. 
Suns  and  planets,  living  creatures  in  their  endless  races,  all  that  the 
round  sky  of  each  planet  covers — seas,  air,  sweeping  vallcj's,  lofty 
mountains,  and  the  million  wonders  of  the  brain  and  heart,  and  life, 
of  their  innumerable  populations,  have  no  security,  each  moment, 
that  they  shall  commence  another,  except  in  the  continued  expendi- 
ture of  fresh  creative  energy.  ^liraclcs  are  only  the  momentary 
intercalation  of  unsuspected  laws  which  startle  by  their  novelty,  but 
are  no  more  miraculous  than  the  most  common  incident  of  the' great 
mystery  of  nature. 

The  beginning  of  the  public  career  of  Jesus  as  jV[e.sslah  at  a  time  so 
joyful  as  a  household  festival  was  appropriate.  His  bounteous  gift 
fitly  marked  the  opening  of  His  kiuglj'  work,  like  the  fountains  flow- 
ing witli  wine  at  the  coronation  of  earthly  kings.  But  a  king  very 
different  from  earthly  monarchs  was  now  entering  on  His  reign.  No 
«utward  preparation  is  made:  He  has  no  worldly  wealth  or  rich. 


336  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

provision  to  lavish  away.  Yet,  though  He  has  no  wine,  water  itself, 
at  His  word,  becomes  wine,  rich  as  the  finest  vintage.  Till  His  hour 
has  come.  He  remains  passive  and  self-restrained,  awaiting  the  moment 
divinely  appointed  for  His  glory  shining  ont  among  men.  Once 
come,  the  slumbering  power,  till  now  unrevealcd,  breaks  forth,  never 
to  cease  its  gracious  work  of  blessing  and  healing,  till  the  kingdom 
He  came  to  found  is  triumphant  in  His  death. 

The  age  of  Jesus  at  His  entrance  on  His  public  work  has  been  very 
variously  estimated.  Ewald  suppo-ses  tliat  He  was  about  thirty-four, 
fixing  His  birth  three  years  before  the  death  of  Herod.  Wieseler,  on 
the  contrary,  supposes  Him  to  have  been  in  His  thirty-first  year, 
setting  His  birth  a  few  months  before  Herod's  death.  Bunsen,  Anger, 
Winer,  Schiirer,  and  Renan  agree  with  this:  Lichtenstcin  makes  Him 
thirty-two.  Hausrath  and  Kcim,  on  the  other  hand,  think  that  He 
began  His  ministry  in  the  year  a.d.  34,  but  they  do  not  give  any 
supposed  date  for  His  birtfi,  though  if  that  of  Ewald  be  taken  as  a 
medium.  He  must  now  have  been  forty  years  old,  while,  if  Wieseler's 
date  be  preferred.  He  would  only  have  been  thirty -seven.  The 
statement  of  the  Gospel,  Wiat  He  was  "  ahotit  thirty  years  of  age  when 
He  began"  His  public  work,  is  so  indefinite  as  to  allow  free  conjecture. 
In  any  case,  He  must  have  been  thirty-one  at  His  baptism,  from  His 
having  been  born  before  Herod's  death.  It  was  even  supposed  by 
Irena^us,  from  the  saying  of  the  Jews, — "Thou art  not  yet  fiftj-  years 
old,"  and  from  His  allusion  to  the  forty-six  j'ears  during  which  the 
Temple  had  been  building,  that  He  was  between  forty  and  fifty  at 
His  death.  Amidst  such  difference,  exactness  is  impossible,  and  it 
seems  safest  to  keep  to  the  generalitj^  of  St.  Luke,  by  thinking  of 
Jesus  as  ab&iit  thirty — though  not  younger — at  His  baptism. 

The  stay  at  Cana'  seems  to  have  been  short.  It  may  have  been  only 
a  family  visit,  or  it  may  have  been,  that,  from  some  cause,  Mary  had 
gone  for  a  time  to  live  there;  but,  in  cither  case,  Jesus  very  soon 
removed  from  a  locality  so  little  suited  to  His  work,  from  its  isola- 
tion, and  remoteness  from  the  centres  of  life  and  population.  He 
had  resolved  to  make  Galilee,  in  which  He  was  at  home,  the  chief 
scene  of  His  labours.  He  was,  moreover,  safer_  there  than  either  in 
Judea  or  Perea,  for  the  hierarchy  could  reach  I*i«n  more  easilv  in  the 
one,  and  the  tyranny  of  Antipas  was  less  restrained  in  the  wild  ter- 
ritory  of  the  other.  The  kingdom  He  came  to  set  up  must  grow 
silently,  and  bj'  slow^  peaceful  degrees,  like  the  mustard  seed,  to 
which  he  compared  it,  and  it  could  not  do  so  in  any  part  so  well  as 
in  Galilee.  Far  away  from  turbulent  Judea,  He  escaped  the  excite- 
ments, more  or  less  political,  the  insurrections,  and  wild  dreams  of 
national  supremacy,  ever  fermenting  at  Jerusalem,  and  avoided  excit- 
ing suspicion,  or  having  His  spiritual  aims  perverted  by  the  revolu- 
tionary violence  of  the  masses.  His  kingdom  was  not  of  this  world, 
like  the  Messianic  dominion  fondly  expected  by  the  nation,  but  th* 
lar  mightier  reign  of  "The  Truth." 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  337 

Oalilee  was,  however,  in  some  respects,  an  unfavourable  centre, 
Tlie  morose  and  self-sufficient  Jerusalemites  ridiculed  its  population, 
and  affected  to  think  that  no  prophet  had  risen  in  it,  though  Elijah, 
Elisha,  Rosea,  and  Nahum,— the  first,  tlie  greatest  of  the  prophets, — • 
liad  been  Galilseans.  The  wits  of  the  capital,  moreover,  ridiculed  them 
for  their  speech,  for  thej^  substituted  one  letter  for  another,  and  had 
a  broad  pronunciation.  Their  culture,  and  even  their  capacity  were 
contemned,  though  so  many  prophets  had  risen  amongst '  them, 
though  they  could  boast  of  Barak,  the  concjueror  of  the  C'anaanites, 
(ind  of  many  famous  Rabbis,  and  though  the  high-minded  Judas,  the 
Zealot,  had  shed  honour  on  them,  in  Christ's  own  day,  as  the  great 
Sipostle  Paul,  sprung  from  a  Gischala  family,  was  to  do  hereafter. 
But  hatred,  or  jealousy,  like  love,  is  blind. 

It  is  hard  to  know  how  early  the  Rabbinical  fancy  of  two  ^lessiahs 
(irose,  but,  if  it  had  already  taken  any  shape  in  Christ's  lifetime,  it 
must  rather  have  hindered  than  helped  His  great  work.  The  Messiah 
of  the  House  of  Joseph  was  to  appear  in  Galilee,  and,  after  gathering 
round  him  the  long-lost  ten  tribes,  was  to  march,  at  their  head,  to 
Jerusalem,  to  receive  the  submission  of  the  iMessiah  of  the  House  of 
David,  and,  having  united  the  whole  kingdom  once  more,  was  to  die 
by  the  hands  of  Gog  and  Magog,  the  northern  heathen,  as  a  sacrifice 
for  the  sins  of  Jeroboam,  and  of  the  nation  at  large.  But  these  fancies 
took  a  definite  form  only  in  a  later  age,  and  we  find  no  trace  of  them 
in  the  New  Testament.  Who  can  tell,  however,  how  old  their  germs 
maj^  have  been?  They  show,  at  least,  what  the  application  of  passages 
from  the  prophets  to  Christ's  first  appearing  in  Galilee  also  implies, 
that  the  Galileans  cherished  the  great  promise  of  the  Messiah.  Frank, 
high-spirited,  and  comparatively  unprejudiced,  they  were  more  ready 
than  other  Jews  to  listen  to  a  new  teacher,  and  the  thousands  who  had 
rekindled  their  zeal  on  the  banks  of  the  Jordan,  under  the  preaching 
of  John,  had  already  on  their  return,  spread  around  them  the  excited 
expectation  of  an  immediate  advent  of  the  Messiah,  which  the  Baptist 
had  announced.  But  though  the  soil  was  thus  specially  favourable 
for  His  earlier  work,  the  fame  of  Jesus  was  hereafter  to  spread,  in 
spite  of  all  local  prejudices,  till,  at  last,  He  should  hear  Himself  pro- 
claimed by  the  multitude,  even  in  the  streets  of  Jerusalem,  as  Jesus, 
the  prophet  of  Nazareth  of  Galilee. 

Nazareth,  itself,  like  Caua,  lay  too  far  from  the  centres  of  popula- 
tion for  Christ's  great  work,  and  there  was,  besides,  the  inevitable 
drawback  of  its  having  known  Him  diiring  the  long  }-ears  of  His 
humble  privacy.  He,  doubtless,  felt,  from  the  first,  what  He  after- 
wards expressed  with  so  much  feeling,  that  "a  prophet  is  not  with- 
out honour,  save  in  his  own  country,  and  in  his  own  house."  His 
fellow  townsmen,  and  even  His  own  family,  could  not  realize  that 
one  wdiose  lowly  position  and  immarked  career,  they  had  had  before 
them  through  life,  could  be  so  nmch  above  them.  It  was,  in  infinitely 
greater  degree,  the  same   pettiness,  and    inability  to  estimate  the 


338  THE  LIFE  OF  CHKIST. 

familiar  justly,  that,  in  our  own*  age,  made  John  Wilson  write,  that 
as  "the  northern  Highlanders  do  not  admire  'Waverley,'  so,  I  pre- 
sume, the  south  Highlanders  despise  'Guy  Mannering.'  The  West- 
moreland peasants  think  Wordsworth  a  fool.  In  Borrowdale,  Southey 
is  not  known  to  exist.  I  met  ten  men  in  Hawick  who  do  not  think 
Hogg  a  poet,  and  the  whole  city  of  Glasgow  think  me  a  madman." 
With  such  counteracting  prejudices,  Nazareth  was  altogether  unsuited 
for  the  longer  residence  of  Jesus,  and  hence  He  seems  never  to  have 
returned  to  it,  after  His  baptism,  except  for  a  passing  visit. 

He  chose  for  His  future  home  the  shores  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  at 
that  time  the  most  populous,  as  they  are  still  the  most  delightful, 
part  of  Palestine.  Henceforth,  the  "jewel"  of  its  banks — C?;pernaum 
— became  "His  OAvn  citj^"  and  for  a  time,  at  least.  His  mother  and 
His  "brethren"  seem  also  to  have  made  it  their  home,  though  a  little 
later,  we  find  Jesus  living  permanently  as  a  guest  in  the  house  of 
Peter,  as  if  they  had  once  more  left  it,  and  returned  to  Nazareth. 
From  this  centre  His  future  work  was  carried  on.  From  it  He  set 
out  on  His  missionary  journeys,  and  He  returned  to  it  from  them  to 
find  a  welcome  and  a  home. 

Capernaum  lay  on  the  western  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  at  the 
spot,  a  little  way  from  the  head  of  the  Lake,  where  the  shore  recedes 
in  a  more  westerly  arc,  forming  a  small  cape,  from  which  the  view 
embraces  the  whole  coast,  in  every  direction.  It  could  never  have 
been  very  large,  for  Josephus  only  once  mentions  it,  as  a  village  to 
which  he  Avas  carried  by  his  soldiers,  when  hurt  by  a  fall  from  his 
horse,  which  had  stuck  in  the  marsh  at  the  head  of  the  Lake.  The 
name  docs  not  occur  in  the  Old  Testament.  Capernaum,  was  the 
boundary  town  between  the  tenitory  of  Philip  and  Antipas,  and,  aa 
such,  had  a  custom-house  and  a  garrison.  One  of  the  officers  sta- 
tioned for  a  time  in  it,  a  foreigner,  and,  doubtless,  a  proselyte,  had, 
in  Christ's  day,  built  a  fine  synagogue,  as  a  mark,  at  once  of  his 
friendly  feeling  to  the  Jewish  nation,  and  of  homage  to  Jehovah. 
The  whitewashed  houses  were  built  of  black  l)asalt  or  lava,  which  still 
lies  in  boulders,  here  and  there,  over  the  neighbourhood,  and  gives 
the  ground  a  dark  appearance  when  the  tall  spring  grass  has  withered 
and  left  it  bare.  The  sj^uagogue,  however,  Avas  of  white  limestone. 
Great  blocks  of  chiselled  stone,  finely  carved,  once  its  frieze,  archi- 
trave, and  cornices,  still  lie  among  the  waving  thistles,  where  the 
town  once  stood.  The  walls  are  now  nearly  level  with  the  surface, 
most  of  the  pillars  and  stones  having  been  carried  ofl;  to  build  into 
hou.se  walls,  or  bvirn  for  lime,  though  some  of  its  once  double  row  of 
columns,  hewn  in  one  block,  and  of  their  Corinthian  capitals,  and 
massy  pedestals,  still  speak  of  its  former  splendour.  Round  the  syn- 
agogue, and  stretching  up  the  gentle  slope  behind,  stretched  the 
streets  and  squares,  covering  an  area  of  half-a-mile  in  length,  and  a 
quarter  in  breadth,  the  main  street  running  north,  to  the  neighbQur- 
ing  Chorazin.  ■ .  -■ 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  8S9 

At  the  north  end  of  the  town,  two  tombs  yet  remain ;  one  built  of 
limestone,  undergroimd,  in  an  excavation  hollowed  out  with  great 
labour  in  the  hard  basalt;  the  other,  a  rectangular  building,  above 
ground,  large  enough  to  hold  a  great  number  of  bodies,  and  once, 
apparently,  whitewashed,  to  warn  passers  by  not  to  defile  themselves 
by  too  near  an  approach  to  the  dead. 

Capernaum,  in  Christ's  day,  was  a  thriving,  busy  town.  The 
"highway  to  the  Sea,"  from  Damascus  to  Ptolemals, — now  Acre, 
but  slill  known  by  the  former  name,  in  the  seventeenth  century, — ran 
through  it,  bringing  no  little  local  traffic,  and  also  opening  the  mar- 
kets of  the  coast  to  the  rich  yield  of  the  neighbouring  farms,  orchards, 
and  vineyards,  and  the  abundant  returns  of  the  fisheries  of  the  Lake. 
The  townsfolk,  thus,  as  a  rule,  enjoyed  the  comfort  and  plenty  we 
see  in  the  houses  of  Peter  and  Matthew,  and  were  even  open  to  the 
charge  of  being  "  wincbil)bers  and  gluttonous,"  which  implied  gen- 
erous entertainment.  They  were  proud  of  their  town,  and  counted 
on  its  steady  growth  and  unbounded  prosperity,  little  dreaming  of 
the  ruin  which  would  one  day  make  even  its  site  a  question. 

It  was  in  this  town  that  Jesus  settled,  amidst  a  mixed  population  of 
fisher-people,  grain  and  fruit  agents,  local  tradesmen,  and  the  many 
classes  and  occupations  of  a  thriving  station  on  a  great  line  of  caravan 
traffic.  It  was  a  point  that  brought  Him  in  contact  with  Gentile  as 
well  as  Jewish  life.  Households  like  that  of  Peter,  proselytes  like  the 
centurion,  and  the  need  of  a  large  synagogue,  imply  a  healthy  relig- 
iousness in  not  a  few,  Init  the  woe  pronounced  on  the  town  by  Jesus, 
after  a  time,  shows  that  whatever  influence  He  .may  have  had  on  a 
circle,  the  citizens  as  a  whole  were  too  much  engrossed  with  their 
daily  aSiairs  to  pay  much  heed  to  Him. 

An  hour's  walk  behind  the  town  leads  to  gentle  hill  slopes,  which, 
in  April,  are  thinly  covered  with  crisp  gTasses,  and  stalks  of  weeds. 
From  their  top,  the  eye  follows  the  course  of  the  Jordan  as  it  enters 
the  Lake  in  two  streams,  through  a  marshy  delta,  the  favourite  pas- 
ture ground  for  herds  of  luige,  ungainly,  fierce,  and  often  dangerous 
black  buffaloes,  which  delight  to  wallow  by  day  in  such  marshy 
places,  up  to  the  neck  in  water  or  mud,  and  return  at  night  to  their 
masters,  the  Arabs  of  the  Jordan  valley.  Jesus  must  often  have 
seen  these  herds  luxuriating  idly  in  this  swampy  paradise,  for  they 
are  not  used  for  labour  in  Uie  district  round  the  Lake,  though  they 
are  sometimes  set  to  drag  the  plough  in  the  parts  near  the  Waters  of 
Merom.  The  Lake  itself,  stretched  out,  north  and  south,  like  a  pear 
in  shape,  the  broad  end  towards  the  north ;  or  like  a  lyre,  from  which, 
indeed,  it  got  its  ancient  name  of  Chinneroth.  Its  greatest  width, 
from  the  ancient  Magdala  on  the  west  side,  to  Gergesa  on  the  east,  is 
six  and  three-quarter  miles,  and  its  extreme  length,  a  little  over 
twelve.  There  are  no  pine-clad  mountains,  no  bold  headlands,  no 
iofty  precipices;  the  hills. — except  at  Khan  Minyeh,  the  ancient 
Tarichoea,  a  little  below  Capernaum,  where  there  is  a  small  cliff, — ■ 


340  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

rise  gradually,  in  a  dull  uniform  brown,  from  the  Lake,  or  from  a 
frinije  of  plain;  on  tlie  soutli  and  east,  to  about  1,000  feet,  on  the 
north-west  to  about  500.  No  prominent  peak  breaks  the  outline,  but 
the  ever-changing  lights,  and  the  rich  tints  of  sunrise  and  sunset,  pre- 
vent monotony.  From  the  south  of  the  Lake,  the  top  of  Hermou, 
often  white  with  snow,  stands  out  sharp  and  clear,  in  the  bright  sky, 
as  if  close  at  hand,  and,  towards  the  north,  the  twin  peaks  of  Hattin 
crown  a  wild  gorge,  a  little  way  below  Capernaum.  On  the  eastern 
side  the  hills  rise  in  a  barren  wall,  seamed  with  a  few  deep  ravines, 
black  basalt  predominating,  though  varied  here  and  there  by  tlie 
lighter  grey  limestone.  No  trees,  no  village,  no  spots  of  cultivated 
land,  break  the  desolation  which  spreads  like  a  living  death  over  the 
landscape,  except  along  the  narrow  stripe  of  green,  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  in  breadth,  that  fringes  tlie  Lake.  It  Avas  among  these  waste 
and  lonely  hills  that  Jesus  often  retired  to  escape  the  crowds  which 
often  oppressed  Him.  The  hills  on  the  western  side  slope  more 
gently,  and  rise  and  fall  in  rounded  tops,  such  as  mark  the  softer 
limestone.  The  line  of  the  shore,  in  tlie  upper  part  of  the  Lake,  is 
broken  into  a  series  of  little  bays  of  exquisite  beauty. 

The  Rabbis  were  wont  to  say  that  God  had  made  seven  seas  in  the 
land  of  Canaan,  but  bad  chosen  only  one  for  Himself — the  sea  of 
Galilee.  Josephus  rightly  called  the  land  on  its  borders,  "  the  crown" 
of  Palestine.  The  plain  of  Gennesareth  begins  at  Khan  Minyeh, 
about  two  miles  below  Capernaum,  filling  in  the  bow-like  recess, 
which  the  hills  make  from  that  point  to  Magdala.  It  is  as  romantic 
as  beautiful,  for  the  ravine  at  its  southern  end  leads,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance, to  the  towering  limestone  cliffs  of  Arbela,  on  mIiosc  heights 
numerous  eagles  now  build,  among  the  airy  caverns,  once  the  fortress 
alteiTiately  of  robbers  and  patriots,  to  whom  the  valley  offered  a  way 
to  the  Lake.  Gennesareth  was  the  richest  spot  in  Palestine;  five 
streamlets  from  the  neighbouring  hills  quickening  its  rich  dark  vol- 
canic soil  into  amazing  fertility.  It  measures  only  about  two  and  a 
half  miles  from  north  to  south,  by  about  a  mile  in  depth,  but,  in  the 
days  of  Christ,  it  must  have  been  enchantingly  beautiful.  "Its  soil," 
says  Josephus,  "is  so  fruitful  that  all  kinds  of  trees  grow  in  it. 
Walnuts  flourish  in  great  plenty;  there  are  palm-trees  also,  which  re- 
quire heat,  and  figs  and  olives,  which  require  a  more  temperate  air. 
Nature  seems,  as  it  were,  to  have  done  violence  to  herself,  to  cause 
the  plants  of  different  lands  to  grow  together.  Grapes  and  figs  ripen 
for  ten  months  in  the  year,  and  other  fruits  fill  up  the  other  months. " 

No  wonder  the  fruits  of  Gennesareth  put  to  shame  all  else  in  the 
markets  of  Jerusalem.  Its  soil  is  still  fertile  in  the  extreme,  and  it 
lies  between  five  and  .six  hundred  feet  below  the  Mediterranaan, 
which  makes  it  very  warm.  Wheat,  barley,  millet,  rice,  melons, 
grapes,  the  common  vegetables,  tobacco,  and  indigo  flourish,  and 
date-palms,  figs,  citrons,  and  oranges  are  not  wanting.  Gennesareth 
melons  are  exported  to  Damascus  and  Acre,  and  are  greatly  prized. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  841 

The  oleanders,  and  wild  figs,  palms,  &c.,  rise,  here  and  there,  in 
rank  luxuriance,  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in  former  times, 
when  the  wliole  soil  was  carefully  tilled,  few  semi-tropical  plants 
would  have  failed  to  grow.  The  climate  of  the  lake  shore,  generally, 
is  so  mild  even  in  winter,  tliat  snow  seldom  falls.  In  summer,  on 
the  other  hand,  it  is  oppressively  hot,  for,  except  at  the  plain  of 
Gennesareth,  which  enjoys  cool  breezes  from  Lebanon,  the  hills  shut 
out  the  west  wind,  which  almost  alone  abates  .the  intensity  of  *he 
summer  in  Palestine,  and  hence  the  people  of  Tiberias  are  glad  to 
sleep  in  shelters  of  straw  or  leaves  on  their  roofs,  during  the  hot 
months.  JNIelons  ripen  four  weeks  earlier  than  at  Acre  and  Damas- 
cus, and  though  wheat  is  not  so  early  ripe  as  at  Jericho,  where  the 
harvest  is  in  May,  it  is  ready  for  the  sickle  in  June.  A  spot  so 
charming,  could  not,  however,  escape  some  drawback.  This  sultry 
moist  heat  causes,  along  the  marshy  lake  edge,  a  prevalence  of  fever, 
and  sometimes  brings  the  pestilence,  and  ophthalmia  and  sickness  of 
various  kinds  are  only  too  common. 

The  shores  of  the  plain  are  white  with  myriads  of  little  shells,  over 
which  the  transparent,  crystal-like  waters  rise  and  fall  with  the  wind, 
and  the  side  next  the  hills  is  shut  in  by  a  fringe  of  oleanders,  rich, 
each  May,  in  red  and  white  blossom.  In  the  days  of  Christ  the 
whole  landscape  was  full  of  life.  Busy  towns  and  villages  crowded 
the  shores,  and  the  waters  swarmed  with  boats,  employed  in  the 
fisheries,  which  even  gave  their  names  to  several  of  the  towns. 
South  of  Capernaum  lay  the  busy  city  of  Tarichaea,  or  "Pickling 
Town," — the  great  fish-curing  port — which  had  boats  enough  to  meet 
the  Romans,  a  generation  later,  in  a  deadly  sea-fight  on  the  Lake,  and 
had  to  see  eight  thousand  of  its  citizens,  and  of  those  wlio  had  taken 
refuge  in  it,  slain,  and  nearly  forty  thousand  sold  as  slaves.  It  and 
Tiberias  were  the  two  ports  in  which  the  fishermen  of  Capernaum 
and  Bethsaida  found  a  read}'  sale  for  their  freights.  A  little  further 
south  rose  the  houses  of  'Magdala,  or  Migdal-El — "the  Tower  of 
God" — now  Medschel, — the  home  of  the  Mary  who  bears  its  name. 
Then  came  Tiberias,  with  its  splendid  palace,  grand  public  buildings, 
huge  arsenal,  and  famous  baths,  glittering  in  the  bright  sunshine ;  its 
motley,  busy  population;  and,  beyond,  rose,  still,  town  beyond  town. 
To  the  north,  on  the  slope  of  the  hills,  a  short  way  off,  lay  Chorazin, 
named,  it  might  seem,  from  the  "  Coracin"  fish  mentioned  by  Jo- 
sephus  as  found  in  its  neighbourhood.  At  the  head  of  the  Lake, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Jordan,  Bethsaida — "the  Fisher's  Town" — 
rebuilt,  and  re-named  Julias,  by  the  tetrarch  Philip,  was  fresh  from, 
the  hands  of  the  masons  and  sculptors,  and  along  the  eastern  shore 
lay  Gergesa,  Gamala,  Hippos,  and  otiier  swarming  hives  of  men. 
The  landscape  is  now  very  different.  The  thickly  peopled  shore  is 
almost  deserted.  Tiberias,  then  so  magnificent,  has  shrunk  into  a 
small  and  decaying  town,  like  every  place  under  Turkish  rule;  the 
white  towns  and  villages,  once  reflected  in  the  waters,  have  disap- 


842  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

peared;  the  fleets  of  fishing  boats  are  now  replaced  by  OEe  solitary 
crazy  boat;  the  riclily  wooded  hills  are  bare;  the  paradise  like  plains 
are  overgrown  with  tliorns  and  thistles.  The  shore,  varied  by 
stretches  of  sand,  interval;  of  white  tiny  shells,  shingle  with  larger 
shells,  here  and  there,  and  great  beds  of  black  basalt,  which  show 
th*^.  volcanic  nature  of  the  district,  as  do,  also,  the  warm  baths  at 
Tiberias,  is  silent.  Next  the  water,  reeds  and  rushes  grow  in  long 
reaches,  in  the  tiattea*  swampy  parts — a  favourite  haunt  of  the  peli- 
can, and  many  other  birds,  but,  above  all,  of  the  turtle-dove — the 
bird  dearest  from  of  old  to  the  Jew.  The  whole  must  have  been 
beautiful,  however,  in  fo:'mer  days,  to  make  the  Emperor  Titus  com- 
pare it  with  the  Lake  of  Neufchatel,  in  Switzerland,  though,  nowa- 
days, the  comparison  seems  fanciful. 

It  was  in  Capernaum  that  Jesus  chose  His  home,  in  the  midst  of 
this  life  and  beauty,  beside  the  gleaming  Lake,  embosomed  deep  on 
this,  its  western  shore,  in  soft  terraced  hills,  laughing  with  fruitful- 
ness;  the  higher  hills  of  Upper  Galilee  rising  beyond,  and  th« 
majestic  Hermon  closing  the  glorious  landscape.  The  view  over  the 
waters  showed  the  steep  slopes, — now  yellow  limestone,  now  black 
basalt, — which  led  up  to  the  Gaulonitis  country.  Capernaum  was 
the  town  of  His  three  chief  apostles,  Peter,  John,  and  James,  and 
also  of  Andrew.  Here  He  healed  the  centurion's  slave,  and  raised" 
the  daughter  of  Jairus;  called  Matthew  from  the  booth  where  he 
took  the  customs  dues,  and  healed  the  mother-in-law  of  Peter.  From 
a  boat  near  the  shore,  close  by.  He  preached  to  the  crowds,  and  it  was 
in  the  waters  off  the  town  that  He  vouchsafed  to  Peter  and  his 
brother  the  miraculous  draught  of  fishes. 

The  whole  neighbourhood,  indeed,  is  sacred  to  the  memory  of 
Jesus.  The  Lake  of  Galilee  had*  been  chosen  by  God  for  Himself, 
and  honoured  above  all  seas  of  the  earth,  in  a  sense  which  the  Kabbis 
little  dreamed.  The  men,  the  fields,  the  valleys  round  it,  are  immor- 
talized by  their  association  with  the  Saviour.  There  were  the  vine- 
yards, on  the  hill  slopes,  round  which  their  lord  planted  a  hedge,  and 
in  which  he  built  a  watch-tower,  and  dug  a  wine-press.  There  were 
the  suany  hills,  on  which  the  old  wine  had  gTown,  and  the  new  was 
growing,  for  which  the  householder  would  take  care  to  provide  the 
new  leather  bottles.  The  plain  of  Gennescreth  was  the  enamelled 
meadow,  on  which,  in  spring,  ten  thousand  lilies  were  robed  in 
more  than  the  glory  of  Solomon,  and  where,  in  winter,  the  grass  was 
cast  intw  the  oven.  It  was  on  such  pastures  as  those  around,  that  tiie 
ehepherd  left  the  ninety-and-nine  sheep,  to  seek,  in  the  mountains, 
the  one  that  was  lost,  and  bring  it  back,  when  found,  on  his  shoulders, 
J  ejoicing.  The  ravens,  that  have  neither  storehouse  nor  barn,  daily 
sailed  over  from  the  cliffs  of  Arbela,  to  seek  their  food  on  the  shore 
of  the  Lake,  and  from  the  same  cliffs,  from  time  to  time,  flew  forth 
the  hawks,  to  make  the  terrified  hen  gather  her  chickens  under  her 
■wings.    The  orchards  were  there  in  which  the  fig-tree  grew,  on  which 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  S43 

the  dresser  of  the  vineyard,  in  three  years,  fonnd  no  fruit,  and  in 
wliich  the  grain  of  mustard  seed  grew  into  so  great  a  tree  that  tlie 
fowls  of  tlie  air  lodged  in  its  branches.  Across  the  Lake,  rose  the 
hills  of  Gaulonitis,  which  the  idly  busy  Rabbis  watched  for  signs  of 
the  weather.  A  murky  red.  seen  above  them  in  the  morning,  was  a 
text  for  these  sky-prophets  to  predict  "  foul  weather  to-day,  for  the 
sky  is  red  and  lowering,"  and  it  was  when  the  sun  sank,  red  and 
glowing,  behind  the  hills  in  the  west,  that  the  solemn  gossips,  return- 
ing from  their  many  prayers  in  the  synagogue,  made  sure  that  it 
would  be  "  fair  weather  to-mon-ow."  It  was  when  the  sea-cloud  was 
seen  driving  over  the  hill-tops  from  Ptolemais  and  Carmclthat  neigh- 
bours warned  each  other  that  a  shower  was  coming,  and  the  clouds 
sailing  north,  towards  Safed  and  Hermon,  were  the  accepted  earnest 
of  coming  heat.  The  daily  business  of  Capernaum,  itself,  supplied 
many  of  the  illustrations  so  frequently  introduced  into  the  discourses 
of  Jesus.  He  might  see  in  the  bazaar  of  the  town,  or  on  the  street, 
ttie  rich  travelling  merchant,  who  exchanged  a  heavy  load  of  Baby- 
lonian carpets  for  the  one  lustrous  pearl  that  had,  perhaps,  found  its 
way  to  the  Lake  from  distant  Ceylon.  Fishermen,  and  publicans, 
and  dressers  of  vineyards  passed  and  re-passed  each  moment.  Over 
in  Julias,  the  favourite  town  of  the  tetrarcli  Philip;  below,  in  Ti- 
berias, at  the  court  of  Antipas,  lived  the  magnates,  who  delighted  to 
be  called  "gracious  lords,"  and  walked  in  silk  robes.  The  young 
Salome  lived  in  the  one  town;  her  mother,  Herodias,  in  the  other; 
and  the  intercourse  between  the  two  courts,  could  not  have  escaped 
the  all-observing  eye  of  Jesus,  as  He  moved  about  in  Capernaum. 

It  was  this  town,  on  the  border  between  the  districts  of  Philip  and 
Antipas,  on  the  great  highway  of  commerce  and  travel,  by  the  shore 
of  the  Lake,  in  the  midst  of  thickly  sown  towns  and  villages,  that 
Jesus  selected  as  His  future  home.  He  seems,  at  first,  to  have  lived 
with  His  mother  and  His  brethren,  and  the  few  disciples  He  had 
already  gathered,  but  His  stay,  at  this  time,  was  short,  for  He  pres- 
ently set  out  on  His  tirst  Passover  journey  to  Jerusalem.  On  His 
return,  He  appears  to  have  made  His  abode,  as  often  as  He  was  in 
the  town,  in  the  house  of  Peter,  who  lived  with  his  brother  Andrew 
and  his  mother-in-law.  It  had  a  courtyard  before  it,  and  was  on  the 
shore  of  the  Lake,  but  it  was,  at  best,  only  the  home  of  a  rough-handed' 
fisherman's  liouseliold. 


Li  of  0 — li. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

VISIT     TO     JERUSALEM. 

The  choice  of  Capernaum  by  Jesus  as  His  future  centre  was  sig- 
nificant. John  had  chosen  the  "terrible  wilderness,"  with  its  "vipers 
and  scorpions,  and  drought."  Jesus  selected  the  district  spoken  of 
as  "the  garden  of  God,'' and  "Paradise."  John  had  lived  amidst 
the  silence  of  desolation:  Jesus  came  to  a  centre  of  business  and 
travel,  to  live  amidst  men.  John  kept  equally  aloof  from  priest, 
prince,  or  governor,  from  Pome  and  from  Jerusalem;  Jesus  settled  in 
a  garrison  town,  noted  for  business,  and  near  Tiberias,  ■with  its  Idu- 
mean  prince,  the  future  murderer  of  the  Baptist,  and  its  gay  courtiers. 
The  contrast  maiked  the  vital  diflerence  between  His  work  and  that 
of  His  herald.  He  was  to  wear  no  prophet's  mantle  like  John,  but 
the  simple  dress  of  other  men:  to  lay  no  stress  on  fasts,  to  enforce  no 
isolation  from  any  class,  for  He  came  to  all  men  irrespective  of  class 
or  nation. 

Jesus  had  come,  in  fact,  to  preach  a  Gospel  of  which  the  glorious 
panorama  around  Him  was  the  fit  cmil  km.  The  "old  wine"  of  Juda- 
ism, which  had  in  a  m.easme  charac lerized  the  spirit  of  John,  was  to 
be  replaced  by  the  "new  wine  of  the  kingdcm  of  God."  John  had 
sought  to  establish  that  kingdom  anew  on  a  Jewish  fcnndation,  by 
trying  to  blend  together  the  spiritual  and  the  external.  While  break- 
ing away  in  some  respects  from  the  old  theocracy,  he  had  sought  to 
build  up  a  new  outAvard  constitution  for  Israel  alone,  and  had  imposed 
it,  with  its  Imrden  of  fastings,  washings,  and  endless  legal  require- 
ments, in  part,  on  the  nation  at  large,  and  in  all  its  severity,  on  him- 
self and  his  disciples.  He  had  proposed  to  heal  the  Avounds  of  man- 
kind by  an  unnatural  withdrawal  from  the  world,  and  by  the  austerities 
of  ascetic  observance.  For  this  religion  of  endless,  hopeless,  struggle 
after  legal  purity,  which  carried  with  it  no  balm  for  the  heart,  and 
enforced  morbid  isolation,  Jesus,  by  His  settling  in  Capernaum,  sub- 
stituted that  of  peace  and  joy,  and  of  a  healthy  intercourse  with  man- 
kind, and  citizenship  in  tlie  great  world.  The  religion  of  John  was 
national,  local,  and  unsatisfying,  and  marked  by  the  spirit  of  caste: 
that  of  Jesus  offered  the  splendid  contrast  of  a  faith  which  rose  high 
over  all  that  had  hitherto  been  known.  Suited  alike  for  the  peasant 
and  the  prince,  it  cared  nothing  for  outward  position,  or  the  changes 
of  states  or  nationality,  but  sought  only  to  meet  the  wants  and  long- 
ings of  man,  in  the  inner  infinite  world  of  the  heart  and  spirit,  which 
no  Herod  could  reach.  Recognizing  all  good,  wherever  found,  it 
gladly  drew  to  itself  all  that  was  true  and  pure,  and  rejoiced  to  ally 
Itself  with  the  gifts  which  dignify  human  nature.  The  friend  of  man, 
it  saw  in  every  soul  a  pearl,  hidden  or  visible,  and  ennobled  every 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  343 

honourable  human  calling  by  cnlistintr  it  in  the  service  of  God.  It 
hfted  men  above  care  for  the  world  or  inclination  to  seek  it,  because 
it  was  not  a  religion  of  outward  forms,  of  harsh  legalities,  or  unnat- 
ural self  infliction  and  isolation,  but  the  religion  of  peace  and  joy  in 
reconciliation  with  God,  and  the  calm  of  jarring  nature  within — a 
religion  which  gave  calmness  amidst  all  want,  and  reflected  the  un- 
troubled image  of  heaven  in  the  soul,  amidst  suffering  and  trial — a 
religion  which  laid  the  agitations  and  cares  of  the  bosom  to  rest,  by 
the  pledge  of  divine  love  and  pity.  The  sweet  fancy  of  the  Portu- 
guese mariner,  who,  after  rounding  Cape  Horn,  amidst  storm  and 
terrors,  found  that  the  ocean  on  which  he  had  entered,  laj',  as  if 
hushed  asleep  before  him,  and  ascribed  its  calm  to  the  glittering  form 
of  the  southern  cross  shining  down  on  it,  was  to  be  turned  into  fact, 
in  the  stillness  of  the  hitherto  troubled  soul  under  the  light  of  the 
Star  of  Bethlehem. 

The  stay  of  Jesus  in  Capernaum  at  this  time  was  very  short.  He 
had  resolved  to  attend  the  Passover,  and  only  waited  till  it  was  time 
to  do  so.  No  details  have  been  left  us  of  this  earliest  ministry,  but  it 
could  hardly  have  been  encouraging,  for  even  at  a  later  date  its  recol- 
lections waked  painful  thoughts.  The  determination  to  carry  His 
message  beyond  the  narrow  and  ungracious  circle  of  Capernaum,  and 
the  towns  around,  to  a  wider  sphere,  would  be  only  strengthened  by 
this  result.  Jerusalein,  with  its  schools  and  Temple,  was  the  place 
fitted  beyond  all  others  for  His  working  with  effect.  He  did  not  wish 
to  be  openly  recognized  as  the  Messiah  as  yet,  but  it  was  imperative 
now,  at  the  opening  of  His  ministry,  that  He  should  visit  the  great 
centre  and  heart  of  the  nation,  and  unostentatiously  open  His  great 
commission.  The  whole  country  looked  to  Jerusalem  as  its  religious 
capital,  and  an  impression  made  there  would  react  everywhere. 

The  month  of  April,  on  the  eve  of  the  15th  of  which  the  Passover 
was  eaten,  was  the  bright  spring  month  of  the  year.  The  plains  were 
covered  with  rich  green,  for  it  was  the  "earing  month,"  and  the  grey 
hills  lit  up  with  red  anemones,  rock  roses,  red  and  yellow, — the  con- 
volvulus, marigold,  wild  geranium,  red  tulip,  and  a  hundred  other 
glories,  for  it  was  the  "month  of  flowers."  The  cuckoo,  unseen,  as 
here,  was  heard  around :  our  thrush  and  sweet- voiced  blackbird  flow 
off  at  the  approach  of  a  passer  by:  the  voice  of  the  turtle  was  heard 
in  the  land :  the  song  of  the  lark  flooded  a  thousand  acres  of  upper 
air,  and  the  pastures  were  alive  with  flocks  and  herds.  The  roads  to 
Jerusalem  were  already  crowded  when  the  month  began.  Flocks  of 
sheep,  goats,  and  cattle  from  Bashan,  daily  passed  over  the  fords  of 
the  Jordan,  towards  the  Holy  City,  and  shepherds  with  their  flocks, 
from  "the  pastures  of  the  wilderness,"  between  Bethany,  on  the 
Mount  of  Olives,  and  the  Dead  Sea,  or  from  the  south  country  stretch- 
ing away  from  Bethlehem,  were  in  great  excitement  to  bring  their 
charge  safely  to  the  Temple  market,  for  one  hundred  thousand  lambs, 
aione,  were  needed,  besides  thousands  of  sheep  and  oxen.     The  roads 


346  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  bridges  on  the  main  lines  of  travel  through  the  whole  country 
had  been  repaired;  all  tombs  whitewashed,  to  guard  those  coming  to 
the  feast  from  defilement,  by  unconscious  approach  to  them:  the 
fields  examined,  to  weed  out  whatever  illegal  mixtures  of  plants  de- 
filed tlie  land:  and  the  springs  and  wells  cleansed  for  the  wants  of 
the  pilgrims,  no  less  than  to  secure  their  legal  purity. 

Jerusalem  was  in  its  glory.  The  whole  population  was  astir  from 
tbe  earliest  morning,  to-enjoy  the  cool  of  the  day  and  the  excitements 
of  the  season.  The  hills  of  Moab  were  hardly  purple  with  the  dawn 
before  the  Temple  courts  were  crowded,  and  by  the  time  the  sun 
rose  from  behind  the  Mount  of  Olives,  leaving  the  morning  clouds  to 
float  off  and  lose  themselves  in  the  deep  valley  of  the  Dead  Sea,  the 
business  of  the  day  had  fully  begun.  The  golden  roofs  and  marble 
walls  of  the  Temple  reflected  a  dazzling  brightness;  the  King's  Pool, 
beyond  the  Tyropo'on,  seemed  molten  silver,  and  the  palms,  cypresses, 
olives,  and  figs,  of  the  palace  gardens,  and  among  the  mansions  of  the 
rich,  on  Zion  and  round  the  city,  bent  in  the  soft  air.  The  concourse 
at  the  hour  of  morning  prayer  was  immense,  but  it  grew  even  greater 
as  the  day  advanced.  The  streets  were  blocked  by  the  crowds  from 
all  parts,  who  had  to  make  their  way  to  the  Temple,  past  flocks  of 
sheep,  and  droves  of  cattle,  pressing  on  in  the  sunken  middle  part  of 
each  street  reserved  for  them,  to  prevent  contact  and  defilement. 
Sellers  of  all  possible  wares  beset  the  pilgrims,  for  the  great  feasts 
were,  as  has  been  said,  the  harvest  time  of  all  trades  at  Jerusalem,  just 
as,  at  Mecca,  even  at  this  day,  the  time  of  the  great  concourse  of 
worshippers  at  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet,  is  that  of  the  busiest  trade 
among  the  merchant  pilgrims,  who  form  the  caravans  from  all  parts 
of  the  IMohammedan  u'orld. 

Inside  the  Temple  space,  the  noise  and  pressure  were,  if  possible, 
worse.  Directions  were  posted  up  to  keep  the  right  or  the  left,  as  in 
the  densest  thoroughfares  of  London.  The  outer  court,  which  others 
than  Jews  might  cuter,  and  which  was,  therefore,  known  as  the  Court 
of  the  Heathen,  was  in  part,  covered  with  pens  for  sheep,  goats,  and 
cattle,  for  (he  feast  and  the  thank-offerings.  Sellers  shouted  the 
merits  of  their  beasts,  sheep  bleated,  and  oxen  lowed.  It  was,  in 
fact,  the  great  yearly  fair  of  Jerusalem,  and  the  crowds  added  to  the 
din  and  tumult,  till  the  services  in  the  neighbouring  courts  were  sadly 
disturbed.  Sellers  of  doves,  for  poor  women  coming  for  purification, 
from  all  parts  of  the  country,  and  for  others,  had  a  space  set  apart  for 
them.  Indeed,  the  sale  of  doves  was,  in  great  measure,  secretly,  in  the 
hands  of  the  priests  themselves :  Hannas,  the  high  priest,  especially, 
gaining  great  profits  from  his  dove  cots  on  Mount  Olivet.  The  rents 
of  the  sheep  and  cattle  pens,  and  llic  profits  on  the  doves,  had  led  the 
priests  to  sanction  the  incongruity  of  thus  turning  the  Temple  itself 
into  a  noisy  market.  Nor  Avas  this  all.  Potters  pressed  on  the  pil- 
grims their  clay  dishes  and  ovens  for  the  Passover  Lamb ;  hundreds 
of  traders  recommended  their  wares  aloud;  shops  for  wine,  oil,  salt, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  347 

and  all  else  needed  for  sacrifices,  invited  customers,  and,  in  addition, 
persons  going  across  the  city,  with  all  kinds  of  burdens,  shortened 
their  journey  by  crossing  the  Temple  grounds.  The  provision  for 
paying  the  tribute,  levied  on  all,  for  the  support  of  the  Temple,  added 
to  the  distraction.  On  both  sides  of  the  east  Temple  gate,  stalls  had 
for  generations  been  permitted  for  changing  foreign  money.  From 
the  fifteenth  of  the  preceding  month  money-changers  had  been  allowed 
to  set  up  their  tables  in  the  city,  and  from  the  twenfy-first, — or  twenty 
days  before  the  Passover, — to  ply  their  trade  in  the  Temple  itself. 
Purchasers  of  materials  for  offerings  paid  the  amount  at  special  stalls, 
to  an  oflJicer  of  the  Temple,  and  received  a  leaden  cheque  for  which 
they  got  what  they  had  bought,  from  the  seller.  Large  sums,  more- 
over, were  changed,  to  be  cast,  as  free  offerings,  into  one  of  the  thir- 
teen chests  which  formed  the  Temple  treasury.  Every  .Jew,  no  mat- 
ter how  poor,  was,  in  addition,  required  to  pay  yearly  a  half-shekel — 
about  eighteen  pence — as  atonement  money  for  his  soul,  and  for  the 
support  of  the  Temple.  As  this  would  not  be  received  except  in  a 
native  coin,  called  the  Temple  shekel,  Avhich  was  not  generally  cur- 
rent, strangers  had  to  change  their  Roman,  Greek,  or  Eastern  money, 
at  tlie  stalls  of  the  money  changers,  to  get  the  coin  required.  The 
trade  gave  ready  means  for  fraud,  which  was  only  too  common.  Five 
per  cent,  exchange  was  charged,  but  this  was  indefinitely  increased 
by  tricks  and  chicanery,  for  which  the  class  had  everywhere  earned  so* 
bad  a  name,  that,  like  the  publicans,  their  witness  would  not  be  taken 
before  a  court. 

Jesus  was  greatly  troubled  by  this  monstrous  desecration  of  His 
Father's  house.  He  was  a  young  unknown  man,  and  a  Galil^ean: 
He  had  no  formal  authority  to  interfere,  for  the  Temple  arrangements 
were  under  the  priests  alone,  but  the  sight  of  such  abuses,  in  a  place 
so  holy,  roused  His  inmost  spirit.  Entering  the  polluted  Temple 
space,  and  gazing  round  on  the  tumult  and  manifold  defilements,  He 
could  not  remain  impassive.  Hastily  tjdng  together  some  small 
cords,  and  advancing  to  the  sellers  of  the  sheep  and  oxen,  He  com- 
manded them  to  leave  the  Temple,  with  their  property,  at  once,  and 
drove  them  and  their  beasts  out  of  the  gates.  The  sellers  of  doves 
were  allowed  to  take  their  cages  away,  but  they,  too,  had  to  leave. 
The  money-changers  fared  worst,  as  they  deserved.  Their  tables 
were  overturned,  and  they  themselves  expelled.  After  long  years 
the  Temple  was  once  more  sacred  to  God. 

That  one  man  should  have  effected  such  an  amazing  act  may  have 
been  due,  as  St.  Jerome  says,  "  to  the  starry  light  which  shone  from 
His  eyes,  and  to  the  divine  ma jestj' which  beamed  from  His  features," 
but  it  is  not  necessary  to  suppose  such  a  miraculous  aid.  The  weak- 
ness of  a  guilty  conscience  on  the  one  side,  and  the  grandeur  of  a 
supreme  enthusiasm  on  the  other,  account  for  it.  AH  were  under  a 
spell  for  the  moment.  It  was  an  act  such  as  Mattathias  or  Judas 
Maccabseus  might  have  done,  and  prophet-like  as  it  was,  in  suclj 


348  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

B  place,   and  in  such  a  cause,  its  unique  lieroism  secured  its  tri- 
umpli. 

The  authorities,  wiio  were  responsible  for  the  abuse  so  astoundingly 
corrected,  were  no  less  paralyzed  than  the  multitude  at  large,  by  the 
lofty  zeal  for  God  shown  thus  strangely.  Rules  of  a  strictness  hitherto 
unknown  were  erelong  announced,  and,  for  the  moment,  put  in  force, 
though,  three  years  later,  things  had  become  as  bad  as  ever.  No  one 
could  henceforth  go  up  to  "the  hill  of  the  Lord"  with  a  staff  in  his 
hand,  or  with  his  shoes  on  his  feet,  or  with  money  in  his  girdle,  or  with 
a  sack  on  his  shoulder,  or  even  with  dust  on  his  feet,  and  no  one  might 
carry  a  burden  of  any  kind  through  the  Temple,  or  even  spit  within  the 
holy  precincts.  It  was  felt  that  religion  had  received  a  deadly  injury 
by  the  evils  against  which  the  Galila^an  stranger  had  thus  signally  pro- 
tested, and  a  vain  effort  was  made  to  restore  the  prestige  they  had 
themselves  so  fatally  injured. 

It  was  wholly  in  keeping  with  His  office  to  act  as  Jesus  had  done. 
A-s  His  Father's  House,  the  Temple  v/as  supremely  under  His  care, 
find  He  only  exercised  His  rights  and  duties,  as  the  Messiah,  in  cleans- 
ing it  as  He  did.  It  was  a  sign  and  commencement  of  the  spiritual 
cleansing  He  came  to  inaugurate :  a  note  struck-  which  disclosed  the 
character  of  His  future  work.  Zechariah  had  said  that  in  the  days  of 
the  Messiah  "  the  trader  would  no  more  be  in  the  House  of  Jehovah," 
•  and  thus  even  the  prophets,  whom  the  nation  honoured,  seemed  to 
endorse  His  act. 

The  priests  could  say  nothing  condemnatory,  but  could  only  raise  the 
question  why  i/e  should  have  taken  it  upon  Him  to  assume  authority 
which  they  claimed.  They  were  irritated  beyond  bounds,  and  doubt- 
less indulged  their  scorn  at  a  "  prophet,"  who  took  on  Himself  the 
duties  of  the  Temple  police.  Yet  the  people,  by  their  silence,  showed 
that  they  approved  the  act,  though  it  implied  condemnation  of  the  high 
priest  and  liis  colleagues,  and  had  attacked  a  custom  sanctioned  by 
age,  established  by  formal  authority,  and  identified  with  the  interests 
of  the  Temple  and  its  services.  The  crowds  of  pilgrims  also  honoured 
the  act  of  the  young  Galilsean,  of  whom  strange  rumours  had  reached 
them  from  the  Jordan,  instinctively  feeling  that  it  was  right.  Jesus 
bad  made  His  entrance  on  public  notice,  in  a  way  that  struck  the  popu- 
lar imagination, — as  a  true  prophet,  who  witnessed  f eaj'lessly  f or  God, 
against  the  desecration  of  His  house.  The  feeling  towards  Him  was 
half  enthusiastic,  half  respectful;  His  enemies  were  confused  and 
paralyzed.  He  was  the  valiant  soldier  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,  and  it 
might  have  seemed  as  if  the  way  to  an  easy  triumph  were  to  be 
expected  forthwith. 

But  He  and  the  people  had  wholly  different  conceptions  of  the  office 
of  the  Messiah.  He  had  acted  as  He  had  done  from  no  personal  end. 
His  disciples-  saw  that  it  was  consuming  zeal  for  His  Father's  glory, 
that  had  animated  Him;  a  welling  up  of  holy  indignation.  He  had 
exercised  the  prophet's  office,  of  striking  for  the  true,  and  the  pure; 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  349 

a  right  rrhich  has  been  used  in  all  ages,  by  lofty  natures,  when  insti- 
tuted means,  and  the  low  morality  of  the  times,  fail  to  stem  growing 
corruption.  Such  an  act  could  not  be  done,  without  overpowering, 
unreflecting  earnestness,  and  zeal  kindled  into  a  flame,  but  this  divine 
earnest  zeal  was  not  imworthy  of  the  purest,  for  without  it,  in  fallen 
times,  nothing  great  can  be  done.  Yet  He  was  the  Prince  of  Peace. 
It  was  not  His  nature  to  strive,  or  to  make  His  voice  heard  in  the  ^ 
streets.  To  have  taken  the  tide  of  popular  feeling  at  the  full,  would 
have  led  Him  to  triumphs  for  which  He  had  no  desire,  and  would 
have  been  fatal  to  His  views,  instead  of  advancing  them.  Numbers 
were,  perhaps,  willing  to  have  believed  that  He  might  be  the  Messiah, 
had  He  announced  Himself  as  such,  but  the  Law  had  been  given  of 
old  amidst  thunderings  and  lightnings,  and  they  expected  the  King- 
dom of  the  Messiah  to  be  proclaimed  v/ith  equal  sublimity.  Unos- 
tentatious illustrations  of  divine  power,  such  as  healing  the  sick, 
opening  the  eyes  of  the  blind,  or  the  ears  of  the  deaf,  were  not 
enough.  They  desired  public  and  national  miracles,  which  would 
gloi-ify  Israel,  and  astonish  the  world.  But  is  was  no  part  of  His  plau 
to  attract  ihe  wonder  of  the  crowd,  or  to  minister  to  national  pride, 
or  inaugurate  a  dispensation  of  fear  or  force.  His  Kingdom  was  in 
the  hearts  of  men,  not  i:i  their  outward  suffrages;  in  the  ailm  realms 
of  truth,  not  in  those  of  political  strife. 

The  authorities  couhl  take  no  violent  measures,  and  contented  them- 
selves with  asking  Him  for  some  "sign,"  to  justifiy  His  act  by  its 
diviue  authority,  and  incidentally  reveal  His  claim  on  their  homage, 
if,  perchance.  He  might  prove  the  Messiah.  The  question  must  havo 
raised  the  sense  of  His  supreme  right  as  consecrated  Son  of  God, 
and  involved  the  condemnation  of  those  by  whom  such  a  state  of 
things  had  been  allowed.  Why  had  they,  the  appointed  guardians  of 
the  Temple,  been  so  powerless  or  negligent  against  such  desecration? 
If  they  had  thus  failed,  who  l^iit  the  Messiah  alone,  could  cleanse  tho 
sanctuary,  not  partly,  and  for  a  time,  but  perfectly,  and  for  ever"?  He 
.answered  them,  therefore,  as  their  I'abbis  were  wont  to  do,  with  an 
enigmatical  sentence,  which  lie  left  them  to  unriddle  as  they  could. 
"Destroy  this  Temple,"  said  He,  doubtless  pointing  as  He  did  so,  to 
His  person, — that  Temple  of  God,  pure  and  sacred  beyond  all  others, 
— "  and  in  three  daj^s  I  will  raise  it  up."  The  sound  of  the  words  to* 
a  Jew,  and  their  apparent  meaning,  were  alike  audacious.  He  was 
standing  amid  tho  long  and  lofty  marble  arcades  of  the  sacred  build- 
ing; amidst  its  courts,  paved  with  costliest  stones,  and  rising  terrace 
above  terrace;  its  vast  spaces,  built  up  with  incredible  labour,  and 
equal  magnificence,  from  the  valley,  hundreds  of  feet  below ;  its 
sanctuarj^  ablaze  with  gold;  its  wonderful  gates  of  silver  and  gold, 
and  Corinthian  brass,  which  were  the  national  pride.  The  very  ex- 
istence of  the  nation  was  ideutitied  with  the  inviolability  of  the  Tem- 
ple. It  had  been  already  building  for  forty-six  years,  and  was  not 
yet  fijiished,  for  eighteen  thousand  workmen  were  stiU  employed  ou 


830  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Bome  incomplete  parts  of  it,  thirty  years  after  this,  and  were  paid  oflt 
■when  their  work  was  done^  only  a  few  years  before  the  destruction  of 
the  city.  The  passionate  fanaticism  for  a  structure  so  splendid,  and 
so  bound  up  with  the  hopes  and  pride  of  the  nation,  was  incred' 
il)le.  It  seemed  to  them  under  the  special  protection  of  Jehovah. 
Antiochu.s  Epiphanes,  its  great  enemy,  had  perished  miserably  and 
Bhamefully  in  Persia.  Crassus,  wlio  had  plundered  its  treasures,  had 
fallen  with  his  army,  amidst  the  thirsty  sands  of  the  desert.  Pom- 
pey,  who  had  intruded  into  the  Holy  of  Holies,  had  been  murdered  by 
an  Egyptian  centurion,  and  his  headless  trunk  had  been  left  exposed 
on  the  strand  of  Egypt.  To  touch  the  Temple  was,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Jew,  to  incur  the  vengeance  of  the  Almighty.  Perverting  the  answer 
of  Jesus,  therefore,  into  an  allusion  to  the  building  which  they  re- 
vered with  such  1  zealous  idolatry,  they  tauntingly  reminded  Him  of 
the  years  it  had  taken  to  build,  and  scouted  His  supposed  proposal  to 
destroy  and  restore  it  so  quickly. 

No  utterance  ever  fell  from  the  lips  of  Jesus,  of  which  He  did  not 
forsee  the  full  effect,  and  this  answer,  as  He  knew,  was  a  veiled  antici- 
pation of  His  earthly  end.  The  cry  that  the  Temple  was  in  danger 
would  at  any  moment  rouse  the  whole  race  to  revenge  the  insult  with 
the  fury  of  despair,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  The  resentment  felt  at 
such  words,  may  therefore  be  judged.  Three  years  later  it  was  by 
their  perversion  that  the  high  priests  sought  His  death,  and  they  were 
coarsely  flung  as  a  taunt  against  Him,  when  He  hung  on  the  Cross. 
Nor  were  they  forgotten  even  afterwards,  for  they  were  made  an 
aggravation  of  the  charges  against  the  first  martyr,  Stephen,  as  His 
folloAvcr. 

But  they  meant  something  of  deepest  significance  to  the  Jews 
themselves.  Though,  doubtless,  in  their  direct  import  a  concealed 
announcement  of  Ills  own  death  and  resurrection,  they  had  wider  ap- 
plications. ' '  Your  whole  religion, "  they  implied,  "  in  as  far  as  it  rests 
on  this  Temple,  is  corrupt  and  sunken,  but  He  is  already  here,  who, 
when  that  Temple  passes  away,  as  pass  away  it  must,  "will  restore  it 
in  unspeakably  greater  glory,  and  His  doing  so  will  be  the  sign  He 
gives."  All  this  lay  in  His  veiled  sentence.  "Do  you  really  wish  a 
sign  from  me,  of  my  divine  authority  over  this  Temple?  You  shall 
have  the  highest.  Destroy  this  Temple,  which  will  surely  one  day 
fall,  though,  while  it  stands,  I  wish  it  to  be  pure  and  worthy :  destroy 
it,  if  you  choose,  and  with  it  let  all  your  corrupted  religion  perish:  I 
shall,  presently,  rebuild  it  again,  with  far  greater  glory  than  it  can 
now  boast,  for  this  Temple  is  the  desecrated  and  fallen  work  of  men's 
hands,  but  mine  will  be  pure :  a  Temple  of  the  religion  of  Spirit  and 
truth,  which  will  be  established  by  my  resurrection,  on  the  third  day, 
and  will  be  immortal  and  indestructible. " 

In  the  answer  of  Jesus,  indeed,  lay,  already,  the  whole  future  of  His 
Church.  The  history  of  His  life  and  of  His  work  is  linked  to  this 
earliest  utterance,    The  magnificent  Temple  He  that  day  cleansed  waa 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  351 

Boon  to  "be  destroyed^  mainly  through  the  guilt  of  those  who  sought  so 
fanatically  to  preserve  it,  with  all  its  abuses.  But,  even  before  it  rose 
in  flames  from  the  torch  of  the  Roman  soldier,  or  fell,  stone  from 
stone,  before  his  tools,  anotlier  temple,  far  more  vponderful,  had  risen 
silently,  in  the  spirits  of  men,  to  take  its  place — a  temple  pure  and 
eternal,  which  He  had  now  dimly  foreshadowed,  at  this  first  moment 
of  His  public  career.  Yet,  even  the  Church  was  in  no  such  high 
sense  the  Temple  of  God  as  the  mysterious  person  of  Jesus  Himself 
— the  holiest  tabernacle  of  God  amongst  men  ever  vouchsafed — the 
true  Shekinah — the  visible  Incarnation  of  the  Divine.  After  the 
crucifixion,  and  the  resurrection,  the  exact  fulfilment  of  His  words, 
in  these  two  great  events,  struck  the  imagination  of  the  disciples  more 
than  any  other  meaning  they  might  have.  ' '  He  spoke  of  the  Temple 
of  His  body."    True  in  other  senses,  it  Avas  pre-eminently  so  in  this. 

With  such  an  old-prophet-like  first  appearance,  followed  up,  as  it 
was,  by  acts  of  miraculous  power,  equal,  no  doubt,  in  character  and 
greatness,  to  the  examples  elsewhere  recorded  in  the  Gospels,  it  is  no 
wonder  to  learn  that  many  believed  on  Him.  Yet  He  received  no  one 
into  the  circle  of  His  closer  personal  following  from  those  thus  im- 
pressed. No  Scribe  or  Rabbi,  no  wealthy  citizen,  not  even  a  common 
townsman  of  Jerusalem, was  called  to  follow  Him.  "He  did  not 
trust  Himself  to  them,"  nor  honour  any  of  them  with  the  confidence 
He  had  shown  in  some  of  His  Galilaean  disciples.  ,  Nor  did  He  relax 
this  caution  at  any  future  time,  for  though  He  gained  many  friends  in 
Judea,  as  we  discover  incidentally.  He  surrounded  Himself  with  Gali- 
laeans  to  the  end  of  His  life.  The  people  of  Jerusalem  contrasted  un- 
favourably with  the  simpler  peasants  of  the  north :  they  were  curious 
and  excitable,  rather  than  deep  and  earnest,  and  the  wisdom  of  the 
schools,  which  flourished  especially  under  the  shadow  of  the  Temple, 
was  pre-eminently  unfitted  to  understand  Him,  or  ally  itself  closely 
with  Him.  The  keen  glance  of  Jesus  saw  this  from  the  first.  There 
were,  doubtless,  many  of  the  rich  and  influential  men  of  Jerusalem 
who  felt  the  shortcomings  of  the  prevailing  school-wisdom  and 
priestly  system,  and,  fretting  uneasily  under  the  rule  of  a  Herod,  or  of 
a  Roman  governor,  were  well  inclined  to  join  a  true  Israelitish  king; 
many,  possibly,  who  even  secretly  admired  Jesus,  and  were  ready  to 
recognize  Him  as  the  Messiah,  as  soon  as  they  could  do  so  safely. 
But  John,  who  was  himself  a  Galilaean,  and  knew  that  Jesus  had 
made  only  Galilaeans  His  confidential  friends,  reveals,  in  his  senten- 
tious epigrammatical  way,  His  estimate  of  such  doubtful  support. 
"He  did  not  trust  Himself  to  them,  because  He  knew  all  men,  and 
because  He  needed  not  that  any  should  bear  witness  respecting  Him, 
as  man."  A  cheerful  witness  to  Him  as  the  Son  of  God  He  always 
welcomed,  when  it  came  freely ;  but  as  to  the  other — He  knew  men's 
hearts.  He  could  see  that  they  were  willing  to  honour  Him  as  a 
human  king,  and  tJiat,  only  from  His  wonderful  works  and  miracles, 
and  they,  unmistakably,  expected  a  human  kingdom  at  His  hands 


353  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

To  rule,  as  a  man,  over  men,  it  -n-ould  have  been  needful  to  reck  the 
support  of  the  powerful,  Avho  Avould  lend  themselves  for  personal 
ends,  and  act  on  mere  human  maxims.  But  such  men  -would  l)c  no 
counsellors,  helpers,  or  servants  in  founding  and  spreading  the  King- 
dom of  Truth. 

Among  the  upper  class  of  citizens,  however,  there  Avag  one,  the 
representative  of  many  whose  names  are  unrecorded,  who  was  deeply 
moved  by  the  words  and  acts  of  the  young  Galilaan.  He  bore  the 
Greek  name  Nicodemus,  and  was  a  ruler,  or  foremost  man,  in  the 
religious  world  of  Jerusalem,  a  member  of  its  governing  class,  and,  in 
sentiment  and  party,  a  Pharisee.  He  was,  moreover,  vpealthy,  and, 
thus,  in  many  respects,  one  whose  support,  at  such  a  time,  would 
have  been  eagerly  grasped  at,  had  Jesus  proposed  to  found  a  kingdom 
in  which  the  aids  of  human  expediency  were  admitted,  as  in  potitical 
systems.  He  was  a  man  of  advanced  years  and  high  position,  and 
might,  no  doubt,  have  done  good  service  to  Christ's  worldly  interests 
among  the  influential  classes,  and  have  even  helped  towards  a  coali- 
tion of  the  priests  and  Pharisees  with  Him,  had  His  aims  been  national, 
and  religio-political,  like  theirs.  There  was,  inevitably,  a  strong  prej- 
udice in  Jerusalem  against  a  movement  which  had  begun  in  Galilee, 
and  was  supported  by  Galilaeans,  and  Nicodemus  might  have  helped 
to  counteract  it.  It  was  a  condition  of  his  connection  with  Jesus, 
however,  that  it  should  be  secret.  Constitutionally  timid,  he  could 
not  brave  the  social  proscription  and  ridicule,  which  would  follow  an 
open  adherence;  for,  though  no  overt  hostility  to  the  Kew  Teacher 
had  yet  broken  out  in  the  class  to  which  he  belonged,  it  was  clear  that 
its  doing  so  was  only  a  question  of  time.  He  was  honest,  and  earnest, 
but  could  not  yet  make  the  sacrifice  an  open  alliance  demanded.  In- 
deed, his  caution  clung  to  him  to  the  end  of  Christ's  life,  for  in  the 
only  two  instances  in  which  his  name  re-appears,  his  weak  indirect- 
ness is  plainly  shown.  At  a  later  period,  when  the  rulers  had  deter- 
mined to  use  violence  against  Jesus,  we  find  him  trying  to  turn  them 
aside  from  their  purpose,  by  a  general  question  which  did  not  commit 
himself,  and  when  all  was  over,  it  was  not  till  he  had  caught  spirit 
enough  from  the  example  of  one  of  his  own  class,  Joseph  of  Arima- 
thea  that  he  ventured  to  own  his  reverence  for  the  dead  Saviour,  by 
bringing  his  boimtiful  gift  of  spices  to  embalm  Him.  At  his  first 
interview,  he  did  not  venture  to  visit  Jesus  openly,  but  came  to  Him 
by  night. 

As  a  Rabbi,  Nicodemus  was,  necessarily,  skilled  in  the  subtle  expo- 
sitions of  the  Law  for  which  his  order  was  famous,  and  must  have 
been  familiar  with  the  Scriptures  throughout,  but  he  had  been  trained 
in  the  artificial  explanations  of  the  schools,  and  was  profoundly  un- 
conscious of  their  deeper  meaning.  Like  others,  he  supposed  that 
the  Messiah  would  set  up  a  theocracy  distinguished  by  zealous  fulfil- 
ment of  the  Law;  every  Israelite,  as  such,  forming  a  member  of  it. 
Greeting  Jesus  as  one  whom  he,  and  others  in  his  position,  acknowl- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  853 

edged  to  be  a  Rabbi,  he  opened  the  interview  by  a  compliment,  in- 
tended to  lead  to  the  point  he  had  at  heart.  Any  question  as  to  his 
own  admission  to  the  Messiah's  kingdom  had  not  crossed  his  mind. 
Tlie  traditions  of  his  brother  Rabbis  had  taught  him  that  while  "  the 
nations  of  tlie  T/orld  would  be  as  the  biu-ning  of  a  furnace  in  the  great 
Day  of  Judgment,  Israel,  as  such,  would  be  saved;"  that  "there  was 
a  part  allotted  to  all  Israel  in  the  world  to  come,"  or,  in  other  words, 
in  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah.  "God  had  sanctified  Israel  to  Him- 
self for  ever,"  and  made  every  Jew,  as  such,  on  a  footing,  as  to  His 
love  and  favour,  with  "  all  the  Angels  of  the  Presence,  and  all  the 
Angels  of  Praise,  and  with  all  the  Holy  Angels  that  stand  before  Him." 
Hence,  he  only  wished  to  know  the  duties  required  of  him  as  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Messianic  kingdom,  which  Jesus  appeared  to  be  sent  from 
God  to  set  up.  Christ,  in  an  instant,  saw  into  the  speaker's  heart. 
So  far  from  making  any  attempt  to  win  him,  or  from  abating  His 
demands,  as  a  compromise  in  favour  of  one  whose  support  might  be 
so  advantageous.  He  cut  liim  short  by  a  statement  which  must  have 
thrown  his  whole  thoughts  into  confusion.  Trusting  impliciMy  to  his 
being  a  Jew,  as  a  divine  title  to  citizenship  in  the  new  thcocjacy,  and 
thinking  only  of  form.il  acts  by  which  he  might  show  his  Qpvotion, 
and  increase  liis  claim  to  the  favour  of  God,  here  and  hereafter,  he  is 
met  by  an  announcement,  that  neither  national  descent,  nor  the  utter- 
most exactness  of  Pharisaic  observance,  nor  any  good  works,  however 
great,  as  such,  availed  at  all  to  secure  entrance  into  the  kingdom  of 
God.  He  had  supposed  Jesus  a  Rabbi,  and  had  expected  to  hear 
some  new  legal  precepts,  but  he  is  told  that  not  only  has  he  no  title 
whatever,  as  a  Jew,  to  share  in  the  new  kingdom,  but  that  he  cannot 
hope  to  earn  one.  Jewish  theology  knew  nothing  higher  than  au 
exact  equivalent  in  good  or  evil,  for  every  act.  "  An  eye  for  an  eye," 
both  here  and  hereafter,  was  its  only  conception.  A  legal  precision 
had  a  right  to  heaven;  the  neglect  of  Levitical  righteousness  shut  its 
gates  on  the  soul. 

Jesus  broadly  told  him  Ihat  his  whole  conceptions  were  funda- 
mentally wrong.  "  Every  man,  whatever  his  legal  standing,  must  be 
born  again,  if  he  would  sea  the  kingdom  of  God.  To  do  so  is  not  a 
question  of  outward  acts,  legal,  or  moral,  but  of  their  motive."  The 
idea  of  being  ' '  born  again"  should  not  have  been  incomprehensible  to 
a  Jewish  Rabbi,  for  it  was  a  saying  of  the  Scribes  that  "a  proselyte 
is  like  a  child  new  born,"  and  "circumcision  of  the  heart,"  and  the 
"creating  a  clean  heart  and  renewing  a  right  spirit,"  are  expression* 
that  must  have  been  familiar  to  him  in  the  Law,  and  the  Prophets, 
and  the  Psalms.  Bat  the  full  meaning  of  such  terms  had  been  lost  in 
the  prevailing  externalism.  He  took  the  words  in  their  literal  sense. 
In  his  perplexity,  he  supposed  that  what  was  demanded  was  in  some 
way  connected  vriih  his  nationality,  which,  he  assumed,  already  opened 
an  unquestioned  entrance  for  him  into  the  theocracy. 

Jesus  saw  his  emban-assment,  and  forthwith  explained  His  meaning 


Z5i  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

more  fully.  "The  kingdom  of  God,"  He  told  him,  "was  none  the 
less  a  true  kingdom  that  it  stood  aloof  from  politics,  and  had  none  of 
the  outward  characteristics  of  earthly  states.  It  had  no  civil  judges, 
but  it  had  its  laws,  and  by  these  all  its  subjects  would  hereafter  be 
tried,  beyond  the  grave.  It  had  its  conditions  of  acceptance,  also, 
and  these  were  belief  in  Himself  as  its  Founder,  Legislator,  and  future 
Judge,  and  open  confession  of  that  belief  by  the  rite  of  Baptism,  with 
which  Nicodemus  was  already  familiar,  from  the  ministry  of  John. 
There  could  be  no  admission  of  any  one,  high  or  low,  at  a  secret  in- 
terview, to  be  followed  by  concealment  of  the  relation  thus  formed 
with  Himself.  There  must  be  personal  homage  and  submission  to 
Him,  but  it  must  also  be  frankly  and  publicly  avowed. " 

Nor  was  Nicodemus  left  to  suppose  that  any  outward  and  formal 
act,  even  if  inclusive  of  these  demands,  would  alone  sutfice.  Baptism 
was  but  the  symbol  of  a  spiritual  revolution  so  complete  that  it  might 
well  be  described  as  a  new  birth.  All  men  were  by  nature  sinful, 
and  needed  a  moral  transformation,  which  would  make  them  as 
naturally  seek  the  pure  and  holy  as  they  had  sought  the  opposite. 
Citizenship  in  His  kingdom  w^as  a  gift  of  God  Himself;  the  re-crea- 
tion of  the  moral  nature  by  His  Spirit,  as  the  result  of  w^hich  the 
soul  hungered  after  good,  as,  before,  after  sin. 

Nor  was  Nicodemus  to  wonder  at  such  a  statement.  God's  influ- 
ence on  the  heart  was  like  the  flowing  wind — free,  felt,  and  yet  mys- 
terious. It  came  as  it  listed,  its  presence  was  felt  by  its  results,  but 
all  besides  was  beyond  our  knowledge. 

Teaching  so  fundamentally  different  from  all  his  previous  ideas, 
and  involving  conceptions  so  unique  and  sublime,  was  for  the  time 
incomprehensible.  The  startled  listener  could  only  mutter,  '"How 
can  these  things  be?"  Nicodemus,  it  seems  very  probable,  was  one 
of  the  chief  men  of  the  religious  world  in  Jerusalem,  for  the  three 
officers  of  the  Sanhedrim,  while  it  existed,  were  tlie  President,  the 
Vice-President,  and  the  "Master,"  or  wise  man,  and  Jesus  appears  to 
address  him  as  "Master,"  in  subdued  reproach  at  his  perplexity. 
"Art  thou,"  He  asked,  ''the  teacher," — w^ell  known  and  recognized 
as  such — the  wise  man — even  by  title,  "and  dost  not  know  these 
things?  I  speak  only  what  I  know  and  have  seen,  in  the  eternal 
world,  and  j'ou  hesitate  to  believe  M^  If  I  have  told  you  thus  of 
what  is  matter  of  experience,  and  runs  its  course  in  the  human  heart 
during  this  earthly  life,  and  you  think  it  incomprehensible,  how  will 
you  believe  if  I  tell  you  the  higher  truths  of  the  kingdom — those 
heavenly  mysteries  which  concern  the  plan  of  God  for  the  salvation 
of  man?  No  other  can  reveal  such  matters,  for  no  man  has  ever 
ascended  to  heaven  to  learn  them ;  but  I  am  He — the  Messiah,  fore- 
told, as  the  Son  of  Man,  by  your  prophet  Daniel, — who  have  come 
down  from  heaven,  and,  even  now,  have  there  my  peculiar  home  and 
seat.  Let  Me  vouchsafe  you  some  glimpses  of  the  true  nature  of  my 
kingdom.   I  come  not  as  a  triumphant  earthly  monarch,  but  to  suffer. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  355 

As  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  •wilderness,  to  save  those  who 
believed  in  it,  so  must  I  be  lifted  up — how,  you  shall  know  hereafter 
— that  all  who  believe  in  Me  may  not  perish,  but  liave  eternal  life.  I 
have  come  to  carry  out,  as  a  suffering  Messiah,  the  liigli  purpose  of 
God's  eternal  love  for  the  salvation  of  man." 

"You  seek  eternal  life:  it  can  be  had  only  by  believing  on  Me. 
He  who  does  so,  has  his  reward  even  here,  in  the  love,  light,  and 
peace  which  flow  from  the  gift  of  the  Spirit,  and  arc  the  earnest  of 
future  glory.  I  have  not  come  to  judge  men,  for  to  juclge  would 
have  been  to  condemn.  I  come  to  save.  They  who  reject  Me  are, 
indeed,  judged  and  condemned  already,  for  when  I,  the  Light,  have 
come  to  them,  they  have  shown  their  character  by  preferring  the 
darkness  of  sin.  Men  separate  themselves  into  good  and  evil,  before 
Grod,  by  their  bearing  towards  Me.  The  evil  wish  not  to  be  disturbed, 
and  to  be  let  stay  in  moral  darkness,  to  follow  out  their  sinful  desires, 
but  he  who  seeks  the  trutli  comes  to  Me  to  have  more  light.  Thus, 
the  evil  stand  self-condemned:  the  good  rejoice  in  their  gi'owing  light, 
as  an  earnest  of  heaven. " 

The  astonishing  originality  of  such  language  is  altogether  unique. 
At  His  first  appearance,  though  still  a  young  man,  without  the 
sanction  of  success,  or  the  weight  of  position,  or  the  countenance  of 
the  schools,  Jesus  bears  Himself,  with  calm  unconsciousness  of  effort, 
as  altogether  superior  to  His  visitor.  A  born  Jew,  He  speaks  as  the 
Lawgiver  of  a  new  theocracy  which  He  has  come  to  found,  in  place 
of  that  of  Moses,  whom  they  almost  worshipped.  He  lays  down  con- 
ditions of  unbending  strictness  as  indispensable  to  an  entrance  into 
the  new  community  thus  to  be  established,  though  He  has  nothing  to 
offer  but  privation  and  self-denial,  as  the  earthly  result  of  joining  it. 
He  moves  at  His  ease  amidst  subjects  the  most  august  and  mysterious* 
demands  tlie  personal  homage  of  those  who  would  enter  His  kingdom, 
and  promises  eternal  life  as  the  reward  of  sincere  acceptance  of  His 
claims.  Repudiating  the  aids  to  which  others  might  have  looked, 
seeking  no  support  from  the  powerful,  or  from  the  crowd,  to  facilitate 
His  design;  He  speaks  of  Himself,  even  now,  when  obscure  and 
alone,  as  a  king,  and  shows  a  serene  composure  in  extending  His 
royalty  over  even  the  souls  of  men.  In  the  presence  of  a  famous 
Rabbi,  He  claims  to  be  the  liglit  to  which  all  men,  without  exception, 
must  come,  who  love  the  truth.  His  first  utterance  anticipates  the 
highest  claims  of  His  last.  An  humble  Galihiean,  easy  of  access, 
sympathetic,  obscure,  He  calmly  announces  Himself  as  tlie  Son  of 
Man,  whose  home  is  heaven :  as  knowing  the  counsels  of  God  from 
eternity:  as  the  only-begotten  Son  of  the  Eternal,  and  the  arbiter  of 
eternal  life  or  death  to  the  world.  It  is  idle  to  speak  of  any  merely 
human  utterances,  even  of  the  greatest  and  best  of  our  race,  in  the 
presence  of  such  thoughts  and  words  as  these :  they  are  the  voice  of 
a  higher  sphere,  though  falling  from  the  lips  of  one  who  walked  as  a 
man  amongst  men. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

FROM  JERUSALEM:  TO  SAMARIA. 

The  stay  of  Jesus  in  Jerusalem  was  short,  for  He  had  come  up  only 
to  attend  the  Passover,  and  to  open  His  Great  Commission  in  the 
religious  centre  of  the  nation,  before  the  vast  throngs  of  pilgrims 
frequenting  the  feast.  Nor  were  the  results  disappointing,  for 
"many  believed  in  His  name,  when  they  saw  the  miracles  which  He 
did"  diiring  the  week.  With  the  departure  of  the  multitudes,  how- 
ever, He,  also,  left,  to  enter  with  His  disciples  on  His  first  wide 
circuit  of  preaching  and  teaching,  for,  though  a  beginning  had 
already  been  made  in  Galilee,  it  had  been  on  a  much  smaller  scale. 

The  district  thus  favoured  embraced  the  whole  of  Judea,  which 
extended,  on  the  south,  to  the  edge  of  the  wilderness  at  Beersheba, 
far  south  of  Hebron,  to  the  lowlands  of  the  Philistine  plain,  on  the 
west;  to  the  line  of  the  Jordan  and  the  Dead  Sea,  on  the  east,  and,  on 
the  north,  to  Akrabbim,  the  frontier  village  of  Samaria,  which  lay 
among  the  hills,  twenty-five  miles,  as  the  crow  flies,  from  Jerusalem. 
We  have  the  authority  of  the  Apostle  Peter,  who  very  likely  shared 
the  journey,  that  it  extended  "throughout  all  Judea,"  but  we  have 
no  record  of  the  towns  and  villages  thus  early  favoured  with  the 
Message  of  the  New  Kingdom. 

How  long  the  tour  lasted  we  do  not  know,  but  it  must  have  occu- 
pied some  months,  for  He  "tarried"  from  tim.e  to  time,  at  different 
points.  He  Himself  preaching  and  teaching,  and  His  disciples  baptiz- 
ing the  converts  gained.  It  was  notfittjng  that  Jesus  should  Himself 
administer  the  riie  which  admitted  citizens  to  His  spiritual  kingdom. 
Baptism,  which  had  been  introduced  by  John  as  a  symbol  of  repent- 
ance and  spiritual  renewal,  in  expectation  of  the  coming  Messiah, 
had  now  acquired  the  far  grander  significance  of  a  profession  of  faith 
in  Jesus,  as  the  ]\Iessiah  already  come.  John's  baptism  had  implied 
a  vow  to  live  in  the  strict  and  painful  Jewish  asceticism  of  washings, 
fasts,  and  legal  observances;  that  of  Jesus  transformed  this  life  into 
one  of  divine  liberty  and  loving  joy.  The  material  baptism,  more- 
over, was  but  the  symbol,  and  might  well  be  left  to  His  disciples, 
Bimself  retaining  the  far  grander  ministry  of  the  dispensation  of  the 
Spirit,  which  cleansed  the  moral  nature,  as  water  did  the  body.  They 
Lad  the  emblem:  He,  as  became  a  King,  kept  in  His  own  hands  the 
substance  and  reality.  To  preach  the  Gospel,  not  to  baptize,  was 
2iereafter,  even  in  St.  Paul's  view,  the  special  commission  of  an 
Apostle.  Humbler  agencies  could  be  left  to  perform  the  rite:  to  the 
higher  office,  .Jesus  devoted  His  higher  rank. 

The  introduction  of  baptism  at  the  beginning  of  our  Lord's  minis- 
try, is  mentioned  only  by  St.  John.     It  may  be  that  this  is  only  an 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  85T 

instance  of  the  omissions  of  the  Evangelists,  and  that  careful 
examination  would  tind  indirect  indications  that  it  not  only  began 
■with  the  opening  of  Christ's  ministry,  but  continued,  throughout,  till 
the  close.  Yet,  both  St.  Jlatthew  and  gt.  Mark  mention  the  command 
given  by  Jesus  immediately  before  His  ascension,  to  baptize  all  nations, 
without  any  indication  of  its  being  the  continuance  of  an  existing 
custom,  rather  than  the  re-introduction  of  what  had  been  for  a  time 
in  abeyance.  Possibly,  the  extension  of  the  rite  to  all  nations,  may 
have  been  the  special  reason  of  its  being  thus  prominently  noticed, 
but,  more  probably,  the  opposition  of  the  ecclesiastical  authorities, 
which  broKe  out  into  active  hostility  as  soon  as  the  new  movement 
grew  popular,  and  forced  Jesus  to  leave  Judea,  made  it  necessary  to 
disarm  opposition  by  suspending  the  practice. 

The  ecclesiastical  world  of  the  day — priests,  elders,  and  scribes — 
had  rejected  the  mission  of  John.  They  had  inquired  into  his  claims, 
attended  his  preaching,  and  held  intercourse  with  his  disciples,  but 
they  had  not  been  baptized.  They  "rejected  the  counsel  of  God 
against  themselves, "  and  even  went  so  far,  in  order  to  discredit  John, 
with  the  multitude,  as  to  insinuate  that  he  "had  a  devil."  His  real 
offence  w^as  having  stood  aloof  from  them — the  established  religious 
authorities — and  he  had  shocked  their  self -complacenc}',  and  impeached 
their  theology,  by  declaring  the  worthlessness,  before  God,  of  mere 
nationality.  But  Jesus  was  already  treading  in  the  same  steps,  and 
had  gone  even  further  in  independence  of  the  priests  and  Rabbis,  iu 
His  acts  and  teachings;  in  His  cleansing  the  Temple,  and  in  His  dis- 
course with  Nicodemus.  Before  long,  moreover.  His  movement 
assumed  greater  importance  than  John's,  and  threatened  to  draw  the 
whole  nation  from  allegiance  to  the  dignitaries  of  Jerusalem.  The 
fate  of  John,  moreover,  was,  probably,  in  great  part,  due  to  his  being 
under  official  censure,  and  it  is  not  improbable,  if  Salim  were  in 
Judea,  or  even  in  Samaria,  as  many  suppose,  that  the  machinations 
of  the  authorities  had  contributed  to  his  arrest,  and  to  his  being 
handed  over  to  Antipas.  He  had  fled  for  safety  to  the  west  side  of 
the  Jordan,  to  be  under  Roman  law,  but  it  is  wholly  in  keeping  with 
Pilate's  treacherous  nature  to  believe,  that  in  his  dread  of  the  priests 
and  Rabbis,  the  Roman  governor  consented  to  seize  the  prophet,  and 
deliver  him  up  to  death,  as  he  afterwards  did  with  Jesus  Himself. 
With  such  a  catastrophe  in  mind,  it  would  have  been,  opposed  to  the 
calm  prudence  with  which  Jesus  at  all  times  acted,  to  have  sought 
the  publicity  and  excitement  soon  developed  in  connection  with  His 
early  baptismal  gatherings. 

It  is  a  question,  besides,  whether  the  oflBcial  opposition  which, 
made  any  action  inexpedient  that  tended  to  agitate  the  public  mind, 
did  not,  also,  compel  delay  in  the  outward  organization  of  the  new 
communion  which  Jesus  came  to  found.  His  spiritual  kingdom 
could  be  proclaimed,  its  laws  and  privileges  made  known,  and  citizena 
gained,  as  discipleS;  in  detail,  but  their  find  exi^olmcut  as  a  distiact 


358  '      THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Bociety  would  likely  have  resulted  in  the  instant  arrest  of  their  leader. 
The  air  was  too  full  of  political  rumours,  in  connection  with  a 
Dational  Messiah,  to  have  made  that  organization  practicable  while 
Jesus  lived,  which  was  at  once  announced  after  His  death.  If  this 
were  so,  baptism,  as  the  symbol  of  entrance  into  the  new  society, 
might  be  well  deferred  till  that  society  was  actually  begun,  on  the 
day  of  Pentecost. 

The  burden  of  Christ's  preaching,  while  journeying  throughout 
Judea,  Avas,  no  doubt,  the  same  as  that  of  His  Galilaean  ministry  a 
little  later,  and  as  that  of  John's — "  Repent,  for  the  kingdom  of 
/heaven  is  at  hand."  The  time  had  not  yet  come  for  His  openly  pro- 
claiming Himself  as  the  Messiah,  though  He  acted  from  the  first  as 
such,  without  formally  assuming  the  title.  To  have  done  so  would 
have  arrested  His  work  at  once,  while  His  acts  and  words,  without 
compromising  Him  with  the  authorities,  were  such  as  forced  men, 
and  even  the  spirits  He  cast  out,  to  own  His  true  dignity.  Indeed, 
the  very  nature  of  a  spiritual  kingdom  like  His,  founded  necessarily 
only  on  the  free  convictions  of  men,  not  on  assertion  or  authority, 
demanded  this  reticence.  The  heart  of  man,  which  was  to  be  the  seat 
of  His  empire,  could  be  won  only  by  the  spiritual  attractions  of  His 
life  and  words.  Faith  and  loving  obedience  could  only  spring  from 
sympathy  v.ith  the  truth  and  goodness  His  life  and  words  displayed, 
and  this  sj^mpathy  must  be  spontaneous  in  each  new  disciple,  and 
was  often  of  slow  attainment.  The  kingdom,  to  use  His  own  illus- 
trations, must  grow  from  almost  unperceived  beginnings,  in  slow 
development,  like  the  mustard  seed,  and  spread  by  silent  and  slow 
iidvance,  like  leaven.  It  was,  in  its  very  nature,  to  come  "without 
observation,"  unmarked,  for  it  was  not  political,  like  earthly  king- 
doms, but  the  invisible  reign  of  truth  in  the  souls  of  men — a  growth 
cf  opinion — a  kingdom  not  of  this  world. 

In  this  opening  period  John  still  continued  his  great  preparatory 
■work.  He  had  crossed  from  the  eastern  to  the  western  side  of  Jordan, 
and  was  baptizing  at  Enon,  near  Salim — a  place,  the  position  of 
■which  is  not  positively  known.  He  had,  apparently,  expected  Jesus 
to  begin  His  work  as  the  Messiah,  by  an  open  assumption  of  the  title, 
( and  seems  to  have  been  at  a  loss  to  account  for  a  comparative  privacy, 
so  different  from  his  anticipations.  The  idea  of  a  great  national 
movement,  with  Jesus  at  its  head,  was  natural  to  him,  nor  does  he 
Becm  to  have  realized  that  the  sublimest  self-proclamation  our  Lord 
could  make  Vv-as  by  Ihe  still  small  voice  of  His  divine  life  and  words. 
He  v>'a3  waiting  calmly  for  a  signal  to  retire,  which  had  not  yet  been 
I  given.  Nor  was  it  a  superfluous  work  to  continue  to  point  the  multi- 
tudes to  the  Lamb  of  God,  and  thus  prepare  them,  by  the  weight 
of  a  testimony  so  revered,  for  accepting  Him  to  whom  he  thus 
directed  them. 

Human  nature,  however,  is  always  the  same:  ready  to  show  its 
"weakness,  even  in  connection  with  what  is  most  sacred.     The  grand 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  359 

humility  of  Jolm — inaccessible  to  a  jealous  thought — was  contented 
to  be  a  mere  voice,  sending  men  away  from  himself  to  his  great  suc- 
cessor. But  his  followers  were  not,  in  all  cases,  so  lowly,  and  occa- 
sion  soon  offered  which  gave  their  feelings  expression.  A  Jew,  who 
had,  apparently,  attended  the  ministry  of  both  John  and  Jesus,  had 
shown  the  common  bias  of  his  race  by  getting  into  a  discussion  with 
some  of  John's  disciples,  about  the  comparative  value  of  their  master's 
baptism,  as  a  means  of  purification,  perhaps  both  morally  and  leviti- 
cally,  as  compared  with  that  of  Jesus.  A  theological  controversy 
between  Jews,  as  between  Christians,  is  dangerous  to  the  temper,  and, 
indeed,  the  Rabl)is  denounced  quietness  and  composure  in  such  mat- 
ters as  a  sign  of  religious  indifference.  Warmth  and  bitterness  were 
assumed  to  prove  zeal  for  the  Law.  Hence,  no  doubt,  there  was 
abundant  heat  and  wrangling  on  an  occasion  like  this,  the  whole 
resulting  in  a  feeling  of  irritation  and  jealousy  on  the  part  of  the 
champions  of  John,  against  One  Avho  had  thus  been  set  up  as  his 
rival.  In  this  spirit  they  returned  to  their  master,  and  proceeded  to 
relieve  their  minds  by  telling  him  that  He  who  was  with  him  beyond 
Jordan,  to  whom  he  had  borne  witness,  and  to  whom  he  had  thus 
given  a  standing  and  influence,  had  Himself  begun  to  baptize.  It 
appeared  like  imfair  rivalry,  and  was  creating  just  such  a  sensation 
as  John  had  caused  at  first,  for  now  all  were  flocking  to  the  new  Rabbi, 
as,  formerly,  to  the  banks  of  the  Jordan. 

The  greatness  of  the  Baptist  could  not  have  been  shown  more 
Etrikingly  than  in  his  reply  to  a  complaint  so  fitted  to  touch  his  per- 
sonal sensibilities.  "You  are  wrong,"  said  he,  "  in  thinking  thus 
of  Him  to  whom  j'ou  refer.  If  He  meet  such  success,  it  is  given 
Him  from  God,  for  a  man  can  receive  nothing  except  it  have  been 
given  him  from  heaven.  You  can  yourselves  bear  witness  that  I  said, 
'  I  am  not  the  Christ,  but  am  sent  before  Him. ' "  John  was  regarded 
by  the  nation  at  large  as  a  prophet,  and,  as  such,  he  was  venerated  so 
greatly,  that,  even  after  his  death,  many  explained  the  miracles  of 
Jesus  by  supposing  that  He  was  John,  risen  again  from  the  dead, 
clothed  with  the  transcendent  powers  of  the  spirit  world  from  which 
he  had  returned.  Later  still,  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  were  afraid 
the  people  would  stone  them  if  they  spoke  of  his  baptism  as  merely 
human.  He  was  now  the  foremost  man  in  the  land,  but  his  splendid 
humility  never  for  a  moment  deserted  him.  "He  may  ranke  no 
kingly  show,"  he  continued,  "and  may  have  raised  no  excitement, 
but  He  is  far  above  me.  You  know  how  the  friend  of  the  bride 
leads  her  home  to  the  bridegroom — how  he  goes  before  the  choir  of 
companions  that  escort  her,  and  brings  her,  Avith  loud  rejoicings,  to 
her  lord.  I  am  only  that  friend,  the  Kingdom  of  God  is  the  bride, 
and  Jesus  the  Heavely  Bridegroom.  The  prophets  of  old  have  fore- 
told the  espousals  of  heaven  and  earth:  they  are  fast  approacliing:  the 
kingdom  of  the  Messiah  is  even  now  at  hand,  and  will  fulfil  the 
promise.     Let  us  be  glad,  and  rejoice,  and  gire  honour  to  Him,  fox 


360  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  marriage  of  the  Lamb  is  come,  and  His  wife  has  made  herself 
ready.  The  friend  listens  for  the  bridegroom's  voice,  to  ob(  y  iiis 
commands,  and  promote  his  joy,  and  rejoices  to  hear  it,  when  he  hvs 
led  the  bride  to  him.  My  joy  is  fulfilled,  in  bavins:  stirred  up  the  mul- 
titude to  flock  to  the  ministrations  of  the  Lamb  of  God,  and  I  rejoice 
in  His  being  so  near  me  that  I  seem  to  catch  His  voice.  He  must 
increase;  I  must  decrease.  I  am  but  the  morning  star;  He,  the  rising 
,sun.  He  comes  from  above,  and  is,  thus,  above  all;  I  am  oiilya  myn 
like  j'ourselves,  of  the  earth,  and  speak  as  a  man,  what  I  have  been 
sent  by  God  to  utter.  He  is  the  Messiah  from  heaven,  and  speaks 
what  He  has  seen  and  heard  in  the  eternal  world — speaks  from  His 
own  direct  knowledge.  I  only  repeat  what  may  be  revealed  to  me, 
here  below.  My  mission  is  well  nigh  over,  and  I  now  only  finish  my 
testimony  before  I  finally  vanish.  But,  though  thus  worthy  of  all 
honour,  few  receive  His  witness:  it  is  an  evil  "generation  that  seeks 
a  Messiah  very  different  from  the  holy  Messiah  of  God.  He  who 
believes  in  Him  glorifies  the  faithfulness  of  God  in  fulfilling  His 
promises  to  send  salvation  to  man.  For  the  Gospel  He  proclaims  is 
but  the  utterance  of  tlie  precious  words  of  God  the  Father  to  our 
race,  and,  thus,  in  believing  His  Son,  we  honour  Him  who  sent  Him. 
Prophets,  and  even  I,  the  Baptist,  receive  the  Spirit  only  in  the 
measure  God  is  pleased  to  grant,  but  God  pours  out  His  gifts  on  Him 
without  measure." 

Such  thoughts  filled  the  speaker's  heart  with  tender  adoration, 
which  embodied  itself  in  closing  words  of  wondrous  sublimity. 
"You  may  well  believe  on  Him,"  said  he,  "for  the  Father  has 
given  all  things  into  His  hand, — elernal  life  and  outer  darkness.  He 
has  not  only  the  divine  anointing  of  the  Messiah,  but  the  awful  power. 
To  be  saved  by  the  works  of  the  Law  is,  moreover,  hopeless:  faith 
in  Him  is  the  one  Salvation.  It  is  momentous,  therefore,  that  you 
receive  Him,  for  to  reject  Him  is  to  perish.  Blessed  is  he  who 
believes  in  Him:  he  has,  even  now,  the  beginnings  in  his  soul  of  the 
divine  life  which  survives  death  and  never  dies.  Woe  to  him  who 
will  not  hear  His  voice.  He  shall  never  see  life ;  but  the  wrath  of 
God  will  burn  against  him  abidingly!" 

Jesus  had  now  remained  in  Judea  about  nine  months,  from  the 
Passover,  in  April,  to  the  winter  sowing  time,  in  December  or 
January.  The  crowds  that  came  to  hear  Him,  though  rarely  to 
receive  His  "witness,"  grew  daily  larger,  and  His  fame  spread  far 
and  near,  even  to  Galilee.  His  very  success,  however,  in  attracting 
numbers,  made  His  retirement  to  another  district  necessary,  for  in 
Judea  He  was  under  the  keen  and  unfriendly  eyes  of  the  bigoted 
religious  world  of  Jerusalem,  who  saw  in  Him  a  second  rival,  more 
dangerous  than  the  Baptist.  His  bearing  towards  them  had  been 
seen  in  the  cleansing  of  the  Temple,  and  His  miracles  were  likely  to 
give  Him  even  more  power  over  the  people  than  John  had  had,  and 
to  lead  them  to  a  revolt  from  the  legal  slavery  to  Rabbinical  niles,  in 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  S61 

•which  the  Jerusalem  Scribes  and  Pharisees  held  them.  There  had, 
as  yet,  beeu  no  open  hostility,  but  it  was  not  in  keeping  with  the 
spirit  of  Jesus  to" provoke  persecution.  His  hour  had  not  yet  come, 
and  to  brave  danger  at  present,  when  duty  did  not  demand  it,  would 
have  been  contrary  to  His  whole  nature.  Hei'eaftcr,  when  duty 
called  Him  to  do  so,  He  would  voluntarily  come,  not  to  Judea  alone, 
but  to  Jerusalem,  thou;2:h  He  knew  it  meant  His  death. 

But,  apart  from  the  kindling  jealousj^  of  the  Pharisees,  the  people 
themselves  were  sufficient  explanation  of  the  return  of  Jesus  to 
Galilee.  He  was  no  mere  popularity  hunter,  flattered  by  the  idle 
curiosity  that  drew  crowds  to  scl"  what  wonder  He  might  perform. 
He  had  numbers,  but  yet  His  mission,  in  the  only  light  in  which  Hg 
regarded  results,  had  been  little  better  than  sowing  on  the  wayside,  or 
the  stony  placft,  or  among  thistles  and  thorns.  He  had  made  so  few- 
disciples,  tliat  John  could  speak  of  them  as  none.  The  fame  He  had 
gained  might  serve  Him  elsewhere,  but  He  measured  the  claims  of  a 
locality  on  His  ministrations,  not  by  the  numbers  who  came  to  Him, 
but  by  the  proportion  won  to  God. 

The  direct  road  to  Galilee  ran  through  the  half -heathen  country  of 
Samaria,  and  tliis  Jesus  resolved  to  take,  though  men  of  His  natioa 
generally  preferred  the  circuitous  route  by  Perea,  rather  than  pass 
turough  tne  territory  of  a  race  they  hated.  It  ran  north  from 
Jerusalem,  past  Bethel,  between  the  height  of  Libona  on  tiic  left 
hand,  and  of  Sliiloh  0:1  t!ie  right,  entering  Samaria  at  the  .^outh  end 
of  tlie  beautiful  valley,  which,  further  north,  stretches  past  the  foot 
of  Mounts  Gerizim  and  Ebal.  He  must  have  started  in  the  early 
morning,  to  reach  Syciiar  by  noon,  and  must  have  been  near  the 
boundary  to  liave  done  so  at  all,  in  the  short  mcrning  of  a  winter's 
day.  Tne  road  was  proverbially  vmsafe  for  Jevvish  passengers, 
either  returning  from  Jerusalem  or  going  to  it,  for  it  passed  through 
the  border  districts  where  the  feuds  of  Ihe  two  rival  peoples  r.:ged 
most  hercely.  The  paths  among  the  hills  of  Akrabbim,  leading  into 
Samaria,  had  often  been  wet  w  ith  the  blood  of  Jew  cr  Samaritan, 
for  they  were  the  scene  cf  constant  raids  and  forays,  like  our  own 
oarder  marches  between  Wales  or  Scotland,  in  fcrncr  days.  It  had 
been  dangerous  even  in  the  days  of  Hosca,  eight  hundred  years 
before,  but  it  was  worsj  now.  The  pilgi'ims  from  Galilee  to  the 
feasts  were  often  molested,  and  sometimes  even  attacked  and  scattered, 
with  more  or  less  slaughter;  each  act  of  violence  bringing  tpeedy 
reprisals  from  the  population  of  Jerusalem  and  Judea,  on  the  one 
Gide,  and  of  Galilee  on  the  other;  the  villages  of  the  border  districts, 
as  most  easily  reached,  bearing  the  brunt  of  the  feud,  in  smoking 
cottages,  and  indiscriminate  massacre  of  young  and  old. 

The  country,  as  He  approached  Samaritan  territory,  was  gradually 
more  inviting  than  the  hills  of  Southern  Judea.  "  Gamaria,"  saj's 
Josephus,  "  lies  between  Judea  and  Galilee.  It  begins  at  a  village  in 
ilie  ^reat  plain  (of  Esdraelon)  called  Ginea  (Enganuim),  and  ends  at 


863  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  district,  or  'toparch,'  of  Akrabbim,  and  is  of  the  same  character 
as  Judea.  Both  countries  are  made  up  of  hills  and  valleys,  and  are 
moist  for  agriculture,  and  very  fruitful.  They  have  abundance  of 
trees  (mostly  long  since  cut  down),  and  are  full  of  autumnal  fruit, 
both  wild  and  cultivated.  They  are  not  naturally  watered  by  many 
rivers,  but  derive  tlieir  chief  moisture  from  the  rains,  of  which  they 
have  no  want.  As  to  the  rivers  they  have,  their  waters  are  exceed- 
ingly sweet.  By  reason,  also,  of  the  excellent  grass,  their  cattle 
yield  more  milk  than  those  of  other  places,  and  both  countries  show 
that  greatest  proof  of  excellence  and  plenty — they  are,  each,  very 
full  of  people."  In  our  days,  Samaria  is  more  pleasant  than  Judea. 
The  limestone  hills  do  not  drink  in  the  waters  that  fall  on  them  like 
those  of  the  south.  Rich  level  stretches  of  black  soil,  overflowed  in 
the  wet  season,  form  splendid  pastures,  which  alternate,  in  tlae  valleys, 
with  fertile  tracts  of  corn-land,  gardens,  and  orchards.  Grape-vines, 
and  many  kinds  of  fruit-trees,  cover  the  warm  slopes  of  the  limestone 
hills,  and  groves  of  olives  and  walnuts  crown  their  rounded  tops. 
The  meadows  of  Samaria  have  always  been  famous.  The  prophets, 
already,  speak  of  the  pastures  on  its  downs,  and  of  the  thicliets  of 
its  hill-forests.  As  Josephus  tells  us,  the  supply  of  rain  was  abundant 
on  the  hills,  and  made  them  richly  wooded.  The  climate  was  so 
good  and  liealthy,  that  the  Romans  greatly  preferred  the  military 
stations  in  Samaria  to  those  of  Judea.  Yet  the  landscape  is  tame  and 
monotonous  compared  to  that  of  Galilee.  Its  flat  valleys,  and  straight 
lines  of  hills,  all  rounded  atop,  and  nearly  of  a  height,  contrast  un- 
favourably with  the  bold  scenery  of  the  Galila^an  highlands — the 
home  of  Jesus. 

Having  reached  the  top  of  the  steep  hill,  up  which  the  path 
stretches,  tlic  large  and  fertile  plain  of  Mukhna,  running  north  and 
south,  lay  beneath  Mounts  Ebal  and  Gerizim,  the  giants  of  the 
mountains  of  Ephraim,  which  rose  midway  on  its  western  side,  while 
low  chains  of  gently  sloping  hills  enclosed  it,  as  a  whole.  The  path 
descends  towards  the  hills  which  skirt  the  western  side  of  the  plain, 
and  runs  along  their  base,  rising  and  falling  in  long  undulations. 
Picturesque  clumjps  of  trees  still  dot  the  hillsides,  and  bare,  precipi- 
tous faces  of  rock  rise  above  the  green  fields  and  olive-j'ards,  which, 
more  or  less,  cover  the  slopes,  mingling,  at  last,  with  trees  above. 
Half-way  up  the  plain,  a  small  valley  opens  to  the  west,  between 
Ebal  and  Gerizim.  which  rise,  steep  and  precipitous  on  the  side  next 
the  plain,  to  tlie  height,  respectively,  of  1,250  and  1,100  feet,  both, 
as  seen  from  below,  equally  sterile.  The  path  enters  the  valley  by  a 
gentle  rise,  and  a  brook  of  fresh,  clear  water,  which  turns  a  mill  on 
its  way,  flows  out  with  a  pleasant  murmur,  into  the  plain.  On  the 
left,  Gerizim  rises  in  rugged  and  bold  masses;  on  the  right,  Ebal, 
which,  though  steep,  is  terraced  to  a  considerable  height,  with  gar- 
dens fenced  by  the  fig  cactus;  other  terraces,  planted  with  corn, 
rising,  in  some  parts,  even  to  the  summit. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHBIST,  868' 

The  town  of  NablQs — the  ancient  Shechem — is  about  a  mile  and 
a-half  from  the  mouth  of  this  side  valley,  in  which  it  stands. 
Luxuriant  gardens,  richly  watered,  girdle  it  round  outside  its  old  and 
dilapidated  walls,  whose  gates,  hanging  off  their  hinges,  are  an  emblem 
of  all  things  else,  at  this  day,  in  Palestine.  Tlie  valley,  at  the  town, 
is  so  narrow,  that  a  strong  man  might  almost  shoot  an  arrow  from 
the  one  hill  to  the  other.  The  houses  of  NablQs  are  stone— a  number 
of  them  of  several  stories — with  small  windows  and  balconies,  and 
low  doors,  over  which  texts  of  the  Koran  are  often  painted,  as  a  si^n 
that  the  householder  has  made  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  It  is  a  very 
small  place,  stretching  from  east  to  west ;  with  narrow  covered  streets, 
running  north  and  south  from  the  two  principal  ones.  Their  sides  are 
raised,  so  as  to  leave  a  filthy,  sunken  path,  in  the  middle,  for  cattle; 
but,  as  a  set-off  to  this,  many  copious  fountains  and  clear  rivulets, 
flow  through  those  on  the  west  of  the  town. 

To  this  ancient  town,  then  in  its  glory,  and  very  different  from 
its  present  condition — along  this  path — Jesus  was  coming,  no 
doubt  agreeably  impressed  by  the  beauties  of  a  spot  unequalled  in 
Palestine  for  its  landscape.  Clumps  of  lofty  walnut  trees,  thick 
groves  of  almond,  pomegranate,  olive,  pear,  and  plum  trees 
adorned  the  outskirts,  and  ran  towards  the  opening  of  the  valley. 
The  weather  was  bright  and  warm,  and  the  brightness  would  fill  the 
many-coloured  woods  and  verdure,  with  the  melodious  songs  of  birds. 
The  clear,  sweet  notes  of  our  own  blackbird;  the  loud  thrill  of  the 
lark,  high  overhead,  and  the  chirping  of  finches,  in  each  copse,  rose 
then,  as  now.  The  brooks  of  clear  mountain  water  then,  as  to-day, 
played,  and  splashed,  and  murmured,  past.  Thousands  of  flowers 
enamelled  the  grass  on  the  slopes,  for  the  ' '  blessings  of  Joseph" 
reached  their  highest  in  the  valley  of  Shechem.  ' '  The  land  of  Syria," 
said  Mahomet,  "is  beloved  by  Allah  beyond  all  lands,  and  the 
part  of  Syria  which  He  loveth  most  is  the  district  of  Jerusalem,  and 
tlie  place  which  He  loveth  most  in  the  district  of  Jerusalem  is  the 
Mountain  of  Nablils. "  The  contrast  with  nature  was  only  an  antici- 
pation of  the  brighter  spiritual  prospect.  But  before  Jesus  came  to 
the  town.  He  halted  for  a  time  to  rest. 

Close  under  the  eastern  foot  of  Gerizim,  at  the  opening  of  the  side 
valley  from  the  wide  plain,  on  a  slight  knoll,  a  mile  and  a  half  from 
the  town,  surrounded,  now,  by  stones  and  broken  pillars,  is  Jacob's 
well.  The  ruins  are  those  of  an  old  church,  which  stood  over  the 
well  as  early  as  the  fifth  century,  but  has  long  ago  perislied  in  the 
storms  of  the  times.  Over  the  well,  a  few  years  since,  were  still  to 
be  seen  the  remains  of  an  alcove,  such  as  is  built  beside  most  Eastern 
wells,  to  give  a  seat  and  shelter  to  the  tired  wayfarer.  There  is  no 
question  that  the  name  of  the  ancient  patriarch  is  rightly  given. 
Thirt}-  or  forty  springs  are  found  in  the  neighbourhood,  but  they  were, 
doubtless,  already,  in  Jacob's  day,  private  property,  so  that  he  had  no 
alternative  but  to  sink  a  well  for  himself.      Nor  was  it  a  slight  mx- 


364  THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST. 

dertakinp^,  for  it  is  dug  tlirough  the  alluvial  soil,  to  an  unknown 
depth,  and  lined,  throughout,  'with  strong  rough  masonry.  It  is  ?till 
about  seventy-five  feet  deep,  but  so  recently  as  1838  it  was  thirty  feet 
deeper,  each  year  helping  to  fill  it  up,  from  the  practice  of  all  who 
visit  it,  both  natives  and  travellers,  to  throw  in  stones,  to  hear  their 
rebound.  This  custom,  which  may  be  recent,  adding  to  the  accu- 
mulations of  over  two  thousand  years,  has  filled  it  up  perhaps  one- 
half.  The  shaft  is  seven  and  a  half  feet  in  diameter,  and  the  whole 
work  must  have  been  the  labour  of  years.  It  is  exactly  on  the  water- 
shed of  the  district,  but  as  it  depends  on  rain-water  only,  it  is,  now, 
often  dry,  though,  perhaps,  when  of  a  greater  depth,  always  more  or 
less  full.  Lieut.  Anderson  descended  it  in  1866  and  found  it  quite 
dry,  I  ut  an  unbroken  pitcher  at  the  bottom  showed  that  there  was 
water  in  it  at  some  seasons.  Latterly,  it  has  been  buried  under  a 
great  heap  of  stones,  hiding  its  mouth,  which  Lieut.  Anderson  found 
in  a  sunken  chamber  twenty  feet  deep,  the  opening  being  just  large 
enough  to  admit  a  man's  body. 

Tired  with  His  long  mountain  w.^lk,  and  by  the  heat  of  noon— for 
it  was  midday,  and  noon  in  Palestine,  even  in  December,  is  often 
warm — Jesus 'was  glad  to  turn  aside  and  rest  by  Jacob's  well.  It  was, 
moreover,  the  hour  for  refreshment,  and  He  resolved  to  stay  in  the 
grateful  shade  of  the  trees  and  the  alcove,  till  His  di.'^ciples  went  up 
the  little  valley  to  the  town  to  buy  food.  The  funds  supplied 
by  friends,  wlio  delighted  to  minister  to  Him,  provided  the  ready 
means. 

Y\"hile  thus  resting,  a  Samaritan  woman,  from  Sychar,  which  may 
have  been  the  same  place  as  Shechem,  or,  perhaps,  was  the  village  near 
the  well,  now  known  as  Askar,  approached,  with  a  water  jar  on  her 
head,  as  is  the  custom,  and  a  long  cord  in  her  hand,  with  which  to 
let  the  jar  down  the  well.  Few  sought  the  place  at  that  hour,  for 
evening  Avas  the  commoii  time  for  drawing  water,  and  thus  Jesus  and 
she  were  alone.  To  ask  a  draught  of  water  is  a  request  no  one  in  the 
Ea4  thinks  of  refusing,  for  the  hot  climate  makes  all  feel  its  value. 
Hence,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  it  might  have  been  expected, 
on  Jesus  asking  this  favour,  that  it  would  be  granted  as  a  matter  oi 
course.  His  dress,  or  dialect,  however,  Jiad  shown  the  woman  that  He 
was  a  Jew,  and  the  relations  between  Jews  and  Samaritans  made  His 
seeking  even  such  a  trifling  courtesy  from  her  seem  strange,  for  the 
two  nations  M'ere  mortal  enemies.  After  the  deportation  of  the  ten 
tribes  to  Assyria,  Samaria  had  been  repeopled  by  heathen  colonists 
from  various  piovinces  of  the  Assyrian  empire,  by  fugitives  from  the 
authorities  of  Judea,  and  by  stragglers  of  one  or  other  of  the  ten  tribes, 
who  found  their  way  home  again.  The  first  heathen  settlers,  terrified 
at  the  increase  of  wild  animals,  especially  lions,  and  attributing  it  to 
their  not  knowing  the  proper  worship  of  the  God  of  the  country,  sent 
for  one  of  the  exiled  priests,  and,  under  his  instructions,  added  the 
worship  of  Jehovah  Lo  that  of  their  idols — an  incident  in  their  history. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CKRIST.  865 

from  v'liich  later  Jewish  hatred  and  derision  taunted  them  as  "pros- 
elytes of  the  lions,"  as  it  branded  them,  from  their  Assyrian  origin, 
with  the  name  of  Cuthites.  Ultimately,  however,  they  became  even 
more  rigidly  attached  to  the  Law  of  Moses  than  the  Jews  themselves. 
Anxious  to^  be  recognized  as  Israelites,  they  set  their  hearts  on  join- 
ing the  two  tribes,  on  their  return  from  captivity,  but  the  stern  puri- 
tanism  of  Ezra  and  Neheraiah  admitted  no  alliance  between  the  pure 
blood  of  Jerusalem  and  the  tainted  race  of  the  north.  Resentment  at 
this  affront  was  natural,  and  excited  resentment  in  return,  till,  in 
Christ's  day,  centuries  of  strife  and  mutual  injury,  intensified  by  theo- 
logical hatred  on  both  sides,  had  made  them  implacable  enemies. 
The  Samaritans  had  built  a  temple  on  JMountGerizim,  to  rival  that  of 
Jerusalem,  but  it  had  been  destroyed  by  John  Hyrcanus,  who  had 
also  labelled  Samaria  to  the  ground.  They  claimed  for  their  moun- 
tain a  greater  holiness  than  that  of  ]\Ioriah;  accused  the  Jews  of 
adding  to  the  word  of  God,  by  receiving  the  writings  of  the  prophets, 
and  prided  themselves  on  owning  only  the  Pentateuch  as  inspired; 
favoured  Herod  because  the  Jews  hated  him,  and  were  loyal  to  him 
and  the  equally  hated  Roman;  had  kindled  false  lights  on  the  hills,  to 
vitiate  the  Jewish  reckoning  by  the  new  moons,  and  thus  throw  their 
feasts  into  confusion,  and,  in  the  early  youth  of  Jesus,  had  even  defiled 
the  very  Temple  itself,  by  strewing  human  bones  in  it,  at  the  Passover. 
Nor  had  hatred  slumbered  on  the  side  of  the  Jews.  They  knew 
the  Samaritans  only  as  Cuthites,  or  heathen  from  Cuth.  "The  race 
that  I.  hate  is  no  race,"  taj^s  the  son  of  Sirach.  It  Vv^as  held  that  a 
people  who  once  had  worshipped  five  gods  could  have  no  part  in 
Jehovah.  The  claim  of  the  Samaritans  that  Moses  had  buried  the 
Tabernacle  and  its  vessels  on  the  top  of  Gerizim,  was  laughed  to 
scorn.  It  was  said  that  they  had  dedicated  their  temple,  under  An- 
tiochus  Epiphanes,  to  the  Greek  Jupiter.  Their  keeping  the  com- 
mands of  3Ioses  even  more  strictly  than  the  Jews,  that  it  might  seem 
they  were  really  of  Israel,  was  not  denied;  but  their  heathenism,  it 
was  said,  had  been  proved  by  the  discovery  of  a  brazen  dove,  which 
they  worshipped,  on  the  top  of  Gerizim.  It  would  have  been  enough 
that  they  boasted  of  Herod  as  their  good  king,  who  had  married  _a 
daughter  of  their  people ;  that  he  had  been  free  to  follov%',  in  their 
country,  his  Roman  tastes,  so  hated  in  Judca:  that  they  had  remained 
quiet,  after  his  death,  when  Judea  and  Galilee  were  in  uproar,  and 
that  a  fourth  of  their  taxes  liad  been  remitted  and  added  to  the  bur- 
dens of  Judea,  for  their  peacefulness.  Their  friendliness  to  the  Ro- 
mans was  an  additional  provocation.  Vv'hilc  the  Jews  were  kept 
quiet  only  by  the  sternest  severity,  and  strove  to  the  utmost  against 
the  introduction  of  anything  foreign,  the  Samaritans  rejoiced  in  the 
new  importance  which  their  loyalty  to  the  empire  had  given  them. 
Shechem  flourished:  close  by,  in  Ca?sarea,  the  procurator  held  his 
court:  a  division  of  cavalry,  in  barracks  at  Sebaste — the  old  Samaria 
—iad  been  raised  in  the  territory.      The  Romaa  strangers  were 


'fW  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

more  than  'welcome  to  while  away  the  summer  in  their  umbrageou* 

valleys 

llio  illimitable  hatred,  rising  from  so  many  sources,  found  vent 
in  the  tradition  that  a  special  curse  had  been  uttered  against  the 
Samaitans,  by  Ezra,  Serubbabel,  and  Joshua.  It  was  said  that  these 
great  ones  assembled  the  whole  congregation  of  Israel  in  tlie  Tem- 
ple, and  that  three  hundred  priests,  with  three  hundred  trumpets, 
and  three  hundred  books  of  the  Law,  and  three  hundred  scholars 
of  the  Law,  had  been  employed  to  repeat,  amidst  the  most  sol- 
emn ceremonial,  all  the  curses  of  the  Law  against  the  Samar- 
itans. They  had  been  subjected  to  every  form  of  excommunica- 
tion; by  the  incommunicable  name  of  Jehovah;  by  the  Tables  of 
the  Law,  and  by  the  heavenly  and  earthly  synagogues.  The  very 
name  became  a  reproach.  "  We  Icnow  that  Thou  art  a  Samaritan, 
and  hast  a  devil,"  said  the  Jews,  to  Jesus,  in  Jerusalem.  "There 
may  be  friendliness  between  Samaria  and  Jerusalem, "  said  a  young 
Eabbi,  summing  up  the  points  in  dispute  between  his  nation  and  the 
Samaritans,  "when  the  Cuthites  have  no  more  to  do  with  Mount 
Gerizim ;  when  they  praise  Israel,  and  believe  in  the  resurrection  of 
the  dead — but  not  till  then."  No  Israelite  could  lawfully  eat  even  a 
mouthful  of  food  that  had  been  touched  by  a  Samaritan,  for,  "to  do 
so  Avas  as  if  he  ate  the  flesh  of  swine."  No  Samaritan  was  allowed 
to  become  a  proselyte,  nor  could  he  have  any  part  in  the  resurrection 
of  the  dead.  A  Jew  might  be  friendly  with  a  heathen,  but  never 
■with  a  Samaritan,  and  all  bargains  made  with  one  were  invalid.  The 
testimony  of  a  Samaritan  could  not  be  taken  in  a  Jewish  court,  and 
to  receive  one  into  one's  house  would  bring  down  the  curse  of  God. 
It  had  even  become  a  subject  of  warm  controversy  how  far  a  Jew 
might  use  food  or  fruit  grown  on  Samaritan  soil.  What  grows  on 
trees  or  in  fields  was  reckoned  clean,  but  it  was  doubtful  respecting 
flour  or  wine.  A  Samaritan  egg,  as  the,  hen  laid  it,  could  not  be  un- 
clean, but  what  of  a  boiled  egg?  Yet  interest  and  convenience 
strove,  by  subtle  casuistry,  to  invent  excuses  for  what  intercourse  was 
unavoidable.  The  country  of  the  Cuthites  was  clean,  so  that  a  Jew 
might,  without  scruple,  gather  and  cat  its  produce.  The  waters  of 
8amaria  were  clean,  so  that  a  Jew  might  drink  them  or  wash  in  them. 
Their  dwellings  were  clean,  so  that  he  might  enter  them,  and  eat  or 
lodge  in  them.  Their  roads  Avcre  clean,  so  that  the  dust  of  them  did 
not  defile  a  Jew's  feet.  The  Rabbis  even  went  so  far  in  their  contra- 
dictory utterances,  as  to  say  that  the  victuals  of  the  Cuthites  were 
allowed,  if  none  of  their  wine  or  vinegar  Avere  mixed  Avith  them,  and 
even  their  unleavened  bread  Avas  to  be  reckoned  fit  for  use  at  the 
Passover.  Opinions  thus  wavered,  but,  as  a -rule,  harsher  feeling 
prevailed. 

Jesus  was  infinitely  above  such  unwortliy  strifes  and  prejudices, 
and  His  disciples  had  caught  something  of  His  calm  elevation,  for 
they  had  already  set  off  to  the  city  for  food,  when  He  spoke  to  th» 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  867 

•woman.  She  could  only,  in  her  wonder,  ask,  in  reply,  "Ho"w  is  it 
that  Thou,  being  a  Jew,  askest  drink  of  me,  who  am  a  Samaritan 
Woman?"  Her  frankness  and  kindly  bearine  had  its  reward.  With 
His  wondrous  skill  in  using  even  the  smallest  and  commonest  trifles 
to  lead  to  the  highest  and  worthiest  truths,  He  lifts  her  thoughts  to 
matters  infinitely  above  the  mere  wants  of  the  body.  By  an  easy 
transition.  He  tells  lier  of  living  water,  the  gift  of  God,  which  He  has 
to  give, — so  precious,  that,  if  she  knew  what  it  was,  and  who  He  was 
who  spoke  with  her,  she,  in  her  turn,  would  ask  Him  to  allow  her  to 
drink.  He  meant,  of  course,  the  divine  grace  and  truth  given  by 
Him  to  those  who  sought  it,  the  true  living  water,  ever  fresh  in  its 
quickening  power,  and  efficacy  to  satisfy  the  thirst  of  the  soul.  Such 
a  metaphor  was  exactly  fitted  to  arrest  her  attention,  but,  like  Nico- 
demus,  she  rises  no  higher  than  the  literal  sense.  "You  cannot 
mean  the  water  in  the  well  here,"  says  she:  "you  cannot  give  me 
that,  for  you  have  nothing  to  draw  with,  and  the  well  is  deep. 
Whence,  then,  can  you  get  this  living  water  of  which  you  speak? 
Are  you  greater  than  our  father  Jacob,  who  gave  us  the  well?  It  was 
good  enough  for  him  and  his  to  drink  from,  and  you  speak  as  if  you 
had  other  and  better!"  Samaritan  tradition  had  traced  the  well  to 
the  gift  of  Jacob,  though  it  is  not  mentioned  in  Genesis;  and  Jacob 
— to  a  Samaritan,  as  to  a  Jew — was  almost  more  than  a  man.  Her 
curiosity  was  now  fairly  roused,  and  her  willingness  to  hear  was  evi- 
dent. "This  water  is,  no  doubt,  good,"  replied  Jesus,  " but  any  one 
who  drinks  it  will  thirst  again,  whereas  ho  who  drinks  the  water  that. 
I  give  will  never  thirst,  but  will  find  it  like  a  well  of  water  in  his 
soul,  springing  up  into  everlasting  life."  More  and  more  interested, 
the  woman  craves  some  of  this  mii-aculous  water,  that  she  may  not 
thirst,  nor  need  to  come  all  the  way  thither  to  draw.  She  still  thinks 
only  of  common  water. 

But  now  followed  a  question  which,  while,  apparently,  of  no 
moment,  showed  her  that  she  'was  before  one  who  knew  the  Secrets 
of  her  life,  and,  while  it  woke  a  sense  of  guilt,  opened  the  way  for 
penitence.  "Go,  call  thy  husband."  She  answered  that  she  had 
none.  "You  are  right,"  replied  Jesus,  "for  you  have  had  five  hus- 
bands, and  he  whom  you  now  have  is  not  your  husband."  The  five 
had  either  divorced  "her  for  immorality,  or  were  dead:  to  the  sixth 
she  was  not  married. 

The  light,  half-bold  mood  of  the  woman  was  now  entirely  past. 
"My  lord,"  said  she,  "I  behold  that  Thou  art  a  prophet, "  and, 
doubtless,  the  conviction  flashed  with  it  through  her  breast  the  kin- 
dred thought,  Uiat  the  Jewish  religion,  which  He  seemed  to  represent, 
must  be  the  true  one.  Then,  perhaps  half  wishing  to  turn  the  con- 
versation— with  a  glance  at  the  holy  hill,  towering  eight  hundred  feet 
above  them — she  added,  ' '  Our  fathers  worshipped  in  this  mountain, 
*nd  ye  say,  that  in  Jerusalem  is  the  place  where  men  ought  to 
worship." 


588  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

To  the  Eamaritnns,  Gerizim  was  the  most  sacred  spot  on  earth. 
It  T<.'as  Ihcir  sacred  mountain,  and  had  been,  as  they  believed,  the  seat 
cf  Paradise,  vv'hile  all  the  streams  that  water  the  earth  were  supposed 
to  flow  from  it.  Adam  had  been  formed  of  its  dust,  and  had  lived  on. 
it.  The  few  Pamaiitans  still  surviving,  show,  even  at  this  day,  tho 
spot  en  which  he  built  his  first  altar,  and  that  on  which,  afterwards, 
the  altar  of  Seth,  also,  was  raised.  They  fancied  that  Gerizim  was 
Ararat,  fifteen  cubits  liighcr  than  the  next  highest  and  next  holiest 
mountain  on  earth — Mount  Ebal,  and  that  it  was  the  one  pure  and 
sacred  spot  in  the  world,  vv'hich,  having  risen  above  the  waters  of  the 
flood,  no  corpse  had  defiled.  Every  Samaritan  child  of  the  neighbour- 
hood could  point  out  the  places  on  it  where  Noah  came  out  from  the 
ark,  and  Avhcre  he  built  his  altar,  and  show  the  seven  altar  stejTs,  ou 
each  of  which  IXoah  offered  a  sacrifice.  The  altar  on  which  Abraham 
bound  Isaac,  and  the  spot  Vvhere  the  ram  was  caught  in  the  thicket, 
were  amongst  its  wonders.  In  the  centre  of  the  summit  was  the 
broad  stone  on  which  Jacob  rested  his  head  when  he  saw  the  mystic 
ladder,  and,  near  it,  the  spot  where  Joshua  built  the  first  altar  in  the 
land,  after  its  conquest,  and  the  twelve  stones  he  set  up,  on  the'  under 
side  of  which,  they  believed,  the  Law  of  Moses  had  been  written.  On 
this  sacred  ground  their  Temple  had  stood  for  two  hundred  years, 
till  destroyed  by  the  Jews  a  hundred  and  twenty-nine  years  before 
Christ.  Towards  Gerizim  every  Samaritan  turned  his  face  when  he 
prayed,  and  it  was  believed  the  IMessiah  v>ould  fast  appear  on  its  top, 
to  bring  from  their  hiding-place  in  it  the  racrcd  vessels  of  the  Taber- 
nacle of  Moses.  It  was  vmspeakably  f  acred  to  the  nation,  as  the  one 
spot  on  earth  where  man  was  nearest  his  Maker.  The  simple  Samar- 
itan woman,  with  v^'honi  Jesus  talked,  had  been  trained  up  in  the 
undoubting  belief  of  all  these  legends,  and  her  very  mention  of  Jeru- 
salem, respectfully,  a^  a  place  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jew,  showed 
a  spirit  ready  to  be  taught. 

She  was  only  a  humble  woman,  and  withal,  of  poor  antecedents, 
but  it  was  the  characteristic  of  Jesus  to  recognize  the  better  self, 
even  in  the  outcast  and  lost.  The  hope  and  joy  of  the  triumphant 
future  of  His  kingdom  rose  in  His  soul  as  He  discoursed  with  her. 
No  narrow  intolerance  had  place  in  His  breast;  no  haughty  Jewish 
nationality  prejudiced  Him  against  man  as  man.  Away  from  the 
close  stifling  bigotry,  and  fierce  self-righteousness  of  Judea,  He 
breathed  more  freely.  To  the  Samaritans  He  always  seems  to  have 
felt  kindl_y,  for  it  is  a  Samaritan  whom  He  chose  to  illustrate  the  law 
of  neighboinly  love  in  His  immortal  parable;  it  was  a  Samaritan 
who,  alone,  of  the  ten  lepers  He  healed,  returned  to  give  glory  to  God; 
and,  now,  it  was  a  Samaritan  woman  who,  by  opening  her  heart  to 
His  words,  first  cheered  His  spirit,  after  the  cold  unbelief  of  Judea. 
The  influences  of  the  spot,  moreover,  had,  doubtless,  their  effect  on 
one  so  much  in  communion  with  nature.  The  towering  hills  on  each 
side — ^steep — well-nigh  precipitous,  and,  as  seen  from  the  well  where 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  369 

He  sat  naked  and  sterile;  the  undulating  valley  between  them,  with 
£  bubbling  brook;  the  busy  and  prosperous  Shechem,  embowered 
n  gardens  and  orchards;  the  great  plain,  ten  miles  m   en^gth  and  half 
as   broad    outside,  with   its  cornfields,  vmeyards   and   olive   gvoves 
spread  far  and  near;  the  framework  of  hills  enclosing  it  round;  the 
whole  flooded  by  the  bright  Eastern  noon,  must  have  touched  Hi3 
deUcate  sensibility,  as  th?y  could  not  have  affected  duller  natures. 
The  very  associations  of  the  scene  must  have  breathed  a  sacred  in- 
spiration  for,  here.  Jacob   had  wandered;   for  tl«  very  ground  on. 
which  this  well  had  been  dug,  he  had  pai<l  a  hundred  pieces  of  money ; 
Tnd     ere.  Joseph,  his  famous  son,  lay  buried  within  the  bounds  of 
his  father-s  purchase.     Here  Joshua  had  gathered  the  tribes  to  hear 
me  LawfiiS  the  rounded  hill-tops  above  and  Gideon  aj.d  a  long  roU 
of  iudo-es  and  kings,  had  ma  le  it  the  centre  of  their  rule      Tne  piam 
before  Him  had  been  the  gathering  place  of  the  hosts  ot  Israel   and 
novv  He  the  greater  Jo3hm,  a  mig  itier  judge  than  Gu  eon,  and  the 
irZ  '' Pr  nee  of  God,"  was  about  to  summon  the  peace  ul  soldiers  oi 
the  spiritual  Israel  to  a  loftier  struggle  than  ever  earth  had  seen-for 
Tru?h  and  God.     A  divine  enthusiasm  filled  His  soul,  and   he  vision 
of  the  sacred  future  He  came  to  inaugurate  for  man  rose  before  Him 
^hen  the  local,  national,  and  transitory  in  religion,  f^o",!;^!^-;;^^,^^^ 
away  before  tlie  universal,  spiritual,  and  eternal.    _    Lelie%e  me,    sa  d 
hI   ''an  hour  comes,  when  ve  shall  neither  in  this  mountain,  nor  m 
Jerusalem  worship  the  Father.     Ye  worship  God  without  knowing 
mm-Snomn   y.    Your  Temple,  when  it  stood,  was  without  a  name; 
stiUwo?sevour  forefathers,  after  a  time,  dedicated  it  to  idols      \ou 
haveTeiec  ed  the  prophets  and  all  the  Scriptures  after  Moses,  and  thus 
are  noUn  living  connection  with  the  earlier  history  of  the  kingdom  of 
God-  have  no  mtelligeut  knowledge  of  the  advancing  .steps  by  which 
God  "has  revealed  ifimself,  but  rest  on  dark  traditions  and  fancies 
natural  in  a  people  whose  religion  began  with  the  worship  ot  strange 
gods  along  with  Jehovah.    We.  Jews,  worship  that  winch  our  having 
feceived  the  Scriptures,  has  taught  us  to  know.     The  Messiah  and 
His  salvation  must  come  from  among  the  Jews.    They  have  cherished 
Se  firm,  pure,  and  living  hope  of  Him,  revealed  more  and  more  tully 
in  the  p  -ophets,  and  their  Temple,  which  has  always  been  sacred  to 
Jehovah  alone,  has  kept  this  hope  ever  before  them.    But  though   he 
Jews  be  rio-ht,  as  against  the  Samaritans,  in  so  tar  as  relates  to  the 
S  both  Tare  on  equa.   footing  as  to  the  far  more  glorious  future. 
An  iiour  comes  au^  now  is,  vfhen  the  true  worsliippers  will  worship 
The  fXtS  spirit  and  truth,  for  the  Father  seekethsuch  as  worship 
Him  Sus     God  is  a  Spirit,  and  they  that  worship  Him  must  worship 

'""mrds'^like'these  marked  an  epoch  in  the  spiritual  history  of  the 
world;  a  revolution  in  all  previous  ideas  of  the  relation  of  man  to  his 
Maker  They  are  the  proclamation  of  the  essential  equality  of  man 
before  God.  sLd  show  the  loftiest  superiority  to  muate  liuinan  preju- 


870  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dice  or  narrowness.  Christ  speaks,  not  as  a  Jew,  but  as  the  Son  of 
Man ;  the  representative  of  the  whole  race.  The  bitter  controversy 
between  race  and  race  is  only  touched,  in  passing,  with  a  divine  mild- 
ness. Rising  high,  not  only  above  His  own  age,  but  even  above  the 
prejudices  of  all  ages  since,  He  gives  mankind  their  charter  of 
spiritual  liberty  for  evermore.  Jerusalem  and  Gerizim  are  only  local 
and  subordinate  considerations.  The  worth  of  man's  homage  to 
God  does  not  depend  on  the  place  where  it  is  paid.  The  true  wor- 
ship has  its  temple  in  the  inmost  soul,  in  the  spirit  and  heart.  It  is 
the  life  of  the  soul ;  it  is  communion  with  God ;  the  reverend  espousal 
of  our  nature  to  truth.  It  is  spiritual  and  moral,  not  outward  and 
ritual,  springing  from  the  great  truth,  rightly  apprehended,  which 
Jesus  had  first  uttered,  that  God  is  a  Spirit.  The  revelation  of  this, 
in  the  wide  application  now  given  it,  was  the  foundation  of  the  New 
Religion  of  all  Humanity.  The  isolation  and  exclusiveness  of  former 
creeds  were  swept  away  by  it  for  ever.  Religion  was  henceforth  no 
tribal  privilege  jealously  kept  within  the  narrow  bounds  of  mere 
nationality.  The  universal  presence  of  a  spiritual  God  rtiade  the 
whole  world  alike  His  shrine.  The  veil  of  the  Temple  was  first  rent 
at  Jacob's  Well,  and  He  Who,  till  then,  had,  as  men  thought,  dwelt 
only  in  the  narrow  limits  of  the  chamber  it  shrouded,  went  forth  thence, 
from  that  hour,  to  consecrate  all  the  earth  as  one  great  Holy  of  Holies. 
Samaritans,  Heathen,  Jews,  were,  henceforth,  proclaimed  children  of 
a  common  heavenly  Father,  and  Jesus,  when  He,  presentlj^  claimed  to 
be  the  Messiah,  announced  Himself  as  the  Saviour  of  the  World. 
'  Perplexed  to  understand  words  so  lofty,  the  simple-minded  woman 
was  fain  to  put  off  any  attempt  to  solve  them,  till  He  came,  for 
whom,  in  common  with  the  Jews,  she -waited.  She  felt  hardly  con- 
vinced, and  wished  to  leave  the  question  about  Gerizim  and  Jerusalem 
till  the  Great  Prophet  appeared.  "  I  know  that  Messiah  comes,  who 
is  called  Christ;  when  He  shall  come.  He  will  tell  us  all  things." 
Even  the  Samaritans  had  their  hopes  of  a  great  deliverer,  expecting 
Him  to  restore  the  kingdom  of  Israel,  and  renew  the  Avorship  at 
Mount  Gerizim,  but  they  thought  of  Him  only  as  acting  by  human 
agencies  for  inferior  ends. 

Jesus  was  far  from  recognizing  her  as  right  in  all  she  meant  by 
such  an  answer,  but  she  had  shown  a  modest  and  docile  spirit,  such 
as  He  always  loved.  She  had  acknowledged  Him  as  a  prophet,  had 
listened  eagerly  to  His  words,  and  shown  how  she  hoped  that  the 
Messiah,  when  He  came,  would  set  the  long  controversy  to  rest. 
Her  honest  wish  to  know  the  truth;  her  interest  in  the  standing  of 
her  people  to  God  and  the  Law,  and  her  anxious  yearning  for  the 
coming  of  the  Messiah,  revealed  a  frame  of  mind  fitted  to  receive 
further  light.  "  You  need  not  wait,"  said  He,  "I  that  speak  unto 
thee  am  He."  The  first  great  revelation  of  the  Saviour  was  to 
humble  shepherds.  The  first  direct  disclosure  of  Himself  as  tlM 
Hessiah  was  to  an  humble  Samaritan  woman! 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  871 

Meanwhile,  the  disciples  had  returned  from  the  city,  and  wondered 
to  find  Him  talking  with  a  woman.  The  relations  of  the  sexes,  even 
in  common  life,  were  very  narrow  and  suspicious  among  the  Jews. 
That  a  woman  should  allow  herself  to  be  seen  unveiled  was  held 
immodest,  and  for  any  woman  to  let  herself  be  heard  singing  a  song 
was  almost  unchaste.  In  Judea  a  bridegroom  might  be  alone  with 
his  bride,  for  the  first  time,  an  hour  before  marriage,  but  in  Galilee 
even  this  was  thought  unbecoming.  Trades  which  brought  the  two 
sexes  in  any  measure  into  contact  were  regarded  with  suspicion,  and 
no  unmarried  person  of  either  sex  could  be  a  teacher,  lest  the  parents 
of  the  childi'en  might  visit  the  school.  In  Rabbis  especially,  even 
to  speak  with  a  woman  in  public  was  held  indecorous  in  the  highest 
degree.  "No  one"  (that  is,  no  Rabbi),  says  the  Talmud,  "is  to 
speak  with  a  woman,  even  if  she  be  his  wife,  in  the  public  street." 
It  was  forbidden  to  greet  a  woman,  or  take  any  notice  of  her.  "  Six 
things,"  we  are  told,  "are  to  be  shunned  by  a  Rabbi.  He  must  not 
be  seen  in  the  street  dripping  with  oil  (which  would  imply  vanity) : 
he  must  not  go  out  at  night  alone :  he  is  not  to  wear  patched  shoes 
(which  in  certain  cases  would  be  carrying  a  burden,  when  it  was  un- 
lawful to  do  so) :  he  must  not  speak  with  a  woman  in  a  public  place : 
he  must  shun  all  intercourse  with  common  people  (for,  not  knowing 
the  Law,  they  might  be  '  unclean  ') :  he  mvist  not  take  long  steps  (for 
that  would  show  that  lie  was  not  sunk  in  the  study  of  tlie  Law) :  and 
he  must  not  walk  erect  (for  that  would  betray  pride)."  Though 
higher  in  position  and  respect  among  the  Jews  than  in  other  Eastern 
nations,  woman,  at  the  time  of  Christ,  was  treated  as  wholly  inferior 
to  man.  ' '  Let  the  words  of  the  Law  be  burned, "  says  Rabbi  Elea- 
zer,  "rather  than  committed  to  women."  "He  who  instructs  his 
daughter  in  the  Law,"  says  tlie  Talmud,  "instructs  her  in  folly." 
But  He  who  came  to  raise  mankind  to  spiritual  freedom  and  moral 
purity,  included  woman,  as  well  as  man,  in  His  grand  philanthropy, 
and  treated  with  silent  contempt  the  pi'udery  by  which  it  was  sought 
to  humble  the  one  sex  to  exalt  the  other.  He  was  a  teacher  not  for 
an  age,  but  for  all  time,  and  woman  owes  her  elevation  to  social 
equality  with  man  to  the  lofty  respect  shown  her  by  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth. To  have  the  courage  of  one's  opinions  is  rare,  and  it  is  rarer 
still  to  retain,  with  it,  a  modest  humility,  and  simple  worship  of 
truth.  Witrh  most  of  us  it  is,  rather,  supercilious  contempt  of  infe- 
rior judgments  than  lowly  homage  to  conviction.  In  Jesus  alone 
is  it  found  as  an  instinctive  and  never-failing  cliaracteristic,  with 
no  blemish  or  cjualification  of  attendant  weakness.  He  acts,  at  all 
times,  as  before  God  alone,  and  as  if  unconscious  of  the  presence  or 
opinions  of  man. 

Strange  as  the  incident  must  have  seemed  to  the  disciples,  the  awe 
and  reverence  which  Jesus  had  already  excited  in  their  minds  checked 
any  expression  of  surprise.  Meanwhile  the  woman,  leaving  her 
pitcher,  hurried  off  to  the  city,  to  make  known  the  presence  of  the 


375  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

wonderful  stranger,  and  urge  as  many  as  she  could,  to  go  to  Him, 
and  see  if  lie  were  not  the  expected  Messiah.  In  her  absence,  the 
disciples,  once  and  again  invited  Jesus  to  take  some  refreshment. 
But  His  soul  was  too  full  of  other  thouglats,  which  drove  away  all 
sense  of  hunger.  "1  have  food  to  cat,"  said  He,  "that  ye  know  not 
of," — words,  which  to  their  dull  material  range  of  mind,  seemed  only 
to  refer  to  food  brought  in  their  absence.  "My  meat,"  said  He, 
seeing  their  misconception,  "is  to  do  the  will  of  Him  that  sent  Me, 
and  to  finish  His  work."  Then,  lifting  His  eyes,  and  looking  up  the 
stretching  vallej^  or  round  the  wide  sweep  of  the  plain,  in  both  of 
which,  doubtless,  the  busy  peasants  were  scattering  the  seed  for  the 
harvest,  then  four  months  distant.  He  caught  sight  of  a  multitude 
coming,  under  the  guidance  of  tlie  Avoman,  to  hear  His  words. 
Fired  at  the  sight,  lie  went  on, — "  You  say,  '  After  four  months  will 
come  tlie  harvest.'  But  I  say,  look  yonder  at  the  throng  coming 
towards  us.  Tluy  are  the  noblest  harvest,  and  their  coming  sliows 
that  3'ou  have  not  to  wait  to  reap  fY,  as  they  have  to  reap  the  seed 
now  sowing,  for  their  souls,  like  rutum.n  Holds,  are  already  white 
for  the  sickle.  And  how  rich  the  reward  for  you,  my  di:  ciplcs,  who 
will  be  the  reapers!  You  will  gather  fruit,  not  like  the  harvest  of 
earth,  but  fruit  unto  life  eternal.  You  and  I,  the  Power  and  the 
reapers,  may  well  rejoice  together  in  the  parts  assigned  us  by  God. 
Think  of  the  final  harvest  home,  Avhen  Heaven,  the  great  garner, 
shall  have  the  last  sheaf  carried  thither!  The  sower  ar.d  the  reaper 
are  indeed  distinct,  as  the  proverb  has  it,  speaking  of  common  life. 
I  have  prepared  and  sown  the  field;  you  shall,  hereafter,  do  the 
laJjour  that  is  needed  as  it  grows,  and  reap  the  sheaves  as  they  ripen. 
Your  work  will  be  real  of  its  kind,  but  to  break  up  the  soil,  and  cast 
in  the  seed,  is  harder  than  to  watch  the  rising  green.  I  send  you  to 
enter  on  the  fruit  of  my  toil. " 

Judea  had  yielded  no  harvest,  but  the  despised  people  of  Shechem 
were  better  spiritual  soil.  There  was  no  idle  thronging  around,  as  in 
Judea,  in  hopes  of  seeing  miracles:  none  were  asked,  and  none  were 
wrought.  The  simpler  and  healthier  natures,  Avith  which  He  here 
came  in  contact,  were  satisfied  in  many  cases,  by  the  words  of  the 
woman  alone.  Gathering  to  hear,  His  words  deepened  the  convic- 
tions of  those  impressed  already,  and  roused  the  hearts  of  others. 
At  tlieir  request,  two  days  were  spent  in  teaching.  To  have  stayed 
longer  might.  ]-;erhaps, "  have  compromifed  the  future,  by  raising 
Jewish  prejudice.  M("anwlnle,  the  work,  thus  auspiciously  begun, 
could  not  fail  to  spread.  "  We  believe,"  said  the  new  converts,  after 
the  two  days' intercourse  vv'ith  .Tesus,  "not  because  of  the  woman's 
saying,  for  we  have  heard  Him  ourselves,  and  know  that  this  is, 
indeed,  the  Saviour  of  the  world"  Jews  might  ha-e  acknowledged 
Him  as  the  Messiah,  but  only  Samaritans,  with  their  far  more 
generous  conceptious  of  the  Messianic  Kingdom,  could  have  thought 
of  Him  as  the  Saviour  of  mankind. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  373 

Thus,  naturfilly,  from  the  most  indifferent  trifle  of  daily  life,  had 
vTome  the  disclosure  of  the  highest  truths,  as  a  legacy  to  all  ages. 
Tbe  well  of  Jacob  had  become  the  seat  of  the  Great  Teacher,  before 
whose  words,  then  spoken  to  an  humble  woman  of  Samaria,  the  most 
embittered  enmities  of  nations  and  religions  will,  one  day,  pass  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

OPENING   OF   THE   MINISTRY   IN   GALILEE. 

A  NATUKE  like  that  of  Jesus,  as  sensitive  as  strong,  must  have  felt 
the  pleasure  which  only  first  successes  can  give,  at  His  hearty  recep- 
tion by  the  Samaritans.  Rejected  in  Judea,  He  had  found  willing 
hearers  in  the  despised  people  of  Shechem.  A  nucleus  of  His  king- 
dom had  been  formed,  and  it  must,  by  its  nature,  spread  from  heart 
to  heart.  Intensely  human  in  His  sensibility.  He  now  enjoyed  the 
happiness  He  had  called  forth  in  others,  as,  before.  He  had  been  de- 
pressed by  its  absence.  He  neither. expected  nor  desired  noisy  popu- 
larity, for  He  knew  that  His  kingdom  could  grow  only  by  the  secret 
conviction  of  soul  after  soul. 

Yet,  in  one  sense,  it  was  already  complete  in  each  new  disciple,  for 
each  heart  that  received  Him  was  a  spot  in  which  it  was  full}"  set  up 
— its  laws  accepted,  and  the  will  and  affections  entirely  His.  To  each 
new  adlierent  He  was  more  than  king,  for  Ho  reigned  over  their  whole 
nature,  with  a  majesty  such  as  no  other  king  could  command.  The 
highest  bliss  of  each  was  to  have  no  thought  or  Avish  apart  from  His, 
for  in  the  measure  of  likeness  to  Him,  lay  their  spiritual  purity,  peace, 
and  joy.  They  felt  that  to  become  His  disciples,  was  to  anticipate 
the  brightest  hopes  of  the  eternal  world,  for  it  was  to  have  their  bosoms 
filled  with  the  light  and  love  of  God.  Earth  never  saw  such  a  king, 
or  such  a  kingdom. 

But  He  could  not  stay  in  Samaria.  His  work  lay  in  Israel.  No 
ether  people  were  so  fitted  for  it,  by  the  training  of  two  thousand 
3'ears,  by  cherished  hopes,  and  by  tlie  possession  of  the  oracles  of  God, 
the  one  grand  treasure  of  eternal  truth  in  the  hands  of  man.  They, 
alone,  of  all  mankind  realized  the  idea  of  a  true  kingdom  of  God; 
they,  alone,  were  a-glov/  for  its  advent.  Misconceptions  removed, 
they  were  fitted  above  all  other  races,  to  be  the  apo.stles  of  the  new 
religion,  which,  in  reality,  Avas  only  the  completing  and  perfecting  of 
the  old. 

After  a  stay  of  two  days,  therefore,  at  Shechem,  or  near  it,  Jesus 
went  on  northwards,  toAvards  Galilee.  The  road  passes  through  She- 
chem,  to  Samaria,  Avhich  lies  on  its  hill,  at  three  hours'  distance,  ou 
the  north-Avest.  It  Avas  then  in  its  glory,  as  Herod  had  left  it;  no 
longer  the  old  Samaria,  but  the  splendid  Sebaste,  named  thus  in  com- 
pliment to  Augustus.     Its  grand  public  buildings,  its  magnificeat 


874  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

temple,  dedicated  in  blasphemous  flatterj  of  Augustus,  its  colonnades, 
triumphal  arches,  baths,  and  theatres,  nnd  its  famous  wall,  twenty 
stadia  in  circuit,  with  its  elaborate  gaten,  enclosing  the  whole — were 
before  Him  as  He  passed  on.  At  Eng  mnim — the  Fountain  of  Gar- 
dens— on  the  southern  slope  of  the  g.'eat  plain  of  Esdraelon,  He 
crossed  the  Samaritan  border,  and  was  once  more  in  Galilee. 

Avoiding  Nazareth,  with  a  wise  in'  tinct  that  a  prophet  had  no 
honour  in  his  own  country.  He  continu  ed  His  journey  to  Cana,  across 
the  green  pastures  and  corn-fields  of  the  plain  of  Battauf.  He  had, 
indeed,  felt,  before  leaving  Samaria,  that  a  district  wiiere  He  had  been 
familiarly  known  in  His  earlier  life  would  be  less  disposed  to  receive 
Him  than  others  in  which  He  was  a  stranger,  but  this  could  only 
apply  to  the  immediate  bounds  of  Nazareth  or  Capernaum.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  news  of  His  popularity  in  Judea,  and  of  His  miracles 
and  discourses  in  Jerusalem,  had  been  carried  back  to  Galilee,  by 
pilgrims  who  had  returned  from  the  feast,  and  had,  doubtless,  secured 
Him  a  much  better  reception  in  the  piovince  at  large  than,  as  Himself 
a  Galilaeiin,  He  would  otherwise  have  found.  But  ev-en  had  He  felt 
that  He  would  be  rejected  in  Galilee  as  He  had  been  in  Judea,  His 
homage  to  duty,  and  grand  self-sacrifice  to  itsdemands,  would  have  so 
much  the  more  impelled  Him  to  carry  His  great  message  thither.  Per- 
sonal feelings  had  no  place  in  His  soul.  It  would  have  been  only  one 
more,  added  to  His  life-long  conflicts  with  human  perversity  and  evil, 
to  brave  foreboded  indifference  and  neglect,  and  offer  even  to  those 
who  slighted  Him  the  proofs  of  HJs  divine  dignity  and  worth.  The 
prophet  had  foretold  that  the  Great  Light  of  the  Kingdom  of  God 
would  shine  in  Galilee  of  the  Gentiles,  and  amidst  whatever  humilia- 
tion and  pain  of  heart  in  anticipated  rejection.  He,  its  King,  would 
have  gone  thither  to  proclaim  it,  and  honour  the  divine  prediction. 

The  first  return  of  Jesus  to  Galilee,  from  the  Jordan,  had  been 
marked  by  the  miracle  at  the  wedding  feast  at  Cana,  as  if  to  rouse 
the  general  mind,  and  now.  His  second  return  was  proclaimed  in  the 
same  way.  He,  perhaps,  had  gone  to  live  for  a  time  with  tiie  friends 
for  whom  He  had  turned  the  water  into  wine,  or,  it  may  be.  He  was 
a  guest  of  Nathauael,  as,  in  Capernaum,  of  Peter.  His  reception,  as 
He  passed  on  His  way  to  Cana,  had  been  cheering  in  the  extreme,  for 
the  reports  from  the  south  had  raised  Him  to  an  undefined  greatness 
in  the  popular  eyes.  They  had  learned  to  be  provid  of  Him  as  their 
countryman,  when'  they  found  Him  so  famous  elsewhere.  That 
crowds  had  followed  Him  in  Judea,  secured  Him  favour,  so  far, 
among  the  multitude  in  the  north.  His  return  had  risen  to  the  dignity 
of  a  public  event,  and  passed  from  lip  to  lip  through  the  whole  dis- 
trict. 

It  had  thus  speedily  become  known  in  Capernaum  that  He  was  once 
more  in  Cana,  after  His  nine  or  ten  months'  absence  from  Galilee. 
His  miraculous  power  over  sickness  and  physical  evil,  as  shown  in 
.Jerusalem,  had  become  a  subject  of  universal  report,  finding  its  way 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  375 

eren  into  the  gilded  seclusion  of  mansions  and  palaces.  Among 
others,  a  high  officer  of  the  court  of  Herod  Antipa3,  whose  mansion 
Tvas  in  Capernaum,  had  heard  of  the  wonderful  Teacher.  We  Ivnow 
how  the  miracles  of  Christ  reached  the  cars  of  Antipas  himself;  that 
Manaen,  his  foster-brother,  actually  became  an  humble  follower  of 
Jesus,  and  that  Johanna,  the  wife  of  Choudza,  the  house  steward  or 
manager  of  the  private  affairs  of  Antipas,  was  one  of  many  devoted 
female  disciples  and  friends,  of  the  richer  classes, — and  can,  thus, 
easily  fancy  how  such  a  dignified  olBcial  had  learned  respecting  the 
new  wonder-working  Rabbi.  The  close  heat  of  the  borders  of  the 
Lake  of  Galilee,  with  their  fringe  of  reeds  and  marsh,  though  then 
tempered  by  the  shade  of  countless  orchards,  and  wooded  clumps, 
DOW  wholly  wanting,  has  in  all  ages  induced  a  pj-evaleuce  of  fever,  at 
certain  seasons,  and  the  malady  had  now  seized  his  only  son,  who  was 
still  a  child.  He  had  been  led  to  look  on  Jesus  as  a  wonderful  Healer, 
hy  the  cures  reported  to  liave  been  wrought  by  Him,  but  he  had  not, 
apparently,  thought  of  Him  as  more.  Hearing  of  His  arrival  at  Cana, 
the  liope  that  He  might  save  his  son,  instantly  determined  him  to  go 
thither  and  ask  His  aid.  The  child,  he  said,  was  at  the  point  of 
death,  would  Jesus  come  down  and  heal  him? 

There  was  something  in  the  poor  man's  bearing,  however,  that 
showed  the  superficial  conception  he  had  formed  of  Christ's  character 
and  work.  Miracles,  with  Jesus,  were  only  means  to  a  higher  end, 
credentials  to  enforce  the  reception  of  spiritual  truth.  That  truth 
was  its  own  witness,  and  had  sufficed  to  win  a  ready  homage  from  the 
despised  people  of  Sychar.  To  be  the  Healer  of  souls,  not  of  the 
body,  was  His  great  mission,  but  the  nobleman  had,  as  yet,  no  idea 
of  Him  e.Ycept  as  a  Hakim  or  Ropha,  who  had  proved  itis  power  to 
overcome  disease.  He  had  been  led  to  Him  not  by  the  report  and  ac- 
ceptance of  the  great  truths  He  taught:  only  the  rumour  of  His  mira- 
cles had  created  interest  enough  to  pass  through  the  land.  That  he 
was  utterly  unconscious  of  the  spiritual  death  from  which  he  himself 
needed  to  be  rescued,  touched  the  sympathy  of  Jesus.  "How  is  it," 
asked  He,  in  effect,  "that  you  come  to  me  only  for  outward  healing, 
and  believe  on  me  only  as  a  worker  of  signs  and  wonders?  Have 
you  no  sense  of  sin:  no  craving  for  spiritual  healing:  no  inner  sjin- 
pathy  with  the  teaching  of  my  life  and  words?"  Without  moral 
preparation  in  his  own  mind,  the  healing  of  his  son  might  confirm 
belief  in  the  power  of  the  Healer;  but  would  bring  no  spiritual  re- 
ception of  the  truth,  to  heal  the  soul.  Apparently  repelling  him  for 
the  moment,  Jesus  was,  in  fact,  opening  his  eyes  to  the  far  greater 
blessings  he  might  freely  obtain.  With  royal  bounty  He  wished  to 
give  the  greater  while  He  gave  the  less,  for  it  was  His  wont,  after 
needed  reproof,  to  give  more  than  had  been  asked.  ]\Ieanwhile,  the 
only  thought  of  the  parent's  heart  was  his  dying  boy.  "Sir,  come 
down  ere  my  child  die. "  Jesus  knew  that  he  would  believe  if  his 
son  were  healed,  but  wished  to  raise  a  higher  moral  frame,  whick 

li  of  G— 13. 


876  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

would  do  so  from  kindled  sympathy  with  spiritual  truth  without  such 
an  outward  ground.  To  believe  His  word,  from  its  own  internal  evi- 
dence, showed  higlier  faith  than  that  which  only  followed  miracles. 
It  showed  a  recognition  of  the  truth  from  interest  in  it:  a  sensibility 
of  soul  to  what  was  pure  and  holy.  But  belief  as  the  result  of  miva- 
cles  was  not  discountenanced :  it  was  only  held  inferior. 

The  nobleman  had  assumed  that  Jesus  would  go  back  with  him  to 
Capernaum,  and  heal  the  child,  but  lie  was  before  One  to  whose 
power  distance  offered  no  hindrance.  With  the  easy,  unaffected 
dignity  of  conscious  superiority,  he  is  told  to  "go  his  way ;  his  son 
lived :"  words  few  and  simple,  but  enough  to  let  him  know  that  the 
Speaker  had,  on  the  instant,  healed  the  child.  Nor  could  he  doubt 
it.  To  have  spoken  with  Jesus  assured  him  that  he  might  believe 
His  word.     Forthwith  he  addressed  himself  to  return. 

It  was  about  twenty  miles  from  Cana  to  Capernaum,  and  the  miracle 
had  been  wrought  an  hour  after  noon.  Resting  by  the  way,  at  early 
nightfall,  as  he  well  might  on  a  road  so  insecure,  he  set  out  again 
next  morning,  but  erelong  met  some  of  his  own  slaves,  sent  to  tell  him 
the  good  news  that  the  boy  was  convalescent,  and  to  prevent  his 
bringing  Jesus  any  further.  "Your  son,"  said  they,  "  is  not  dead, 
but  is  getting  better.  The  fever  has  left  him."  "When,"  asked  the 
father,  "did  he  begin  to  amend?"  "Yesterday,  about  one  o'clock 
the  fever  broke. "  It  was  the  very  time  when  Jesus  had  told  him  that 
the  boy  would  live.  What  could  he  do  but  accept  Him  as  what  he 
now  knew  He  claimed  to  be — the  Messiah.  "Himself  believed  and 
his  whole  house." 

How  long  Jesus  remained  in  Cana  is  not  known,  but  that  He  was 
for  a  time  unattended  by  the  small  band  of  disciples  who  had  accom- 
panied Him  to  the  Passover,  is  certain.  They  had  remained  with 
Him,  in  Judea,  and  had  returned  with  Him,  through  Sycliar,  to 
Galilee,  but,  after  so  long  an  absence  from  home.  He  had  lei  them  go 
back  to  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  to  their  occupations,  till  He  should  once 
more  call  them  finally'  to  His  service. 

He  had  retired  to  the  north  before  the  rising  signs  of  opposition 
from  the  Pharisees,  who  had  at  last  found  means  to  get  John  im- 
prisoned, by  their  intrigues  Tvith  Antipas,  and  might,  at  any  moment, 
hTwe  effected  His  own  arrest.  An  interval  of  some  months  now 
elapsed,  perhaps  in  stillness  and  privacy,  the  time  not  having  yet 
come,  for  some  reasons  unknown  to  us,  for  His  final  and  permanent 
entrance  on  His  public  work.  His  mother  and  the  family  liad  re- 
turned to  Nazareth  from  their  short  stay  at  Capernaum,  and,  it  is  most 
])robable,  therefore,  that  He,  once  more,  sought  the  seclusion  of  His 
early  home,  to  await  the  decisive  moment  of  His  reappearance.  The 
fate  of  the  Baptist  may  have  made  it  necessary  to  avoid  for  a  time 
giving  any  pretext  of  political  alarm  to  Herod  by  His  at  once  taking 
John's  place.  That  one  so  venerated  had  been  thrown  into  the  dan. 
geons  of  JIachaerus  doubtless  spread  to  the  farthest  valleys.     Men 


THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRIgT,  877 

almost  hoped  that  the  mighty  preacher  would  soften  the  heart  even 
of  Antipas,  and,  in  any  case,  could  not  credit  that  a  man  so  cowardly 
and  politic  would  dare  to  take  the  life  of  the  honoured  prophet.  This 
and  that  measure  of  the  tyrant  were  attributed  by  the  credulous 
nmltitude  to  John's  influence.  The  whole  country  was  agitated,  day 
by  day,  by  rumours  respecting  him. 

Nor  were  other  subjects  of  popular  excitement  wanting.  In  the 
autumn  of  that,  or  the  year  before,  apparently  at  the  Feast  of  Taber- 
nacles, there  had  been  a  fierce  struggle  between  the  Roman  garrison 
at  Jerusalem  and  the  pilgrims  from  Galilee,  ever  excitable  and  ready 
to  fight.  In  the  heat  of  the  contest  the  soldiejjs  from  Antouia  liad 
pressed  into  the  very  courts  of  the  Temple,  and  had  hewn  down  the 
Galilaeans  at  the  great  altar,  beside  their  sacrifices,  mingling  their 
blood  with  that  of  the  slain  beasts.  The  sons  of  Judas  the  Galilfean, 
the  famous  leader  of  the  Zealots  in  their  first  great  insurrection  against 
Rome,  had,  moreover,  grown  up  to  manhood  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Jesus,  and  cherished  in  their  own  breasts,  and  kept  alive  among 
the  people,  tiieir  father's  fierce  scheme  for  the  erection  of  the  kingdom 
of  God  by  the  sword,  a  fatal  inheritance  for  which  thej^were  one  day, 
like  Christ,  to  be  crucified.  The  whole  land  heaved  with  religious 
fanaticism  like  an  ever-threatening  volcano.  Above  all  the  tumult  of 
such  a  state  of  things,  however,  the  imprisoned  prophet  was  the  one 
thought  of  the  country.  Laments  over  him,  mingled,  doubtless,  with 
fierce  muttcrings,  filled  every  market-place  and  every  home.  It  was 
a  sign  of  the  glowing  religious  sensibility  of  the  times,  and  a  summons 
to  Jesus  to  take  up  the  great  work  thus  interrupted.  The  tyrant  in 
Perea  had  silenced  the  voice  that  had  proclaimed  the  coming  of  the 
kingdom  of  God,  but  He,  whose  herald  John  had  been,  was  at  hand 
to  take  it  up  again,  with  grander  emphasis,  on  a  more  commanding 
theatre.  Isaiah,  the  son  of  Amoz,  had  once  seen  a  vision  of  Jehovah 
in  the  Temple,  and  had  recognized  his  summons  as  a  prophet,  when, 
amidst  the  chants  of  the  Levites  and  the  clouds  of  incense,  and  the 
blasts  of  the  sacred  trumpets,  the  house  was  filled  with  smoke,  and 
the  very  earth  seemed  to  tremble.  The  Spirit  came  on  Amos,  the 
shepherd,  as  he  followed  his  flocks  on  the  lonely  pastures,  when  he 
thought  how  the  Syrians  had  threshed  Gilead  with  iron  sledges,  and 
how  Tyre  had  sold  the  sons  of  Israel  to  Edom  as  slaves;  and  he 
seemed  to  hear  Jehovah  call  to  him  from  Zion,  and  thunder  from 
Jerusalem,  and  forsook  his  hills,  to  be  a  shepherd  to  Israel.  The 
loud  universal  lamentations  over  John  were  such  a  final  divine  call  to 
Jesus. 

Finally  leaving  His  early  home,  therefore.  He  bent  His  steps  once 
more  towards  Caii^naum,  which  was,  henceforth,  to  become  "His 
own  city,"  and  the  centre  of  His  future  Avork.  The  prophet  had, 
ages  before,  painted  the  joyous  times  that  should  efface  the  memory 
of  the  Assyrian  invasion,  and  in  the  appearance  of  Clirist  in  these 
regions,  their  full  realization  had  now  com^.     The  land  of  Zebulon, 


878  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

and  the  land  of  Naphtali;  the  country  towards  the  Sea  of  Galilee; 
the  districts  beyond  the  Jordan;  and  Galilee  of  the  Gentiles,  in  the 
far  north,  towards  Tyre  and  Syria — the  people  that  sat  in  darkness, 
— saw  a  great  light,  and  to  them  that  sat  in  the  region  and  shadow  of 
death,  a  light  sprang  up.  Galilee  was  to  be  pre-eminently  the  scene 
of  the  miuistry  of  Jesus,  and  it  is  curious  that  even  the  Rabbis,  in 
their  earliest  traditions,  express  the  belief  that  it  would  be  that  of  the 
manifestation  of  the  Messiah.  To  this  day,  Jews  gather  in  Tiberias, 
one  of  their  four  holy  cities,  from  all  parts  of  the  earth,  to  wait  for 
the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  or,  at  least,  to  be  buried  there,  in  expec- 
tation of  His  advent. 

It  would  seem  as  if  Jesus  had,  for  a  time,  been  alone.  The  country 
was  densely  peopled,  and  He  may  have  passed  on,  slowly,  from 
village  to  village,  opening  His  mission.  The  burden  of  His  preaching 
was  fhe  same  as  that  of  John's.  "The  time  is  fullilled,  and  the 
kingdom  of  God  is  at  hand:  repent  and  believe  in  the  Gospel."  But 
though  alike  in  form,  the  import  of  the  Avords  in  the  mouth  of  Jesus 
was  very  different  from  that  of  their  earlier  utterance  by  His  herald. 
John  had  striven  to  refona  Israel  by  demanding  strict  outward 
observances,  as  well  as  morals,  but  Jesus  went  deeper,  and  required  a 
revolution  of  the  will  and  affections,  flowing  from  changed  relations 
to  God.  He  would  have  no  new  pieces  on  old  garments;  no  new 
wine  in  old  bottles,  no  religious  reform  on  the  basis  of  a  compromise 
with  formal  Judaism.  Israel  had  sunk  into  spiritual  death,  in  spite 
of  its  zeal  for  the  precepts  of  the  Rabbis,  and  the  letter  of  the  Scrip- 
tures: its  piety  had  degenerated  largely  into  hypocritical  affectation, 
and  merely  lip  and  outward  assent  to  the  requirements  of  God's  law. 
Its  mission  to  the  great  heathen  world  had  become  a  failure."  A  wholly 
new  principle  was  needed  to  take  the  place  of  the  now  decayed  and 
obsolete  dispensation  of  Moses:  the  principle  of  direct  personal 
responsibility  to  God,  and  spiritual  freedom,  instead  of  priestly 
mediation,  and  theocratic  slavery.  The  Baptist  was,  throughout,  an 
upholder  of  the  ceremonial  law,  and  had  no  ade(|uate  conception  of 
a  purely  spiritual  religion.  It  was  reserved  to  Jesus  to  teach  that  only 
a  religious  and  moral  new-birth  of  Israel  and  of  humanit)-  could  avail. 
He  was  the  first  who  founded  a  religion,  not  on  external  precepts,  or 
on  a  priesthood,  or  on  sacrificial  rites,  but  in  the  living  spirit;  in 
individual  personal  conviction;  in  the  free,  loving  surrender  of  the 
will  to  God,  as  the  eternal  Truth  and  Good :  a  religion  which  looked 
first,  not  at  mere  acts,  but  at  what  men  were,  and  set  no  value  on  acts 
apart  from  the  motive  from  which  they  sprang. 

Hence,  the  call  to  repentance  was  addressed  to  all  without  excep- 
tion. He  recognized  the  difference  between  ma#  and  man,  and  ac- 
linowledged  the  existence  of  poasible  good  even  in  the  apparently 
hopeless.  Hs  spoke  of  the  good  and  evil,  the  righteous  and  unright- 
eous, the  just  and  unjust,  those  who  had  gone  astray  and  those  who 
hiid  not;  of  the  sound  and  the  sick;  of  the  pure  and  the  impure;  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  879 

^een  trees  and  dry ;  of  a  good  and  an  evil  eye ,  and  of  good  soil  and 
bad.  Surveying  men,  as  a  whole,  with  a  calm  and  searching  insight, 
He  rejoiced  in  the  light  whicli  shone  in  some  souls,  in  the  midr.t  of 
darkness  around  and  within  them,  and  acknowledged  its  worth.  No 
cold  fear  of  compromi.sc  damped  His  ardour;  frank  joy  and  radinnt 
hopefulness,  tliat  detected  good  with  instinctive  quickness,  cheered 
Hi.",  spirit  to  greater  effort.  It  is,  indeed.  His  glory  that  lie  led  not 
onl}-  the  humble  and  i^enitent,  but  the  openly  evil,  to  a  higher  raid 
purer  life. 

Yet,  tiiougli  thus  wide  in  His  charity,  He  had  a  standard  fc}^  which 
all  men  alike  were  pronounced  sinful,  and  in  need  of  repentance.  In 
the  highest  sense,  God  alone  was  good.  Tried  by  this  awful  test  of 
comparison  wish  Him,  all  men  were  "  unclean,"  "corrupt,"  "  dark," 
"blind,"  "  lustful,"  "seltish,"  worldly  in  thought,  word,  and  act,  dry 
trees,  dead  and  lost.  All  are  pronounced  in  danger  of  the  wrath  of 
God.  They  may  be  more  or  less  sinful  in  degree;  but  all  alike  must 
seek  forgiveness;  all  must  repent  and  be  changed,  or  perish. 

Thus,  when  comparing  men  with  men.  He  recognized  better  and 
worse,  but  before  God,  and  in  relation  to  citizenship  in  His  kingdom, 
He  acknowledged  no  difference,  but  condemned  all  alike  as  sinners. 
Before  the  One  wlio  alone  is  pure  and  hol}^  He  humbles  all.  He  will 
suffer  no  empty  pride  in  the  presence  of  the  Creator.  In  His  sight  no 
one  is  to  be  called  good.  All  are  guilty,  and  even  the  best  need  par: 
don.  In  this  view  of  man  He  declared  that  He  had  not  come  to 
call  the  righteous  but  sinners  to  repentance.  Even  the  l:)est  of  men, 
though  righteous  before  their  fellows,  are  guilty  before  God.  It  is  the 
unique  characteristic  of  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  that  while  He  dis- 
tinctly proclaims  the  moral  differences  between  man  and  man.  He  in- 
sists with  supreme  and  unchangeable  earnestness  on  the  infinite  moral 
distance  and  contrast  between  the  creature  and  the  Creator.  All  be- 
fore Him  are  evil,  or  have  evil  in  them.  There  may  be  good  among 
the  bad,  but  sin  is  not  wanting  even  in  the  best.  The  repentance 
He  preached  was  the  childlike  humility  which  has  no  claim  to  merit, 
but,  con.scious  of  its  own  weakness,  resigns  its  will  to  the  guidance  of 
God,  and  seeks  His  forgiveness.  It  has  already  entered  His  King- 
dom. 

Nothing  is  told  respecting  the  extent  of  this  first  northern  mis- 
sionary tour,  beyond  the  incidental  remark  that  it  embraced  the  towns 
and  villages  thickly  studded  round  the  western  shore  of  the  Lake  of 
Galilee.  The  fame  of  His  doings  at  Jerusalem  had  everywhere  pre- 
ceded Him,  and  a'tracted  large  crowds  wherever  He  came.  As  yet 
He  was  alone,  for  His  early  followers  had  returned  to  their  calling  of 
fishermen,  at  BetLsaida  and  Capernaum.  Reaching  this  neighbour- 
hood after  a  time,  an  incident  occurred  which  once  more  drew  them 
from  their  nets,  and  transformed  them  into  future  apostles. 

Jesus  had  risen  early  in  the  morning,  as  is  the  custom  with  Ori- 
eatals,  and  had  gone  out  to  the  shore  of  the  Lake,  which  was  close  at 


380  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

hand.  The  stillness  of  the  moruing  promised  temporary  relief  from 
the  crowds  who  daily  thronged  Ilim,  and  a  much  needed  interval  for 
pcacefid  solitude.  'But  there  was,  henceforth,  no  rest  for  the  Son  of 
!  Man.  The  people  were  already  afoot,  and  had  hurried  out  to  the 
beach,  in  numbers,  "to  hear  the  Word  of  God,"  for  they  recognized 
Him  as  speaking  with  divine  authority,  like  John,  or  one  of  the 
prophets.  Unable  to  go  on,  and  willing  "to  feed  these  "sheep  of  the 
House  of  Israel, "He  turned  towards  two  boats  drawn  up  on  the 
white  beach;  the  fishermen  having  come  ashore,  after  a  fruitless 
night's  labour,  to  wash  and  mend  their  nets.  The  one  boat  was  that 
of  His  old  disciples  Peter  and  Andrew,  the  other,  that  of  James  and 
John,  who,  with  their  father  Zebedee,  and  some  liired  men,  were  busy 
preparing  for  the  next  evening's  venture.  To  meet  again  must  have 
been  as  pleasant  to  their  Master  as  themselves,  and  their  lowly  occu- 
pation must  have  lost  its  charm  at  the  recollection  of  the  time  when 
they  had  shared  His  society.  Entering  into  Peter's  boat,  and  asking 
him  to  thrust  out  a  little  from  the  land,  that  He  might  have  freedom 
to  address  the  people.  He  sat  down,  as  was  usual  with  the  Rabbis 
when  they  taught,  and  spoke  to  the  crowd  standing  on  the  shore. 
The  clear  rippling  Avater  playing  gently  round  the  boat;  the  fields, 
and  vineyards,  and  olive  groves  behind;  the  eager  listeners,  with  their 
varied  and  picturesque  Eastern  dress;  the  wondrous  Preacher;  the 
calmness  and  delicious  coolness  of  morning,  and,  over  all,  the  cloud- 
less Syrian  sky,  must  have  made  the  scene  striking  in  the  extreme. 

The  public  addresses  of  the  Rabbis  were  always  very  short,  and  so, 
doubtless,  were  those  of  Jesus.    The  people  were  soon  dismissed,  and 
wandered  off,  to  discuss,  as  Jewish  congregations  always  did,  the  say- 
ings they  had  heard.      But  Jesus  had  received  a  service  in  the  use  of 
His  strange  pulpit,  and  wished  to  repay  it,  as  only  He  could.     Telling 
Peter,  the  steersman  of  the  boat,  to  push  off  into  the  deep  water,  He 
bade  him  and  his  brother  let  down  the  net.      It  was  a  circular  one, 
cast  from  the  boat,  and   then  dragged    slowly  behind,  towards  ihe 
shore.      1'he  fish  in  the  Sea  of  Galilee  must  always  have  been  very 
abundant,  even  when  the  fisheries  were  so  active,  for,  at  this  day,  their 
number  can  scarcely  be  conceived  by  those  who  have  not  been  on  the 
spot.      The  shoals  frequently  cover  an  acre  of  the  surface,  or  even 
more,  and  the  fish,  as  they  slowly  move  along  the  surface,  with  their 
back  fins  just  seen  on  the  level  of  the  water,  are  so  crowded,  that  it 
looks,  a  short  way  off,  like  a  heavy  shower  of  rain.      But  Simon  and 
his  brother  had  had  no  success,  though  they  had   spent  the  night, 
when  fishing  is  best,  in  fruitless  efforts.     There  was  no  hesitation, 
however,  in  obeying  the  command,  and  rhey  had  hardly  done  so,  when 
they  swept  into  a  shoal,  and  had  to  beckon  to  James  and  John,  their 
partners,  to  come  quickly,  and  save  their  net  from  breaking  with  the 
catch.    Even  then,  however,  the  two  boats  were  loaded  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  seemed  as  if  they  would  sink. 
Peter,  ever  impulsive,  could  not  restrain  his  feelings  at  such  an  ia- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  381 

cident — so  unexpected,  so  grateful.  He  who  had  wrought  po  great  a 
wonder  must  have  unknown  and  inconceivable  powers,  liefore  which 
man,  guiltj'  as  he  feels  himself,  might  well  be  afraid.  Falling  down 
at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  he  could  only  utter  the  words — "Depart  from 
me,  for  I  am  a  sinful  man,  O  Lord."  Nor  were  his  companions  less 
astonished  at  the  miracle.  But  Jesus  had  a  high  purpose  with  these 
simple,  open-hearted  friends.  They  had  shown  their  sj^mpathy  of 
spirit  with  Hun  already,  and  now  He  designed  to  attach  them  per- 
manently to  His  service.  "Fear  not,"  said  He,  "come  after  me; 
from  henceforth  I  will  make  you  fishers  of  men.  You  catch  the  fish 
to  their  death;  you  will  take  men  alive,  to  save  them  from  death,  and 
give  them  eternal  life."  It  was  enough.  Words  so  apt  had  Iheir 
eifect.  From  that  moment  the  four  were  His  devoted  followers. 
The  rich  gain  they  would  have  prized  so  highly,  but  an  hour  before, 
had  lost  its  charm.  Called  to  decide,  there  and  then,  as  a  proof  of 
their  fitness  for  discipleship,  they  forsook  all,  and  followed  Him  at 
once. 

The  few  who  had  first  joined  Christ,  and  by  doing  so  had  shown 
their  fitness  for  His  special  intimacy  and  confidence,  were  thus,  once 
more' gathered  round  Him,  and  live  1  with  Him  henceforth,  appar- 
ently in  the  same  dwelling,  on  a  closer  and  more  tender  footing  than 
any  He  afterwards  received.  Tiiey  had  often  heard  Him  speak  of 
the  kingdom  of  God;  of  the  need  of  faith  in  Himself  and  of  a  sin- 
cere religious  spirit,  as  the  conditions  of  entering  it,  and  they  yearned 
for  closer  intercourse  with  Him,  that  they  might  leani  more  respect- 
ing it.  Their  instant  obedience  showed  their  devotion.  All  that  had 
hitherto  engaged  their  thoughts  and  care,  their  boats,  their  nets,  their 
fishing  gear,  tlieir  daily  toil  for  daily  bread,  were  left  behind.  They 
jjlaced  themselves,  henceforth,  under  the  higher  authority  of  God 
Himself;  ready  at  anytime  to  separate  themselves  even  from  their 
families,  in  the  interest  of  tlie  new  Kingdom.  Jesus  had  drawn 
them  to  Himself,  as  tliey  were  to  draw  others,  not  by  craft  or  force, 
but  by  the  power  of  His  living  words  and  the  spirit  of  love.  Their 
loj^a'ty  was  free  and  spontaneous.  The  calm  greatness  of  the  char- 
acter of  Jesus  shines  out  in  such  an  unpretending  beginning,  as  the 
germ  and  centre  of  a  movement  Avhich  is  to  revolutionize  the  world. 
But  insignificant  as  it  might  seem,  it  was  only  so  when  judged  by  a 
human  i?tandard.  Tainted  by  no  selfishness,  weak  ambition,  or  love 
of  power,  the  four  simple,  child-like,  uncorrupted  natures,  touched  f] 
with  the  love  of  Heavenly  Truth,  and  eager  to  win  others  to  embrace  • 
it,  were  living  spiritual  forces,  destined  by  a  law  of  nature  to  repeat 
themselves  in  ever  wider  circles,  through  successive  generations. 

The  fishermen  and  sailors  of  the  Lake  of  Galilee  were  a  numerous 
and  redoul)ted  class,  with  something  of  the  feeling  of  a  clan.  In  the 
last  Jewish  war  we  find  them,  under  the  leadership  of  Jesus,  son  of 
Sapphias,  .seizing  Tiberias,  and  burning  and  plundering  the  great 
palace  of  Antipas.     Of  the  four  who  had  now  definitely  cast  in  their 


*I82  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lot  with  Jesus,  Peter  and  Andrew  were  apparently  poor ;  James  and 
John,  in  a  better  position.  For  the  convenience  of  trade,  botli  fami- 
lies had  left  the  neighbouring  town  of  Bethsaida,  and  liad  settled 
in  Capernaum,  one  of  the  centres  of  the  local  fisheries,  and  of  the 
occupations  connected  wiili  them.  Peter  alone  seems  to  have  been 
married,  and  in  his  house  Jesus  henceforth  found  a  home,  as  perhaps 
he  had  done  on  His  former  short  stay. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

CAPERNAUM. 

The  final  "call"  addressed  to  Peter  and  his  brother,  and  to  James 
and  John,  at  the  Lake  of  Galilee,  apparently  insignificant  as  an  event, 
proved  to  have  been,  in  reality,  one  of  the  turning  points  in  the  history 
of  the  world.  The  "call"  of  Abraham  had  given  the  world,  as  an 
everlasting  inheritance,  the  grand  truth  of  a  Living  Personal  God ; 
that  of  Moses  had  created  a  nation,  in  which  the  active  government 
of  human  affairs  by  one  God  was  to  be  illustrated,  and  His  will' made 
known  directly  to  mankind;  but  tliat  of  the  poor  Galiltean  fishermen 
was  the  foundation  of  a  society,  for  which  t.ll  that  hr.d  preceded  it 
was  only  the  preparation;  a  society  in  which  all  that  was  merely  out- 
ward and  temporary  in  the  relations  of  God  to  man,  should  be  laid 
aside,  and  all  that  was  imperfect  and  material  replaced  by  the  perfect, 
spiritual,  and  abiding.  1  he  true  theocracy,  towards  which  maukind 
had  been  slowly  advancing,  through  ages,  had  received  its  first  evert 
establishment,  when  Peter  heard,  on  his  knees,  the  summons  of  Jesus 
to  follow  Ilira,  and  had,  with  tlie  ethers,  at  once,  from  the  heart, 
obeyed.  Ilenccfcrth,  it  only  remained  to  extend  the  kingdom  tlius 
founded,  by  winning  the  consciences  of  men  to  the  same  devotion,  by 
the  announcement  of  the  Fathcrhocd  cf  God;  the  need  of  seeking 
His  favour  by  repentance;  and  failh  in  Ilis  divine  Son,  leading  to 
a  holy  life,  of  which  that  of  Jesus,  as  the  Caviour-Mesciah,  v/as  the 
realized  ideal. 

From  the  shores  of  tlie  Lake,  Christ  went  to  the  house  of  Peter, 
accepting  his  invitation  to  share  his  hospitality. 

The  little  town  itself,  with  its  two  or  three  thousand  Inhabitants, 
was  surrounded  by  a  wall,  and  lay  partly  along  the  shore;  some  of 
the  houses  close  to  the  water;  others  wiih  a  garden  between  it  and 
them.  The  black  lava,  or  basalt,  of  which  all  were  built,  was  univcr- 
eally  whitewashed,  so  that  the  town  was  seen  to  fine  effect,  frcm  a 
distance,  through  the  green  of  its  numerous  trees  and  gardens. 
Peter's  household  consisted  of  his  wife,  and  her  mother — doubtless  a 
widow — whom  his  kindly  nature  had  brought  to  this  second  home, 
Andrew,  his  brother,  and,  now,  of  Jesus,  his  guest.  James  and  John, 
likely,  still  lived  with  their  father,  in   Capernaum,  and  the  whole 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  381 

foUr  still  followed  their  calling  in  the  intervals  of  attending  theii 

new  Master. 

It  appears  to  have  been  on  a  Friday  that  Jesus  summoned  Peter 
and  his  companions.  The  day  passed,  doubtless,  in  further  work  for 
the  kingdom.  As  the  sun  set,  the  beginning  of  the  Sabbath  -wan 
annoimced  by  three  blasts  of  a  trumpet,  from  the  roof  of  tbe  spaciou"3 
synagogue  of  tlie  town,  which  the  devout  commandant  of  the  garri- 
son, Ihough  not  a  Jew,  had  built  for  the  people.  Tlie  first  blast 
warned  the  peasants,  in  the  far-stretching  vineyards  and  gardens,  to 
cease  their  toil;  the  second  was  the  signal  for  the  townsfolks  to  close 
their  business  for  the  week,  and  the  third,  for  all  to  kindle  the  holy 
Sabbath  light,  which  was  to  burn  till  the  sacred  day  was  past.  It 
was  the  early  spring,  and  the  days  were  stiil  short,  for  even  in  summer 
it  is  hardly  morning  twilight,  in  Palestine,  at  four,  and  the  light  is 
gone  by  eight.  Jesus  did  not,  however,  go  that  night  to  Peter's 
house,  but  spent  the  hours  in  solitary  devotion.  We  can  fancy,  from 
what  is  elsewhere  told  us,  that  the  day  closed  while  He  still  spoke  to 
a  listening  crowd,  under  some  palm-tree,  or  by  the  wayside.  As  the 
moon  rose  beyond  the  hills,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Lake,  He  would 
dismiss  His  hearers,  with  words  of  comfort,  and  a  greeting  of  peace, 
and  then  turn  to  the  silent  hills  behind,  to  be  alone  with  His  Heavenly 
Father.  On  their  lonely  heights,  the  noise  of  men  lay  far  beneath 
Him,  and  He  could  find  rest,  after  the  toils  of  the  day.  A  wide 
panorama  of  land  and  water  stretched  away  on  all  sides,  in  the  white 
moonlight.  He  was  Himself  its  centre,  and  gazed  on  it  with  inex- 
pressible sympathy  and  emotion.  We  can  imagine  Him,  spreading 
out  His  arms,  as  if  to  take  it  all  to  His  heart,  and  then  prostrating 
Himself,  as  it  were  with  it,  iTefore  God,  to  intercede  for  it  with  the 
Eternal;  His  brow  touching  the  earth  in  lowly  abasement,  while  He 
pleaded  for  man  as  His  friend  and  brother,  in  words  of  infinite  love 
and  tenderness.  "Rising,  erelong,  m  strong  emotion,  it  would  seem 
as  if  He  held  up  the  world  in  His  lifted  hands,  to  offer  it  to  His 
Father.  He  spoke,  was  silent,  then  spoke  again.  His  prayer  was 
holy  inter-communion  with  God.  At  first  low,  and  almost  in  a  whis- 
per. His  voice  gradually  became  loud  and  joyous,  till  it  echoed  back 
from  the  rocks  around  Him.  Thus  the  night  passed,  till  morning 
broke  and  found  Him,  once  more  prostrate  as  if  overcome,  in  silent 
devotion,  but  the  dawn  of  day  was  the  signal  for  His  rising,  and 
passing  down  again  to  the  abodes  of  men." 

The  morning  service  in  the  synagogue  began  at  nine,  and  as  the 
Tiews  of  the  great  Rabbi  being  in  the  neighbourhood  had  spread, 
every  one  strove  to  attend,  in  hopes  of  seeing  Him.  Women  came  to 
it  by  back  streets,  as  was  required  of  them;  the  men,  with  slow 
Sabbath  steps,  gathered  in  great  numbers.  The  elders  had  taken 
their  seats,  and  the  Reader  had  recited  the  Eighteen  Prayers — the 
congregation  answering  with  their  Amen. — for  though  the  prayers 
might  be  abridged  on  other  days,  they  could  not  be  shortened  on' the 


884  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Sabbath)  The  first  lesson  for  the  day  followed,  the  people  rising  and 
turning  reverently  towards  the  Shrine,  and  chanting  the  words  after 
the  Reader.  Another  lesson  then  followed,  and  the  Reader,  at  its 
close,  called  on  Jesus,  as  a  Rabbi  present  in  the  congregation,  to 
speak  from  it  to  the  people. 

His  words  must  have  sounded  strangely  new  and  attractive,  for, 
apart  from  their  vividness  and  force,  they  spoke  of  mattei's  of  the 
most  vital  interest,  which  the  Rabbis  left  wholly  untouched.  He  had 
founded  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  now  sought  to  build  it  up  by 
realizing  its  conditions  in  the  souls  of  men,  who  should  each,  forth- 
with, be  living  centres  of  influence  on  others.  But  a  course  so  retired, 
and  unknown  to  the  world  at  large,  as  that  which  He  followed,  of 
speaking  to  modest  assemblies  in  local  synagogues,  makes  it  easy  to 
understand  how  His  life  might  be  overlooked  by  the  public  writers 
of  the  age.  Yet,  in  the  little  world  in  which  He  moved,  the  noiseless 
words  by  which  He  carried  on  His  work  created  an  intense  impres- 
sion. He  gave  old  truths  an  unwonted  freshness  of  presentation,  and 
added  much  that  sounded  entirely  new,  on  His  own  authority,  instead 
of  confining  Himself,  like  the  Rabbis,  to  lifeless  repetitions  of  tradi- 
tional commonplaces,  delivered  with  a  dread  of  the  least  deviation  or 
originality.  They  claimed  no  power  to  say  a  word  of  their  own ;  He 
spoke  with  a  startling  independence.  Their  synagogue  .sermons,  as 
we  see  in  the  Book  of  Jubilees,  were  a  tiresome  iteration  of  the 
minutest  Rabbinical  rules,  with  a  serious  importance  which  regarded 
them  as  the  basis  of  all  moral  order.  The  kind,  and  quality  of  wood 
for  the  altar;  the  infinite  details  of  the  law  of  tithes;  the  moral  dead- 
liness  of  the  use  of  blood ;  or  the  indispensableness  of  circumcision 
on  the  eighth  day,  were  urged  with  pasSionate.zeal  as  momentous  and 
fundamental  truths.  The  morality  and  religion  of  the  age  had  sunk 
thus  low,  and  hence,  the  fervid  words  of  Jesus,  stirring  the  depths  of 
the  heart,  created  profound  excitement  in  Capernaum.  Men  were 
amazed  at  the  phenomenon  of  novelty,  in  a  religious  sphere  so  un- 
changeably conservative  as  that  of  the  synagogue.  "New  teaching," 
said  one  to  the  other,  "and  with  authority — not  like  other  Rabbis. 
They  only  repeat  the  old:  this  man  takes  on  Him  to  speak  without 
reference  to  the  past."  But  if  they  were  astonished  at  His  teaching, 
they  were  still  more  so  at  the  power  which  He  revealed  in  connection 
with  it.  Among  those  who  had  gone  to  the  synagogue  that  morning 
was  an  unhappy  man,  the  victim  of  a  calamity  incident  apparently  to 
the  age  of  Christ  and  the  Apostles  only.  He  was  "possessed  by  a 
spirit  of  an  unclean  demon."  Our  utter  ignorance  of  the  spiritual 
world  leaves  the  significance  of  siich  words  a  mystery,  though  the 
popular  idea  of  the  time  is  handed  down  by  the  Rabbis.  An  unclean 
demon,  in  the  language  of  Christ's  day,  was  an  evil  spirit  that  drove 
the  person  possessed,  to  haunt  burial-places,  and  other  spots  most 
unclean  in  the  eyes  of  Jews.  There  were  men  who  affected  the  black 
art,  pretending,  like  the  witch  of  Endor,  to  raise  the  dead,  and,  for 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  386 

that  end,  lodging  in  tombs,  and  macerating  themselves  with  fasting, 
to  secure  the  fuller  aid  and  inspiration  of  such  evil  spirits;  and  others 
into  whom  the  demons  entered,  driving  them  involuntarily  to  these 
dismal  habitations.  Both  classes  were  regarded  as  under  the  power 
of  this  order  of  beings,  but  it  is  not  told  us  to  which  of  the  two  the 
person  present  in  tlie  synagogue  belonged. 

The  service  had  gone  on  apparently  without  interruption,  till  Jesus 
began  to  speak.  Then,  however,  a  paroxysm  seized  the  unhappy  man. 
Rising  in  the  midst  of  the  congregation,  a  wild  howl  of  demoniacal 
frenzy  burst  from  him,  that  must  have  frozen  the  blood  of  all  with 
horror.  "Ha!"  yelled  the  demon.  "What  have  we  to  do  with 
Thee,  Jesus,  the  Nazarene?  Thou  comest  to  destroy  us!  I  know 
Thee,  who  Thou  art,  the  Holy  One  of  God ! "  Among  the  crowd 
Jesus  alone  remained  calm.  He  Avould  not  have  acknowledgment 
of  His  Messiahship  from  such  a  source.  "  Hold  thy  peace,"  said  He, 
indignantly,  "and  come  out  of  him."  The  spirit  felt  its  Master,  and 
that  it  must  obey,  but,  demon  to  the  last,  threw  the  man  down  in  the 
midst  of  the  congregation,  tearing  him  as  it  did  so,  and,  then,  with  a 
wild  howl,  fled  out  of  him.  Nothing  could  have  happened  better 
fitted  to  impress  the  audience  favourably  towards  Jesus.  This  new 
teaching,  said  they  amongst  themselves,  is  with  authority.  It  carries 
its  warrant  with  it. 

So  startling  an  incident  had  broken  \ip  the  service  for  the  time,  and 
Jesus  left,  Avith  His  four  disciples,  and  the  rest  of  the  congregation. 
l5ui  His  day's  work  of  mercy  had  only  begun.  Arriving  at  His 
modest  home,  he  found  the  mother  of  Peter's  wife  struck  down  with 
a  violent  attack  of  the  local  fever  for  which  Capernaum  had  so  bad 
a  notoriety.  TJie  quantity  of  marshy  land  in  the  neighbourhood, 
especially  at  the  entrance  of  the  Jordan  into  the  Lake,  has  made 
fever  of  a  very  malignant  type  at  times  the  characteristic  of  the 
locality,  so  that  the  ]iliysicians  would  not  allow  Josephus,  when  hurt 
by  his  horss  sinlving  in  the  neighbouring  marsh,  to'sleep  even  a  single 
night  in  Capernaum,  but  hurried  him  on  to  Taricha;a.  It  was  not  to 
be  thought  that  He  who  iiad  just  sent  joy  and  healing  into  the  heart 
of  a  stranger,  would  withhold  His  aid  when  a  friend  required  it. 
The  anxious  relatives  forthwith  besought  His  help,  but  the  gentlest 
hint  would  have  sufficed.  It  mattered  not  that  it  was  fever:  He  was 
forthwith  in  the  chamber,  bending  over  the  sick  woman,  and  rebuking 
the  disease  as  if  it  had  been  an  evil  personality.  He  took  her  by  the 
hand,  doubtless  with  a  look,  and  with  words,  which  made  her  His  for 
ever,  and  gently  raising  her,  she  found  the  fever  gone  and  health  and  - 
strength  returned,  so  that  she  could  prepare  their  midday  meal  for 
her  household  and  their  wondrous  guest. 

The  strict  laws  of  the  Jewish  Sabbath  gave  a  few  hours  of  rest  to 
all,  but  the  blast  of  the  trumpet  which  announced  its  close  was  the 
signal  for  a  renewal  of  the  popular  excitement,  now  increased  by 
the  iTimour  of   a  second  miracle.     With  the  setting  of  the  sun  it 


886  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■was  once  more  lawful  to  move  beyond  the  two  thousand  paces  of 
a  Babbaih  Day's  journey,  and  to  carry  whatever  burdens  one  pleased. 
Forthwith,  began  to  gather  from  every  street,  and  from  the  thickly 
sown  towns  and  villages  round,  the  strangest  assemblage.  The  child 
led  its  blind  father  as  near  the  enclosure  of  Simon's  house  a?  the 
throng  permitted:  the  father  came  carrying  the  sick  child;  men  bore 
the  hel^iless  in  swinging  hammocks;  "all  that  had  any  sick,  with 
whatever  disease,"  brought  tliem  to  the  Great  Healer.  The  whole 
town  was  in  motion,  and  crowded  before  the  house.  What  the  sick 
of  even  a  small  town  implied  may  be  imagined.  Fevers,  convulsions, 
asthma,  wasting  consumption,  swollen  dropsy,  shaking  palsy,  the  deaf, 
the  dumb,  the  brain-affected,  and,  besides  all,  "many  that  were 
possessed  with  devils,"  that  last,  worst,  symptom  of  the  despairing 
misery  and  dark  confusion  of  the  times. 

Would  He  leave  them  as  they  were  ?  They  bad  taken  it  for  gi'anted 
that  He  would  pity  them,  for  was  He  not  a  Prophet  of  God,  and  was 
it  not  natural  that,  like  Elijah  or  Elisha,  the  greatest  of  the  prophets, 
the  power  of  God  might  be  present  to  heal  those  who  were  brought 
to  Him?  Already,  moreover,  His  characteristics  had  won  the  confi- 
dence of  the  simple  crowd.  There  must  have  been  a  mysterious 
sympathy  and  goodness  in  His  looks,  and  words,  and  even  in  His 
bearing,  that  seemed  to  beckon  the  wretched  to  Him  as  their  friend, 
and  that  conquered  all  uncorrupted  hearts.  It  had  drawn  His  dis- 
ciples from  the  interests  of  gain,  to  follow  Him  in  His  poverty;  it 
melted  the  woman  that  was  a  sinner  into  tears;  it  softened  the  hard 
nature  of  publicans;  and  drew  hundreds  of  weary  and  heavy-laden 
to  Him  for  rest.  These  who  could,  gathered  wherever  they  might 
hope  to  find  Him,  and  as  it  was  this  evening,  those  who  could  not 
come,  had  themselves  carried  into  His  presence.  As  many  as  could, 
Btrove  to  touch,  if  it  were  possible,  even  His  clothes;  others  con- 
fessed aloud  their  sins,  and  owned  that  their  illness  was  the  punish- 
ment from  God."  One  would  not  venture  to  ask  Him  to  come  to 
his  house ;  another  brought  Him  in  that  He  might  be,  as  it  were, 
constramed  to  help.  The  blind  cried  out  to  Him  from  the  road-side, 
and  the  woman  of  Canaan  followed  Him  in  spite  of  His  hard  words. 
When  He  came  near,  even  those  possessed  felt  His  divine  greatness. 
Trembling  in  every  limb,  they  would  fain  have  fled,  but  felt  rooted 
to  the  spot,  the  evil  spirits  owning,  in  wild  shrieks,  the  presence  of 
one  whose  goodness  was  torment,  and  before  whose  will  they  must 
yield  up  their  prey. 

The  sight  of  so  much  misery  crowding  for  relief  touched  Jesus  at 
once,  and,  erelong.  He  appeared  at  the  open  door,  before  the  excited 
crowd.  With  a  command,  "  Hold  thy  peace,  and  come  out  of  him," 
a  poor  demoniac  was  presently  in  his  right  mind.  The  helpless 
lame  stood  up  at  the  words  "I  say  unto  thee,  Arise."  The  paralytic 
left  his  couch,  at  the  sound  of  "  Take  up  thy  bed  and  walk."  To 
some,  He  had  a  word  of  comfort,  that  dispelled  alarm  and  drove  off 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  887 

its  secret  cause.  "  Be  it  to  thee  according  to  thy  faith."  "  Woman, 
thou  art  loosed  from  thine  infirmity."  "Be  of  good  cheer,  my  son, 
vhy  sins  are  forgiven  thee,"  was  enough  to  turn  sorrow  and  pain  into 
joy  and  healtli.  Erelong  He  had  spoken  to  all  some  word  of  mercy. 
The  blind  left  with  their  sight  restored ;  the  possessed  thanked  God 
for  their  restoration  -.  the  fever-stricken  felt  the  glow  of  returning 
vigour;  the  dumb  shouted  His  praises;  and  thus  the  strange  crowd 
went  ofE  one  by  one,  leaving  the  house  once  more  in  the  silence  of 
the  night.  No  wonder  the  Evangelist  saAV  in  such  an  evening  a  ful- 
filment of  the  words  of  the  prophet,  ' '  Himself  took  our  inlirmities 
and  bore  our  diseases." 

It  was  not,  however,  by  popular  excitement  and  mere  outward  heal- 
ing that  the  kingdom  of  God  was  to  be  spread,  but  by  the  slill  and 
jTentle  influence  of  tlie  Truth,  working  conviction  in  individual  souls. 
The  noisy  crowd,  the  thronging  numbers  of  diseased  and  suffering; 
the  curiosity  that  ran  after  excitement,  and  the  yearning  for  help 
which  looked  only  to  outward  healing,  troubled,  and  almost  alarmed 
Him.  He  had  come  to  found  a  Spiritual  Society,  of  men  changed  in 
heart  towards  God,  and  filled  with  faitli  in  Himself  as  its  Head;  and 
the  merely  external  and  mostly  selfi.sli  notions  of  the  multitude,  could 
not  escape  His  keen  e,yes.  His  divine  love  and  pity  sighed  over  the 
bodily  and  mental  distress  around.  But,  as  a  rule,  the  sufferers 
thought  only  of  their  outward  misery,  in  melancholy  ignorance  of  its 
.secret  source  in  their  own  sin  and  guilt  before  God,  and  had  all  their 
felt  wants  relieved  when  their  bodily  troubles  were  removed. 

In  one  aspect,  indeed,  these  miraculous  cures  furthered  the  great 
purpose  of  Jesus.  They  might  prove  no  doctrine,  for  mere  power 
could  not  establish  moral  and  spiritual  truth.  Miracles  might  possi- 
bly be  wrought  by  other  influences  than  divine,  and  left  religious 
teaching  to  stand  on  its  own  merits,  for  they  appealed  to  the  senses; 
not,  like  truth,  to  the  soul.  The  display  or  overwhelming  power 
might  almost  seem  to  endanger,  rather  than  promote,  the  higher  aim 
of  Jesus,  to  win  those  whom  He  addressed.  It  awes  and  repels  men 
to  find  themselves  in  the  presence  of  forces  which  thej^  can  neither 
resist  nor  understand.  In  nature,  untutored  races  tremble  before 
powers  which  may  be  used  to  destroy  them,  and  seek  to  win  their 
favour  by  the  flattery  of  worship,  suiTounding  even  human  despotism 
witli  awful  attributes,  before  which  they  cower  in  terror. 

Jesus,  however,  could  appeal  to  His  miraculous  powers  as  evidences 
of  His  divine  mission,  and  often  did  .so.  Their  value  lay  in  the  gran- 
deur they  added  to  His  character.  Even  in  the  wilderness.  He  had 
refused  to  exert  them,  under  any  circumstances,  either  for  His 
natural  wants,  or  for  His  personal  ends,  and  He  adhered  to  this 
amazing  self-restraint  through  His  whole  career.  It  was  seen  from 
the  first,  that  His  awful  powers  were  uniformly  beneficent;  that  He 
came,  not  to  destroy  men's  lives,  but  to  save  them ;  that  He  used 
omnipotence  to  bless,  but  never  to  hurt.  His  words.  His  bearing,  and 


8S8  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

nis  looks  of  divine  love  and  tenderness,  doubtless  predisposed  men 
to  expect  this,  and  His  uniform  course  soon  contirmed  it.  They  saw 
that  nothing  couki  disturb  His  absolute  patience,  or  rouse  Him  to 
yindictiveness.  The}^  heard  Him  endure  meekly  the  most  contempt- 
uous sneers,  the  bitterest  criticism,  and  the  most  rancorous  hostility. 
No  one  denied  His  miraculous  powers,  though  some  affected  to  call 
them  demoniac,  in  direct  contradiction  to  their  habitual  exercise  for 
the  holiest  ends.  But  they  were  so  invariably  devoted  to  the  good  of 
others,  and  so  entirely  held  in  restraint,  as  regarded  personal  ends,  that 
men  came,  erelong,  to  treat  Him  with  the  reckless  boldness  of  hatred, 
notwithstanding  such  awful  endowment. 

Round  one  so  transcendentally  meek,  self-interest  found  no  motive 
for  gathering.  He  who  would  do  nothing  with  such  possibilities,  for 
Himself,  could  not  be  expected  to  do  more  for  the  personal  ends  of 
others.  Hypocrisy  had  nothing  to  gain  by  seeking  His  favour.  Only 
sincerity  found  Him  attractive.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  with  the 
uncorrupted  and  worthy,  this  characteristic  gave  Him  unlimited  moral 
elevation.  No  more  sublime  spectacle  can  be  conceived  than  bound- 
less power,  kept  in  perfect  control,  for  ends  wholly  unselfish  and 
noble.  Condescension  wins  admiration  when  it  is  only  from  man  to 
man;  when  it  showed  itself  in  veiled  omnipotence,  ever  ready  to  bless 
others,  but  never  used  on  its  own  behalf,  it  became  a  divine  ideal. 
Men  saw  Him  clothed  with  power  over  disease,  and  even  over  death; 
able  to  cast  forth  spirits,  or  to  still  the  sea,  and  yet  accessible,  full  of 
sympathy,  the  lofty  patriot,  the  tender  friend,  the  patient  counsellor; 
shedding  tears,  at  times,  from  a  full  heart,  and  ever  ready  with  a  wise 
and  gentle  word  for  all;  so  unaffected  and  gentle  that  children  drew 
round  Him  with  a  natural  instinct,  and  even  worldly  hardness  and 
vice  were  softened  before  Him ;  and  this  contrast  of  transcendent 
power,  and  perfect  humility,  made  them  feel  that  He  was  indeed  the 
Head  of  the  Kingdom  of  God  amongst  men.  The  secret  of  His 
amazing  success,  as  the  founder  of  a  new  religious  constitution  for 
mankind,  lay  in  the  recognition  of  this  perfect  sacrifice  of  one  so 
transcendentally  gi-eat,  culminating  in  "the  death  of  the  cross."  It 
was  the  perfect  realization,  in  Himself,  of  the  life  He  urged  on 
others.  It  implied  the  ideal  fulfilment  of  all  human  duties,  and  no 
less  so,  of  all  divine,  for  the  heavenly  love  which  alone  could  dictate 
and  siistain  such  a  career,  was,  in  itself,  the  most  perfect  transcript  of 
the  nature  of  God.  A  life  in  which  every  step  showed  kingly  gracq 
jind  divinely  boundless  love,  condescending  to  the  lowliest  self-denia; 
for  the  good  of  man,  proclaimed  Him  the  rightful  Head  of  the  NeM 
Kingdom  of  God. 

The  night  which  followed  this  busy  and  eventful  Sabbath  brough  j 
no  repose  to  His  body  or  mind.  The  excitement  around  agitated  acU 
disturbed  Him.  It  was  His  first  triumphant  success,  for,  in  the 
south.  He  had  met  with  little  sympathy,  though  He  had  attr«i;ted 
crowds.     But  curiosity  vras   not  progress,  and  excitement  w<iS  cot 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  S89 

conversion.  Lowliness  and  concealment,  not  noisy  throngs,  were 
the  true  conditions  of  His  work,  and  of  its  firmest  establishment,  and 
lasting  glory.  Mere  popularity  was,  moreover,  a  renewed  temptation, 
for,  as  a  man.  He  was  susceptible  of  the  same  seductions  as  His  breth- 
ren'. He  mi2:ht  be  drawn  aside  to  think  of  Himself,  and  to  His  holy 
soul  the  faintest  approach  to  this  was  a  surrender  to  evil.  Rising  from 
His  couch,  therefore,  while  the  deep  darkness  which  precedes  the 
dawn  still  rested  on  hill  and  valley.  He  left  the  house  so  quietly  that 
no  one  heard  Him,  and  went,  once  more,  to  the  solitudes  of  the  hills 
behind  the  town.  Passing  through  groves  of  palms,  and  orchards  of 
fig  and  olive  trees,  intermixed  with  vineyards  and  grassy  meadows, 
with  their  tinkling  brooks,  so  delightful  in  the  East,  and  their  unseen 
glory  of  lilies  and  varied  flowers.  He  soon  reached  the  heights,  amongst 
which,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  town,  were  lonely  ravines  where 
He  could  enjoy  perfect  seclusion.  In  the  stillness  of  nature  He  was 
alone  with  His  Father,  and  far  from  the  temptations  which  troubled 
the  pure  simplicity  of  His  soul,  and  His  lowly  meekness  before  God 
and  man.  We,  now,  see  the  glory  of  the  path  He  chose,  but  while  He 
lived,  even  His  disciples  would  have  planned  a  very  different  course. 
Why  not  take  advantage  of  the  excitement  of  the  people  to  rouse  the 
whole  nation,  as  John  had  done?  Was  not  His  miraculous  power  a 
means  of  endless  benefit  to  men,  and  should  it  not,  therefore,  be  made 
the  great  feature  of  His  work?  Vanity  would  have  suggested  plaus- 
ible grounds  for  His  using  His  gifts  in  a  way,  that,  in  reality,  was  not 
in  harmony  with  the  great  end  of  His  mission.  But  His  soul  re- 
mained unsullied,  like  the  stainless  light.  He  came  to  do  the  will  of 
His  Father,  and  nothing  could  make  Him  for  a  moment  think  of  Him- 
self. In  lonely  communion  with  His  own  soul,  and  earnest  prayer, 
the  rising  breath  of  temptation  passed  once  more  away. 

Peter  and  Andrew,  finding  Him  gone  when  they  awoke,  were  at  a 
loss  what  to  think.  More  sick  persons  were  gathering,  and  the  crowds 
of  yesterday  promised  to  be  larger  to-day.  Hasting  to  the  hills,  to 
which  they  rightly  supposed  He  had  retired,  and  having  found  Him 
at  last,  thfy  fancied  He  would  at  once  return  Avith  them,  on  hearing 
that  the  whole  people  were  seeking  Him.  But  He  had  a  wider  sphere 
than  Capernaum,  and  higher  duties  than  mere  bodily  healing.  ' '  I 
have  not  come  to  heal  the  sick,"  said  He,  "but  to  announce  and 
spread  the  kingdom  of  God.  All  I  do  is  subordinate  to  this.  Let  us, 
therefore,  go  to  the  neighbouring  towns,  for  I  must  preach  the  king- 
dom of  God  to  other  cities,  as  well  as  to  Capernaum."  Nor  would 
He  be  persuaded  to  return  for  a  time,  though  some  of  the  people  liad 
already  found  out  His  retreat,  and  joined  with  the  disciples  in  beg- 
ging Him  to  do  so. 

The  circuit  now  begun  was  the  first  of  a  series,  in  which  Jesus  vis- 
ited every  part  of  Galilee,  preaching  and  teaching  in  the  synagogue  of 
each  town  that  had  one,  and  often,  doubtless,  in  the  open  air.  It  was 
the  bright  and  sunny  time  of  the  year,  when  the  harvest  was  quickly 


S90  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ripening.  Tlie  heat  was  already  oppressive  at  noon,  but  the  mora- 
ings  and  evenings  permitted  more  easy  travelling.  It  was  a  time 
of  intense  laboiu*  for  the  Saviour,  of  which  the  day's  work  in  Ca- 
pernaum was  only  a  sample.  The  bounds  of  Galilee  embraced  the 
many  villages  and  towns  of  the  Plain  of  Esdraelon,  and  the  whole  of 
the  hilly  country  north  of  it,  almost  to  Lebanon.  Day  by  day  brought 
its  march  from  one  village  or  town  to  others,  over  the  thirsty  lime- 
stone uplands,  where  the  wanderer  thankfully  received  the  cup  of 
cold  water,  as  a  gift  to  be  recompensed  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  or 
through  glowing  vineyards,  or  among  the  corn-fields  whitening  to  the 
harvest,  or  falling  under  the  sickle  of  the  reaper.  "Every  day,"  said 
Jesus  to  His  disciples,  "has  its  own  troubles;"  for  Aveariness;  pos- 
sibl}'',  at  limes,  hunger;  the  dependence  on  hospitality  for  shelter; 
the  pressure  of  crowds ;  the  stolid  indifference  of  too  many ;  the  idle 
curiosity  of  more;  the  ever-present  misery  of  disease  in  all  its  forms; 
and,  it  may  be,  even  thus  early,  the  opposition  of  some,  must  have 
borne  heavily  on  a  nature  like  His.  The  news  of  His  miracles  had 
spread  like  running  fire  through  the  whole  country,  and  attracted 
crowds  from  all  parts.  Beyond  Palestine,  on  the  north,  they  had  be- 
come the  common  talk  of  Syria;  on  the  east,  they  had  stirred  the 
population  of  the  wide  district  of  the  ten  cities,  and  of  Perea,  and,  on 
the  south,  His  name  was  on  all  lips  in  Jerusalem  and  Judea.  Ere- 
long, it  seemed  as  if  the  scenes  of  John's  preaching  were  returning, 
for  numbers  gathered  to  Him  from  all  these  parts,  and  followed  Him, 
day  by  day,  in  His  movements  through  the  land.  His  progress  was, 
indeed,  worthy  of  such  an  attendance,  for  no  king  ever  celebrated 
such  a  triumph.  Conquerors  returning  from  victory  over  kingdoms 
and  empires  had  led  trains  of  trembling  captives  in  their  train.  But, 
at  every  resting-place,  a  sad  crowd  of  sufferers  from  fill  diseases  and 
painful  affections,  and  of  demoniacs,  lunatics,  and  paralytics,  was  gath- 
ered in  the  path  of  Jesus,  and  He  healed  them  by  a  word  or  a  rouch. 
Escorted  into  each  town  by  those  whom  He  had  thus  restored — the 
lately  sick  and  dying  whom  He  had  instantaneously  cured, — it  is  no 
wonder  that  the  whole  land  rang  with  the  story.  "Tlie  enemies  over 
whom  He  triumphed  were  pain,  and  sickness,  and  death,  and  the 
rejoicings  that  gi'ceted  Him  were  shouts  of  gratitude  and  blessing  as 
the  Prince  of  Life. 

Only  one  incident  of  this  wondrous  journey  is  recorded  at  any 
length.  In  one  of  the  cities  lie  visited.  He  was  suddenly  met  by  a 
man  "full  of  leprosy,"  a  disease  at  all  times  terrible,  bixt  aggravated, 
in  the  opinion  of  that  day,  by  the  belief  that  it  was  a  direct  "stroke 
of  God,"  as  a  punishment  for  special  sins.  It  began  with  little  specks 
on  the  eyelids,  and  on  the  palms  of  the  hand,  and  gradually  spread 
over  different  parts  of  the  body,  bleaching  the  hair  white  wherever  it 
showed  itself,  crusting  the  affected  parts  with  shining  scales,  and 
causing  swellings  and  sores.  From  the  skin  it  slowly  ate  its  way 
through  the  tissues,  to  the  bones  and  joints  and  even  to  the  naarrow. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  391 

rotting  the  whole  body  piecemeal.  The  Innsrs,  the  orcrans  of  speech 
and  hearing,  and  the  eyes  were  attacked  in  turn,  till,  at  last,  con- 
sumption or  dropsy  brought  welcome  death.  The  dread  of  infection 
kept  men  aloof  from  the  .'^ufferer,  and  tlie  Law  proscribed  him,  as, 
above  all  men,  unclean.  The  disease  was  hereditarj'  to  the  fourth 
generation.  No  one  thus  afflicted  could  remain  in  a  walled  town, 
though  he  might  live  in  a  village.  There  were  different  varieties  of 
leprosy,  but  all  were  dreaded  as  the  saddest  calamity  of  life.  The 
leper  was  required  to  rend  his  outer  garment,  to  go  baT-eheaded,  and 
to  cover  his  mouth  so  as  to  hide  his  beard,  as  vras  done  in  lamentation 
for  the  dead.  He  had,  further,  to  warn  passers  by  away  from  him 
by  the  cry  of  "Unclean,  unclean;"  not  without  the  thought  that  the 
sound  would  call  forth  a  prayer  for  the  sufferer,  and  less  from  the 
fear  of  infection,  than  to  prevent  contact  with  one  thus  visited  by 
God,  and  unclean.  He  could  not  speak  to  any  one,  or  receive  or  re- 
turn a  salutation.  In  the  lapse  of  ages,  however,  these  rules  had  been 
in  some  degree  relaxed.  A  leper  might  live  in  an  open  village,  with 
any  one  willing  to  receive  him  and  to  become  unclean  for  his  sake, 
and  he  might  even  enter  the  synagogue,  if  he  had  a  part  specially 
partitioned  off  for  himself,  and  was  the  first  to  enter  the  building,  and 
the  last  to  leave.  He  even  at  times  ventured  to  enter  a  town,  though 
forbidden  under  the  penalty  of  forty  stripes.  But  it  was  a  living 
death,  in  the  slow  advance  of  which  a  man  became  daily  more  loath- 
some to  himself,  and  even  to  his  dearest  friends.  "These  four  are 
counted  as  dead,"  says  the  Talmud,  "the  blind,  the  leper,  the  poor, 
and  the  childless." 

The  news  of  the  wondrous  cures  wrought  on  so  many  had  reached 
the  unfortunate  man,  who  now  dared  the  Law,  to  make  his  way  to 
the  healer.  Falling  at  His  feet  in  humble  reverence,  he  delighted 
the  spirit  of  Jesus  by,  perhaps,  the  first  open  confession  of  a  simple 
and  lowly  faith — "Lord,  if  Thou  wilt.  Thou  canst  make  me  clean." 
His  kneeling  before  Him,  and  addressing  Him  by  such  a  title,  was, 
indeed,  only  what  he  would  have  done  to  any  one  greatly  above  him, 
but  his  frank  belief  in  His  power,  and  his  implicit  submission  to  His 
will,  touched  a  heart  so  tender.  Moved  with  compassion  for  the  un- 
fortunate, there  was  no  delay — a  touch  of  the  hand,  and  the  words, 
"I  will:  be  thou  clean,"  and  he  rose,  a  leper  no  longer.  To  have 
touched  him,  was,  in  the  eyes  of  a  Jew,  to  have  made  Himself  un 
clean,  but  He  had  come  to  break  through  the  deadly  externalism  thai 
had  taken  the  place  of  tnie  religion,  and  could  have  shown  no  more 
strikingly  how  He  looked  on  mere  Rabbinical  precepts  than  bym'/iin^ 
a  touch  which,  till  then,  had  entailed  the  worst  uncleannes  the 
means  of  cleansing.  Slight  though  it  seemed,  the  touch  of  tin  -eper 
was  the  proclamation  that  Judaism  was  abrogated  henceforth. 

The  popular  excitement  had  already  extended  widely,  and '  cure 
like  this  was  certain  to  raise  it  still  higher.  With  the  Bapv.  si  in 
prison  on  a  pretended  political  charge,  and  the  people  full  of  pc  ltic4j 


392  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dreams  in  connection  witli  the  expected  Messiah,  all  that  mi^ht  fan 
the  flame  was  to  be  dreaded.  Excitement,  moreover,  was  im favour- 
able to  the  great  -work  of  Jesus.  He  needed  a  thouglitful  calm  in  the 
mind,  for  lasting  effects.  The  kingdom  of  God  which  He  proclaimed 
was  no  mere  appeal  to  the  feelings,  but  sought  the  understanding  and 
heart.  Turning  to  the  newly  cured,  therefore.  He  spoke  earnestly  to 
him,  not  to  tell  any  one  what  had  happened,  threatening  him  with 
His  anger,  if  he  should  disobey.  "Go  to  Jerusalem,"  said  He,  "and 
show  yourself  to  the  priest,  and  make  the  offerings  for  your  cleansing, 
required  by  the  Law,  as  a  proof  to  your  neighbours,  to  the  priests, 
the  scribes,  and  the  people  at  large,  that  you  are  really  clean." 

A  certificate  of  the  recovery  ot'  a  leper  could  only  be  given  at  Je- 
rusalem, by  a  priest,  after  a  lengthened  examination,  and  tedious 
rites,  and,  no  doubt,  these  were  duly  undergone  and  performed.  It 
will  illustrate  the  "bondage"  of  the  ceremonial  law,  as  then  in  force, 
to  describe  them.  With  his  heart  full  of  the  first  joy  of  a  cure  so 
amazing,  for  no  one  had  ever  before  heard  of  the  recovery  of  a  man 
"full  of  leprosy,"  he  set  off  to  the  Temple  for  the  requisite  papers  to 
authorize  his  return,  once  more,  to  the  roll  of  Israel.  A  tent  had  to 
be  pitched  outside  the  city,  and  in  this  the  priest  examined  the  leper, 
cutting  off  all  his  hair  with  the  utmost  care,  for  if  only  two  hairs 
were  left,  the  ceremony  was  invalid.  Two  sparrows  had  to  be  brought 
at  this  first  stage  of  the  cleansing;  the  one,  to  be  killed  over  a  small 
earthen  pan  of  water,  into  which  its  blood  must  drop :  the  other,  after 
being  sprinkled  with  the  blood  of  its  mate, — a  cedar  twig,  to  which 
scarlet  wool  and  a  piece  of  hyssop  were  bound,  being  used  to  do  so, — 
was  let  free  in  such  a  direction  that  it  should  fly  to  the  open  country. 
After  the  scrutiny  by  the  priest,  the  leper  put  on  clean  clothes,  and 
carried  away  those  he  had  worn  to  a  running  stream,  to  wash  them 
thoroughly,  and  to  cleanse  himself  by  a  bath.  He  could  now  enter 
the  city,  but  for  seven  days  more  could  not  enter  his  own  house.  On 
the  eighth  day  after,  he  once  more  submitted  to  the  scissors  of  the 
priest,  who  cut  off  whatever  hair  might  have  grown  in  the  interval. 
Then  followed  a  second  bath,  and  now  he  had  only  carefully  to  avoid 
any  defilement,  so  as  to  be  fit  to  attend  in  the  Temple  next  morning, 
and  complete  his  cleansing.  The  first  step  in  this  final  purification 
was  to  offer  three  lambs,  two  males  and  a  female,  none  of  which 
must  be  under  a  year  old.  Standing  at  the  outer  edge  of  the  court  of 
the  men,  which  he  was  not  j^et  worthy  to  enter,  the  leper  waited  the 
longed-for  rites.  These  began  by  the  priest  taking  one  of  the  male 
Iambs  destined  to  be  slain  as  an  atonement  for  the  leper,  and  leading 
it  to  each  point  of  tlie  compass  in  turn,  and  by  his  swinging  a  vessel 
of  oil  on  all  sides,  in  the  same  way,  as  if  to  present  both  to  the  uni- 
versally present  God.  He  then  led  the  lamb  to  the  leper,  who  laid 
his  hands  on  its  head,  and  gave  it  over  as  a  sacrifice  for  his  guilt, 
which  he  now  confessed.  It  was  forthwith  killed  at  the  north  side 
of  the  altar,  two  priests  catching  its  blood,  the  one  in  a  vessel,  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  393 

other  in  his  hand.  The  first  now  sprinlcled  the  altar  with  the  blood, 
while  the  other  went  to  the  leper  and  anointed  his  ears,  his  right  thumb, 
and  his  right  toe  with  it.  The  one  priest  then  poured  some  oil  of 
the  leper's  offering  into  the  left  hand  of  the  other,  who,  in  his  turn, 
dipped  his  finger  seven  times  into  the  oil  thus  held,  and  sprinkled  it 
as  often  towaixls  the  Holy  of  Holies.  Each  part  of  the  leper  which 
before  had  been  touched  with  the  blood,  was  then  further  anointed 
with  the  oil,  what  remained  being  stroked  on  his  head. 

The  leper  could  now  enter  the  men's  court,  and  did  so,  passing 
through  it  to  that  of  the  priests.  The  female  lamb  was  next  killed, 
as  a  sin-offering,  after  he  had  put  his  hands  on  its  head,  part  of  its 
blood  being  smeared  on  the  horns  of  the  altar,  while  the  rest  was 
poured  out  at  the  altar  base.  The  other  male  lamb  was  then  slain  for 
a  burnt  sacrifice ;  the  leper  once  more  laying  his  hands  on  its  head, 
and  the  priest  sprinkling  its  blood  on  the  altar.  The  fat,  and  all  that 
was  fit  for  an  offering,  was  now  laid  on  the  altar,  and  burned  as  a 
"sweet-smelling savour"  to  God.  A  meat-offering  of  fine  wheat  meal 
and  oil  ended  the  whole;  a  portion  being  laid  on  the  altar,  while  the 
rest,  with  the  two  lambs,  of  which  only  a  small  part  had  been  burned, 
formed  the  dues  of  the  priest.  It  was  not  till  all  this  had  been  done 
that  the  full  ceremony  of  cleansing,  or  showing  himself  to  the  priest, 
had  been  carried  out,  and  that  the  cheering  words,  "  Thou  art  pure," 
restored  the  sufferer  once  more  to  the  rights  of  citizenship  and  of 
intercourse  with  men.  No  wonder  that  even  a  man  like  St.  Peter,  so 
tenderly  minded  to  his  ancestral  religion,  should  speak  of  its  require- 
ments as  a  yoke  which  ' '  neither  our  fathers  nor  we  are  able  to  bear. " 

Of  the  after-history  of  the  leper  thus  cleansed  we  are  not  informed. 
It  appears,  however,"  that  his  joy  at  being  healed  was  too  great  to  be 
repressed  even  by  Christ's  grave  imposition  of  silence.  The  multi- 
tudes around  Jesus  would  soon,  of  themselves,  spread  news  of  the 
miracle,  but  the  healed  man  widened  and  heightened  the  excitement 
by  telling  everywhere  on  his  road  to  Jerusalem  what  had  befallea 
him.  The  result  was  that  Jesus  could  no  longer  enter  a  town  or  city, 
so  great  was  the  commotion  His  presence  excited.  Nor  was  it  of  any 
avail  that  He  retired  to  the  open  country,  for  even  when  He  betook 
Himself  to  the  upland  solitudes,  great  multitudes  continually  sought 
Him  out,  either  to  hear  His  words,  or  to  be  healed  of  their  various 
diseases. 

In  such  busy  and  exhausting  scenes  the  days  of  early  autumn  passed. 
But,  whatever  the  returning  toils  of  each  morning,  the  Saviour  still 
craved  and  secured  hours  of  lonely  calm,  for  Ave  read  in  St.  Luke 
that,  during  all  these  weeks,  He  was  wont  to  withdraw,  doubtless  by 
night,  into  lonely  places  to  pray. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

LIGHT     AKD     DARKNESS. 

The  cure  of  the  leper  seems  to  have  resulted  in  Jesus  returning, 
for  a  moment,  to  Capernaum.  He  had  acted  with  the  greatest 
caution  during  His  mission,  to  avoid  giving  offence,  and  thus  raising 
opposition,  which  would  be  fatal  at  the  very  opening  of  His  ministry. 
From  many  a  hill-top  on  His  journeyings,  He  and  His  disciples  had, 
doubtless,  often  looked  to  the  mountains  in  the  south-east,  amidst 
which  John  lay,  a  helpless  prisoner;  and  they  must  have  felt  that  the 
prince  who  had  thus  cut  short  the  work  of  the  great  Reformer,  might 
be  readily  moved  to  the  same  violence  towards  themselves.  Jesus 
had,  therefore,  shunned  notoriety;  and  though  He  never  hesitated 
to  accept  homage,  where  it  was  sincere  and  spontaneous.  He  had 
never  demanded  it,  and  had  kept  even  His  miraculous  powers  in  strict 
subordination  to  the  great  work  of  proclaiming  the  advent  of  the 
kingdom  of  God.  The  appeals  of  pain  and  misery  had,  indeed,  con- 
strained Him  to  relieve  them,  but  He  had  accompanied  His  miracles 
by  a  strict  prohibition  of  their  being  made  publicly  known,  further 
than  was  inevitable. 

In  spite  of  every  precaution,  however,  the  report  of  His  wonderful 
doings  spread  far  and  wide,  and  drew  ever  increasing  attention. 
Political  circles,  as  yet,  did  not  condescend  to  notice  Him,  but  the 
sleepless  eyes  of  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  were  already  watching 
Ilim.  It  was  enough  that  He  acted  independently  of  them.  Not  to 
be  with  them  was,  in  their  eyes,  to  be  against  them,  for  they  claimed, 
as  tlie  spiritual  leaders  of  the  nation,  the  sole  direction  of  its  religious 
teaching.  The  more  wonderful  His  works,  the  greater  their  excite- 
ment, and  the  keener  their  jealousy.  In  any  case,  therefore,  the 
words  which  accompanied  such  extraordinary  manifestations,  would 
have  been  watched  with  the  closest  scrutiny,  for  anj^  chance  of  vind; 
eating  their  care  of  the  religious  interests  entrusted  to  them.  In  aa 
age  of  such  rigid  literalism  and  unchanging  conservatism,  no  teacbe'" 
vvith  the  least  individuality  of  thought  or  expression  could  hope  to 
escape,  Avhere  the  determination  to  condemn  was  already  fixed.  Far 
less  was  it  possible  for  one  like  Jesus — so  sincere  amidst  general 
insincerity;  so  intense  and  real  amidst  what  was  hollow  and  outward; 
f-.o  pure  and  elevated  amidst  what  was  gi'oss  and  worldly ;  so  tenderly 
liunian,  amidst  what  was  harsh  and  exclusive — to  avoid  giving  pre- 
text for  censure.  The  priests  and  Rabbis,  through  the  whole  land, 
felt  instinctivel}'^  that  their  influence  was  imperilted  by  His  lightest 
word.  They,  already,  were  coldly  suspicious.  The  next  step  would 
be  to  blame,  and  they  would  seek,  before  lon^,  to  destroy  Him,  for 
it  has,  in  all  ages,  been  the  sad  characteristic  ol  the  leaders  of  domi- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  395 

\, 
nant  religious  parties,  to  confound  the  gratification  of  the  -vrorst  pas- 
sions with  loyalty  to  tlieir  office. 

Perhaps  Jesus  had  hoped  that  in  Capernaum,  r.t  least,  He  would 
find  an  interval  of  repose,  for  His  absence  might  have  been  expected 
to  have  aiia.yed  the  excitement.  No  spot  in  Palestine  seemed  less 
likely  to  be  disturbed  by  the  hostility  of  the  schools.  In  Jerusalem, 
men  looked  back  to  a  past  dating  from  Melchisedek,  and  were  its 
slaves,  but  Capernaum  was  so  new  that  its  name  does  not  occur  at 
all  in  the  Old  Testament.  But  He  soon  found  that  the  #lark  and 
hateful  genius  of  Rabbinism,  with  its  puerile  customs  and  formulas, 
and  its  fierce  bigotry,  was  abroad  through  the  whole  land. 

It  was  vain  to  expect  that  a  "  city  set  on  a  hill"  could  be  hidden. 
He  had  scarcely  re-entered  the  town,  before  it  ran  from  mouth  to 
mouth  that  He  had  returned,  and  was  at  home.  Crowds  presently 
gathered,  and  filled  not  only  the  house,  but  the  space  before  it. 
There  was  to  be  no  rest  for  the  Son  of  Man,  till  He  found  it  in  the 
garden  grave  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea.  The  applause,  the  gajiing 
wonder,  the  huge  concourse  of  people,  were  only  a  grief  to  Him. 
He  had  broken  away  from  them  before,  and  sought  refuge  from  the 
temptations  they  tended  to  excite,  in  lonely  prayer  by  niglit,  on  the 
neighbouring  hills,  under  the  pure  and  silent  stars.  They  had  followed 
Him  on  His  journey  from  town  to  town,  and,  now,  on  His  return  to 
Capernaum,  the  clamour  of  voices,  and  the  pressure  of  throngs, 
beset  Him  more  than  ever.  Had  anxiety  to  hear  the  truths  of  the 
new  spiritual  kingdom  caused  this  excitement,  it  would  have  been 
healthy,  but  it  had  been  already  shown  only  too  clearly  that,  while 
men  believed  in  His  power  to  heal,  they  cared  little  for  His  higher 
claims.  Regret  for  bodily  illness,  or  ready  sympathy  with  the  suffer- 
ers, simply  as  under  physical  trouble,  were  evidently  the  only  thought, 
to  the  exclusion  of  any  sense  of  graver  spiritual  disease  in  all  alike. 
The  very  maladies  often  revealed  moral  impurity  as  their  cause;  and 
the  selfish  struggle  for  His  favour,  and  the  too  frequent  ingratitude  of 
the  cured,  saddened  His  soul:  Of  the  multitudes  whom  He  had 
healed,  most  had  disappeared,  without  any  signs  of  having  heeded 
His  appeals  and  warnings.  Even  the  leper,  who  had  at  least  promised 
silence,  was  hardly  out  of  His  presence  before  he  forgot  his  pledge. 
He  was  already  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  but  divine  compassion  still 
urged  Him  to  heal. 

To  make  the  trial  greater,  it  was  evident  that  mischief  was  brew- 
ing. The  Rabbis  were  astir.  They  had  heard  of  the  multitudes 
attracted  from  the  other  side  of  the  Jordan  on  the  east;  from  as  far  as 
Jerusalem,  and  even  Idumea,  on  the  south,  and  from  Phenicia  on  the 
north;  and  had  followed  the  crowds,  and  gathered  in  Capernaum 
from  every  town  of  Galilee  and  Judea,  and  from  Jerusalem  itself,  to 
hear  and  see  the  new  wonder.  Sensitive  in  their  own  interest,  they 
came  with  no  friendly  motive,  but  cold  and  hostile;  to  criticize,  and, 
if  possible,  to  condernn. 


896  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Even  in  Galilee  the  influence  of  the  order  was  great.  It  had  done 
immense  service  to  the  nation  in  earlier  days  in  kindling  an  intense 
feeling  of  nationality,  and  an  enthusiasm,  at  first  healthy  and  bene- 
ficial, though  now  perverted,  for  their  faitli.  The  Rabbis  were  the 
heads  of  the  nation,  in  the  Avidest  sense,  for  the  religion  of  the  people 
was  also  tlieir  politics.  They  were  the  thi.'ologians,  the  jurists,  the 
legislators,  the  politicians,  and,  indeed,  the  soul  of  Israel.  The  priests 
had  sunk  to  a  subordinate  place  in  the  public  regard.  The  venera- 
tion which  the  people  felt  for  their  Law  was  willingly  extended  to  its 
teachers.  They  were  greeted  reverently  in  the  street  and  in  the  mar- 
ket-place, men  rising  up  before  them  as  they  passed ;  the  title  of  Rabbi 
was  universally  accorded  them;  the  front  seats  of  the  synagogues  were 
set  apart  for  them;  and  they  took  the  place  of  honour  at  all  family 
rejoicings,  that  they  might  discourse,  incidentally,  to  the  company, 
on  the  Law.  Wise  in  their  generation,  they  fostered  this  homage  by 
external  aids.  Their  long  robes,  their  broad  phylacteries,  or  prayer 
fillets,  on  their  forehead  and  arm,  their  conspicuous  Tephillin,  with 
the  sacred  tassels  dangling  from  each  corner,  were  part  of  themselves, 
without  which  they  were  never  seen.  The  people  gloried  in  them 
as  the  crown  of  Israel,  and  its  distinguishing  honour  above  all  other 
nations.  "  Learn  where  is  wisdom,"  says  Baruch,  "where  isstrength, 
where  is  understanding.  It  has  not  been  heard  of  in  Car  tan,  nor  seen 
in  Teraan.  The  Hagarenes  seek  wisdom,  and  the  traders  of  Meran  and 
Teman,  and  the  poets  and  philosophers,  but  they  liavt  not  found  out 
the  way  of  wisdom,  or  discovered  her  path.  God  has  found  out 
the  whole  way  of  wisdom,  and  hath  given  it  to  His  servant  Jacob, 
and  to  Israel,  His  beloved."  Jeriisalem  was,  naturally,  while  tiie 
Temple  worship  continued,  the  headquarters  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
Rabbis,  but  they  were  found  in  all  the  sj'nagogue  towns  both  of 
Judea  and  Galilee.  They  formed  the  members  of  the  local,  ecclesi- 
astical, and  criminal  courts  over  the  country,  and  at  Jerusalem, 
virtually  controlled  the  authorities,  and  thus  framed  tlie  religious  and 
general  law  for  the  nation  at  large,  so  far  as  allowed  by  the  Romans. 
Their  activity  never  rested.  Whether  as  guests  from  the  Holy  City, 
or  as  residents,  they  pervaded  the  land,  visiting  every  school  and 
synagogue,  to  extend  their  influence  by  teaching  and  exhortations. 
A  Rabbi,  indeed,  could  move  from  place  to  place  with  little  trouble, 
for,  in  most  cases,  he  lived  by  trade  or  handicraft,  and  could  thua 
unite  business  and  religion  in  his  missionary  journeys.  Their  cease- 
less circuits  are  painted  in  tlie  Targum  on  Deborah's  song.  It  makes 
the  prophetess  say — "I  am  sent  to  praise  the  Scribes  of  Israel,  who 
ceased  not,  in  the  evil  times,  to  expound  the  Law.  It  was  beautiful 
to  see  how  they  sat  in  the  synagogues,  and  taught  the  people  the 
words  of  the  Law ;  how  they  uttered  the  blessings,  and  confessed  the 
truth  before  God.  They  neglected  their  own  affairs,  and  rode  on 
asses  round  the  whole  land,  and  sat  for  judgment."  The  paraphrase 
is  an  anachronism  when  applied  to  the  age  of  the  Judges,  but  it 
■»ividly  illustrates  Rabbinical  zeal  in  the  days  of  Christ. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  897 

Soon  after  His  return  to  Capernaum,  an  incident  occurred  -whicli  led 
to  the  first  open  difference  between  Jesus  and  this  all-powerful  order. 
The  crowds  had  gathered  in  such  numbers  at  Peter's  house,  that  not 
only  the  house  itself,  but  the  space  before  it,  was  once  more  full. 
Among  the  audience  were  Scribes  from  all  parts,  to  see  if  they  should 
unite  with  the  new  movement,  and  turn  it  to  their  own  purposes,  or 
take  measures  against  it.  If  we  may  judge  from  the  ruins  on  the  site 
of  the  town,  the  house  was  only  a  single  very  low  story  high,  with  a 
flat  roof,  reached  by  a  stairway  from  the  yard  or  court,  and  Jesus  may 
have  stood  near  the  door,  in  such  a  position  as  to  be  able  to  address 
the  crowd  outside,  as  well  as  those  in  the  chamber.  Pos.sibly,  how- 
ever, there  were  two  stories  in  this  particular  house,  as  there  must 
have  been  in  some  in  the  town,  and  in  that  case  the  upper  one  would 
likely  be  a  large  room — the  "upper"  and  best  chamber — such  as  was 
often  used  elsewhere  by  Rabbis,  for  reading  and  expounding  the  Law 
to  their  disciples,  and  Jesus  may  have  have  stood  near  the  open  win- 
dow, so  as  to  be  heard  both  outside  and  within. 

From  some  favourable  spot  He  was  addressing  the  thickly  crowded 
audience  about  the  kingdom  of  God,  so  long  prophesied,  and  now,  at 
last,  in  their  midst,  when  four  men  approached  bearing  a  sick  person, 
on  a  hammock  slung  between  them.  It  proved  to  be  a  man  entirely 
paralyzed.  Unable  to  make  their  way  through  the  throng,  the  bearers 
went  round  the  house  to  see  what  should  be  done.  They  had  likely 
come  from  a  distance,  and  thus  were  too  late  to  get  at  once  near  the 
great  Healer.  The  outside  stairs  to  the  roof,  however,  offered  them 
a  solution  of  their  difficulty.  The  sick  man  was  bent  on  getting  to 
the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  willingly  let  them  raise  him,  which  they  were 
able  to  do  by  fastening  cords  to  the  hammock,  and  pulling  it  up, 
after  they  themselves  had  got  to  the  top  by  the  narrow  and  ladder- 
like steps. 

Their  trembling  burden  once  safely  on  the  roof,  the  rest  was  easy. 
Eastern  houses  are,  in  many  ways,  very  different  from  ours,  but  in 
none  more  strikingly  than  in  the  lightness  of  the  roof.  Rafters  are 
laid  on  the  top  of  the  side  walls,  about  three  feet  apart,  and  on  these 
short  sticks  are  put,  till  the  whole  space  is  covered.  Over  these,  again, 
a  thick  coating  of  brushwood,  or  of  some  common  bush,  is  spread.  A 
coat  of  mortar  comes  next,  burying  and  levelling  all  beneath  it,  and 
on  this  again  is  spread  marl  or  earth,  which  is  rolled  flat  and  hard. 
Many  roofs,  indeed,  are  much  slighter — earth  closely  rolled  or  beaten 
down,  perhaps  mixed  with  ashes,  lime,  and  chopped  straw, — being  all 
the  owners  can  aft'ord,  and  thus,  even  at  this  day,  it  is  common  to  see 
grass  growing  on  the  house-top  after  the  rains,  and  repairs  of  cracks 
made  by  the  sun's  rays  are  often  needed  in  the  hot  season,  to  prevent 
heavy  leakage.  It  is  thus  easy  to  break  up  a  roof  when  necessary, 
and  it  is  often  done.  The  earth  is  merely'  scraped  back  from  a  part, 
and  the  thorns  and  short  sticks  removed,  till  an  opening  of  the  required 
Bize  is  made. 


898  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

Through  some  such  simple  roofing  the  four  bearers  now  opened  a 
space  large  enough  to  let  dowu  the  sick  man  into  the  chamber  where 
Jesus  stood.  Cords  tied  to  the  couch  made  the  rest  easy,  and  the 
paralytic  was  presently  at  the  feet  of  Jesus.  He  laj^  there,  the  living 
dead,  but  his  outward  troubles  were  not  his  greatest.  Looking  on 
his  calamity  as  a  punishment  from  God  for  past  sins, — perhaps  feel- 
ing that  it  had  been  brought  upon  him  by  a  vicious  life, — he  was  even 
more  sorely  stricken  in  spirit  than  in  body.  No  one,  he  felt,  could 
help  him  but  He  to  reach  whom  had  been  his  deepest  wish.  To  be 
healed  within,  was  even  more  with  him  than  to  be  restored  to  out- 
w-ard  health.  He  had  nothing  to  say;  perhaps  he  could  not  speak, 
for  palsy  often  hinders  articulation.  But  his  eyes  told  his  whole 
story,  and  He  before  whom  he  had  thus  strangely  come  read  it  at  a 
glance.  He  was  still  a  young  man,  which  in  itself  awakened  sym- 
pathy, but  he  had,  besides,  in  his  anxiety  to  get  near,  by  whatever 
means,  and  the  humility  which  sought  cleansing  from  guilt  more 
than  restoration  to  health,  shown  a  recognition  of  Christ's  higher 
dignity  as  tlie  dispenser  of  spiritual  blessings.  With  an  endearing 
word  used  by  teachers  to  disciples,  or  by  superiors  in  age  or  rank, 
Jesus  flashed  the  light  of  hope  on  his  troubled  spirit.  "My  child," 
said  He,  "thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee." 

It  was  a  wondrous  utterance,  and  must  have  sounded  still  more 
strangely,  when  thus  first  heard,  than  to  us,  who  have  been  familiar 
with  it  from  childhood.  No  one  had  ever  heard  Him  admit,  even 
by  a  passing  word.  His  own  sinfulness;  He  showed  no  humility 
before  God  as  a  sinner;  never  sought  pardon  at  His  hands.  Yet  no 
Rabbi  approached  Him  in  opposition  to  all  that  was  wrong,  for  He 
went  even  beyond  the  act  to  the  sinful  desire.  The  standard  He 
demanded  was  no  less  than  the  awfid  perfection  of  God.  But  those 
round  Him  heard  Him  now  rise  above  any  m.ere  tacit  assumption  of 
this  sinless  purity  by  His  setting  Himself  in  open  contrast  to  sinners, 
in  His  claim  not  only  to  announce  the  forgiveness  of  sins  by  God,  but, 
Himself,  to  dispense  it.  He  pardons,  the  sins  of  the  repentant  crea- 
ture before  Him  on  His  own  authority,  as  a  King,  which  it  would  be 
contradictory  to  have  done  had  He  Himself  been  conscious  of  having 
sin  and  guilt  of  His  own.  It  was  clear  that  He  could  have  ventured 
on  no  such  assumption  of  the  prerogative  of  God,  had  He  not  felt  rn 
Himself  an  absolute  harmony  of  spiritual  nature  with  Him,  so  that 
He  only  uttered  what  He  knew  was  the  divine  will.  It  was  at  once 
a  proclamation  of  His  own  sinlessncss,  and  of  His  kingly  dignity  as 
the  Messiah,  in  whose  hands  had  been  placed  the  rule  over  the  new 
theocracy. 

The  Babbis  felt,  in  a  moment,  all  that  such  words  implied.  Their 
only  idea  of  a  religious  teacher  was  that  he  should  never  venture  a, 
word  on  his  own  authority,  but  slavishly  foUow  other  earlier  Rabbis. 
They  had  all  the  conservatism  of  lawyers.  One  Beth-din  could  not 
put  aside  the  decision  of  another,  unless  it  was  superior  in  wisdom 


THE  LH-E  OF  CHRIST.  399 

and  numbers,  and  how  little  likely  it  was  that,  even  in  such  a  case, 
any  decision  should  be  superseded,  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that 
for  any  one  to  dispute  Avith  a  Rabbi  or  murmur  against  him,  or  to 
hesitate  in  accepting  and  obeying  his  every  word,  was  no  less  a  crime 
than  to  do  the  same  towards  God  Himself.  Even  the  people  had 
caught  the  spirit  of  changeless  conservatism  from  their  teachers,  for, 
when  John  Hyrcanus,  Avith  a  kindly  view  to  relieve  them  from  an 
almost  intolerable  burden,  ventured  to  prohibit  some  trilling  Ral;)bini- 
cal  rules  of  the  Pharisees,  his  well-meant  liberalit}',  instead  of  gaining 
him  favour,  excited  hatred  against  him  as  an  intruder  and  innovator. 
The  type  of  a  strict  Rabbi  found  its  ideal  in  Schammai,  the  rival  of 
Hillel,  and  founder  of  the  school  which  was  most  bitter  against  Jesus. 
It  was  not  enough  that  he  sought  to  make  even  young  children  fast 
through  the  whole  day  of  Pardon:  during  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles 
he  had  the  roof  taken  from  the  room  in  which  lay  his  daughter-in- 
law  and  her  new-born  son,  to  have  a  tent  raised  over  them,  that  the 
baby  might  be  able  to  kec;p  the  feast. 

The  lofty  words  of  Je5U=i  at  oacs  caught  the  ears  of  the  lawyers  on 
the  watch.  They  sounde  1  new,  and  to  be  new  wai  to  be  dangerous. 
Nothing  in  Jud  lism  had  been  left  unfixed;  every  religious  act,  and 
indeed,  every  act  whatever,  must  follow  minutely  prescribed  rules. 
The  Law  knew  no  such  form  as  an  o.hcial  forgiving  of  sins,  or  abso- 
lution. The  leper  might  be  pronounced  clean  by  the  priest  and  a 
transgressor  might  present  a  sin-offering  at  the  Temple,  and  ffansfer 
his  guilt  to  it,  by  laying  his  hands  on  its  head  and  owning  his  fault 
before  God,  and  the  bk)od  sprinkled  by  the  priest  on  the  horns  of  the 
altar,  and  towards  the  H0I3'  of  Holies,  was  an  atonement  that  "cov- 
ered" his  sins  fro'.n  the  eyes  of  Jehovah,  and  pledged  his  forgiveness. 
But  that  forgiveness  was  the  direct  act  of  God;  no  human  lips  dared 
pronounce  it.  It  was  a  special  prcrogaMve  of  the  Almighty,  and  even 
should  morlal  man  venture  to  declare  it,  he  could  only  do  so  in  the 
name  of  Jehovah,  and  by  His  immediate  authorization.  But  Jesus 
\iad  spoken  in  His  own  name.  He  had  not  hinted  at  being  empow- 
tred  by  God  to  act  for  Him.  The  Scribes  were  greatly  excited; 
phispers,  ominous  head-shakings,  dark  looks,  and  pious  gesticula- 
ions  of  alarm,  showed  that  they  were  ill  at  ease.  "He  should  have 
ent  him  to  the  priest  to  present  his  sin-offering,  and  have  it  accepted: 
.,t  is  blasphemy  to  .speak  of  forgiving  sins.  He  is  intruding  on  the 
(.iivine  rights."  The  blasphemer  was  to  be  put  to  death  by'stoning, 
his  body  hung  on  a  tree,  and  then  buried  with  shame.  "'Who  can 
forgive  sins  but  One,  God?" 

It  was  the  turning-point  in  the  life  of  Jesus,  for  the  accusation  of 
blasphemy,  now  muttered  in  the  hearts  of  the  Rabbis  present,  waa 
the  beginning  of  the  process  which  ended,  after  a  time,  ou  Calvary; 
and  He  knew  it.  The  genius  of  Rabbinism  was  in  direct  antagonism 
to  that  of  His  "new  teaching."  Christ  required  a  change  of  heart: 
tbfC  Rabbis,  instruction;  He  looked  at  the  motive  of  an  act;  they,  at 


400  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

its  strict  accordance  to  legal  forms;  He  contented  Himself  witt  im- 
planting a  principle  of  pure  and  loving  obedience  in  the  breast,  -which 
should  make  men  a  law  to  themselves :  they  taught  that  every  detail 
of  religious  observance,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave, — to  the  very 
."mallest, — should  be  prescribed,  and  rigidly  followed  in  every  formal 
particular.  He  promised  the  Divine  Spirit  to  aid  His  followers  to  a 
perfect  obedience ;  the  Rabbis  enforced  obedience  by  the  terrors  of 
the  Church  courts,  which  they  controlled.  Resting  thus  on  wholly 
different  conceptions;  the  Rabbi,  self-satisfied  in  the  observance  of 
external  rites  and  requirements;  Jesus  repudiating  merit,  and  basing 
His  kingdom  on  the  willing  service  of  humble  and  grateful  love,  the 
only  question  was  how  long,  in  an  intollerant  theocracy,  active  hos- 
tility might  be  averted.  The  lowly,  wandering,  Galila-an  teacher, 
who  despised  long  robes  and  phylacteries,  and  associated  with  the 
rude  and  ignorant,  from  whom  the  Rabbis  shrank  as  accursed  for  not 
knowing  the  Rabbinical  law;  who  liad  no  license  as  teacher  from  any 
Beth-din;  who  had  attended  no  Beth-ha-Midrasch,  or  Rabbis'  School 
of  the  Law,  and  was  thus  a  mere  imtrained  layman,  usurping  clerical 
functions,  was  instinctively  suspected  and  hated,  though  they  could 
not  affect  to  despise  Him.  The  kingdom  of  God  which  He  preached 
was,  moreover,  something  new  and  irregular.  In  the  words  of  Ba- 
ruch,  they  expected  that  all  who  kept  the  Law  in  their  sense,  would, 
in  reti^n,  have  eternal  life  as  a  right,  as  indeed,  one  of  their  proverbs 
plainljr  put  it, — "  He  who  buys  the  words  of  the  Low,  buys  everlast- 
ing life."  Esteeming  themselves  blamelessly  righteous,  they  not  only 
despised  others,  but  claimed  Heaven,  as  the  sp(?cial  favourites  of  God. 
It  must,  therefore,  have  been  galling  in  the  extreme,  to  hear  Jesus 
demand  humility  and  repentance,  and  faith  in  Himself,  as  the  uni- 
versal conditions  of  entrance  into  the  new  kingdom  of  God;  to  be 
confounded  with  the  crowd  on  whom  they  looked  as  Brahmins  on 
Sudras;  and  to  be  stripped  of  their  boasting,  and  even  of  their  hopes 
of  future  political  glory,  by  the  proclamation  of  a  new  and  purely 
spiritual  theocracy,  in  the  place  of  the  national  restoration  of  which 
they  dreamed,  with  themselves  at  its  head.  Onlj'  a  spark  was  want- 
ing to  set  their  hostility  ablaze,  and  this  had  now  been  supplied. 

For  the  time  they  were  helpless,  in  the  presence  of  so  much  enthusi- 
asm for  Jesus,  but  this  only  increased  their  bitterness,  on  their  finding 
that  He  had  kept  His  eyes  on  them,  and  knew  their  thoughts.  They 
were  now  still  more  confused  by  His  openly  asking  them,  "Why 
they  were  thinking  evil  in  their  hearts?"  He  had  long  felt  that  He 
could  not  hope  to  make  any  healthy  impression  on  a  class  who 
affected  to  regard  Him  as  half  beside  Himself  on  religious  matters, 
and  as  one  who  had  set  Himself  up  as  a  Rabbi,  and  excited  the  people 
against  their  teachers.  He  knew  that  they  put  the  worst  construc- 
tion on  all  He  said,  and  were  laying  up  matter  for  future  open  attack. 
But  no  passing  thought  of  fear  disturbed  Him.  He  had  come  to. 
witness  to  the  truth,  and  at  once  accepted  the  challenge  whicJi  their 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  401 

hostile  looks  and  bearings  implied.  Without  waiting  to  be  assailed, 
He  suddenly  asked  them,  "  Which  is-easier?  To  say  to  this  paralytic, 
Thy  sins  are  forgiven,  or  to  say,  Rise,  and  take  up  thy  bed  and  go?" 
There  might  be  deception  about  the  forgiveness,  for  no  one  could 
tell  if  the  absolution  were  of  any  avail,  but  there  could  be  none 
respecting  the  cure  of  a  helpless  living  corpse.  Turning  to  the  bed 
without  waiting  an  answer,  He  continued — in  irresistible  self-vindi- 
cation— "  That  ye  may  know  that  the  Son  of  Man  has  authority  on 
the  earth  to  forgive  sins, — Rise,  poor  man,  take  up  the  mat  on  which 
you  have  been  lying,  and  go  home."  It  was  enough;  sensibility  and 
power  of  motion  returned  to  the  helpless  limbs;  muscles  and  nerves 
lost  their  torpor;  strength  poured  once  more  through  the  veins. 
Slowly,  scarce  realizing  what  it  meant,  he  rose,  little  by  little,  his 
eyes  li.xed  on  his  deliverer,  till,  at  last,  he  stood  erect  before  Him,  to 
sink  at  His  knees  again  in  grateful  adoration.  But  he  could  not  be 
allowed  to  stay.  Stepping  back,  without  saying  a  word,  Jesus,  by  a 
look,  motioned  him  to  retire,  and  lifting  tlie  mat,  he  did  so,  his  eyes 
still  fixed  on  his  helper,  as  he  made  his  way  backward  through  the 
awe  stricken  crowd. 

The  eifect  was  electric.  The  Scribes  were,  for  the  time,  dis- 
comfited. Amazement  and  fear  mingled  with  religious  awe.  "We 
never  saw  it  thus, "  cried  some,  while  others,  with' true  Eastern  de- 
monstrativeness,  broke  out  into  praise  of  God  who  had  given  such 
power  to  men.  Meanwhile,  Jesus  glided  out  of  the  apartmeiit,  sad 
at  heart,  for  the  shadow  of  the  cross  had  fallen  on  His  soul. 

A  number  of  disciples  nmst,  by  this  time,  have  been  gained  in 
different  parts,  but  the  inner  circle  gathered  by  Jesus,  as  His  personal 
followers,  Avas  as  yet  limited  to  the  few  whom  He  had  lirst  "called." 
Another  was,  now,  however,  to  be  added  to  their  number.  Caper- 
naum, as  a  busy  trading  town,  on  the  marches  between  the  dominions 
of  Philip  and  those  of  Antipas,  and,  from  its  being  on  the  high  road 
between  Damascus  and  Ptolemais,  had  a  strong  staff  of  custom- 
house officers,  or  publicans,  to  use  the  common  name.  The  traffic 
landed  at  Capernaum  from  across  the  Lake,  or  shipped  from  it,  had 
to  pay  dues,  and  so  had  all  that  entered  or  left  tlae  town  in  other 
directions.  There  were  tolls  on  the  highways,  and  on  the  bridges, 
and  at  each  place  the  humbler  grade*of  publicans  were  required, 
while  a  few  of  a  higher  rank  had  charge  of  the  aggregate  receipts  of 
the  minor  office's  of  the  district.  These  officials  were  often  freemen, 
or  even  slaves  of  the  larger  farmers  of  the  local  imposts;  sometimes 
iidtives  of  the  part,  and  even  poor  Roman  citizens.  The  whole  class, 
however,  had  a  bad  name  for  greed  and  exaction.  So  loud,  indeed, 
and  serious,  did  the  remonstrances  of  the  wholo  Roman  world  ba- 
come  at  the  tyranny  and  plunderings  thus  suffered,  that,  a  generation 
later,  Nero  proposed  to  the  Senate  to  do  away  with  taxes  altogether, 
though  the  idea  resulted  only  in  an  official  admission  that  the  "greed 
of  the  publicans  must  be  repressed,  lest  they  should  at  last,  by  new 


402  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

vexations,  render  the  public  burdens  intolerable."  The  underlings, 
especially,  sought  to  enrich  theiHselves  by  grinding  the  people :  and 
the  checks  they  caused  to  commerce,  the  trouble  they  gave  by  reck- 
less examination  of  goods,  and  by  tedious  delay.s;  by  false  entries, 
and  illegal  duties;  made  them  intensely  hated.  "Bears  and  lions," 
said  a  proverb,  "might  be  the  fiercest  wild  beasts  in  the  forests,  but 
publicans  and  informers  were  the  worst  in  the  cities."  The  Jews, 
who  bore  the  Roman  yoke  with  more  impatience  than  any  othei 
nation,  and  shui'^ned  all  contact  with  foreigners,  excommunicated 
every  Israelite  who  became  a  publican,  and  declared  him  incom- 
petent to  bear  witness  in  their  courts,  and  the  disgrace  extended  to 
his  whole  family.  Nobody  was  allowed  to  take  alms  from  one,  or  to 
ask  him  to  change  money  for  them.  They  were  even  classed  with 
highway  robbers  and  murderers,  or  with  harlots,  heathen,  and  sinners. 
No  strict  Jew  would  eat,  or  even  hold  intercourse,  with  them. 

With  a  supreme  indiiference  to  the  prejudices  of  the  day,  Jesus 
resolved  to  receive  one  of  this  proscribed  order  into  the  inner  group 
of  His  followers.  With  a  wide  and  generous  charity  He  refused  to 
condemn  a  whole  class.  That  they  were  outcasts  from  society  was 
a  special  reason  why  He,  the  Son  of  Man,  should  seek  to  win  them  to 
a  better  life.  He  refused  to  admit  anything  wrong  in  paying  tribute 
to  Ctiesar,  and  hence  saw  no  sin  in  its  collection.  There  was  no  ne- 
cessity for  a  publican  not  being  just  and  faithful,  alike  to  the  people 
and  to  the  State,  and  He  had  seen  for  Himself  that  there  were  some 
against  whom  nothing  could  be  justly  urged.  It  was,  moreover,  a 
fundamental  principle  with  Him,  that  the  worst  of  men,  if  they 
sincerely  repented,  and  turned  to  God,  should  be  gladly  received,  as 
prodigal  sons  who  sought  to  regain  the  favour  of  their  Father  in 
heaven.  He  had  come  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost,  and 
He  sought  to  proclaim  to  mankind  that  He  despaired  of  none,  by 
recognizing,  in  the  most  hopeless,  the  possibility  of  good.  Looking 
abroad  on  the  world  with  a  divine  love  and  compassion  that  knew  no 
distinction  of  race  or  calling.  He  designed  to  show,  at  its  very  birth, 
that  the  kingdom  He  came  to  establish  was  open  to  all  humanity,  and 
that  the  only  condition  of  citizenship  was  spiritual  fitness. 

Among  the  publicans,  at  one  of  the  posts  for  collecting  duties,  at 
Capernaum,  was  one  whom  hR  name,  Levi,  marked  as  belonging  to 
tne  old  priestly  tribe,  though,  perhaps,  born  in  Galilee,  and  now 
sunk  to  so  questionable  a  position.  He  had  another  name,  MatthcAv, 
however,  by  which  he  is  better  known  as  one  of  the  Apostles,  and 
the  author  of  the  first  Gospel.  His  business  was  to  examine  the 
goods  passing  either  way  on  the  great  high  road  between  the  terri- 
tories of  the  two  neighbouring  tetravchs,  to  enter  them  on  the  olKcial 
record,  to  take  the  duties  and  credit  tliem  iu  his  books,  in  order, 
finally,  to  pay  over  the  gross  proceeds,  at  given  times,  to  the  local 
tax-farmer.  He  seems  to  have  been  in  comfortable  circumstances, 
and  it  is,  perhaps,  due  to  his  clerkly  habits  as  a  publican,  that  w« 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  403 

owe  to  him  the  earliest  of  the  Gospels.  He  was  the  son  of  one 
Alpheus,  the  name  of  the  father  of  James  the  Less.  Tliey  may, 
however,  have  been  different  persons,  as  the  name  was  a  very  com- 
mon one ;  and  we  know  that  there  were  two  Judes,  two  Simons,  and 
two  called  James,  in  tlie  narrow  circle  of  Jesus. 

Doubtless  Levi,  or  Matthew,  had  shown  an  interest  in  the  new 
Teacher,  and  had  been  among  the  crowds  that  thronged  Him.  The 
quick  eye  of  Jesus  had  read  his  heart,  and  seen  his  sincerity.  Though 
a  publican,  he  was  a  Jew,  and  showed  repentance  and  hopeful  trust, 
which  made  him  a  true  son  of  Abraham.  The  booth  in  which,  in 
Oriental  fa,shion,  he  sat  at  his  duties,  was  at  the  harbour  of  the  town, 
on  the  way  to  the  shore  where  Jesus  was  in  tlie  habit  of  addressing 
the  throngs  who  now  always  followed  Him,  and  it  needed  only  a  look 
and  a  word  of  the  Master,  to  make  him  throw  up  his  office,  and  cast 
in  his  lot  with  Him.  At  the  command  of  Jesus  he  "left  all,  rose  up, 
and  followed  Him;"  not,  of  course,  on  the  moment,  for  he  would 
have  to  take  formal  steps  to  release  himself,  and  would  require  to 
settle  his  accounts  with  his  superior,  before  he  was  free.  Hence- 
forth, however,  he  attended  Him  who  soon  had  not  where  to  lay  His 
head.  It  was  a  critical  time  for  Jesus,  and  His  admission  of  a  pub- 
lican as  a  disciple  could  not  fail  to  irritate  His  enemies  still  more. 
But  He  had  no  hesitation  in  His  course.  Sent  to  the  lost.  He  gladly 
welcomed,  to  His  inmost  circle,  one  of  their  number  in  whom  He 
saw  the  germs  of  true  spiritual  life,  in  calm  disregard  of  all  the  prej- 
udices of  the  time,  and  all  the  false  religious  narrowness  of  His 
fellow  countrymen,  and  their  ecclesiastical  leaders.  He  desired,  in 
the  choice  of  a  publican  as  apostle,  to  embody  visibly  His  love  for  sin- 
ners, and  show  the  quickening  virtue  of  the  kingdom  of  God,  even 
in  the  most  unlikely. 

An  act  so  entirely  new  and  revolutionary,  in  the  best  sense,  was 
too  momentous  in  the  eyes  of  Matthew  to  pass  unnoticed.  It  was 
the  opening  of  a  new  day  for  the  multitudes  whom  the  narrow  self- 
righteousness  of  the  Rabbis  had  branded  as  vinder  the  curse  of  God, 
and  had  condemned  as  hopeless  before  Him.  The  new  "call"  of 
Jesus  was  in  vivid  contrast  to  that  of  Abraham  and  Moses,  for 
Abraham  had  been  separated  even  from  his  tribe,  and  Mo.ses  sum- 
moned only  the  Jews  to  found  the  theocracy  he  proposed  to  establish. 
The  "call"  which  Matthew  had  obeyed  was  as  infinitely  compre- 
hensive as  the  earlier  ones  aad  been  rigidly  exclusive.  It  showed 
that  all  would  be  admitted  to  the  society  Jesus  was  setting  up,  what- 
ever their  social  position,  if  they  had  spiritual  fitness  for  membership. 
Caste  was  utterly  disallowed :  before  the  great  Teacher,  all  men,  as 
such,  were  recognized  as  equally  sons  of  the  Heavenly  Father. 
Accustomed  from  infancy  to  take  this  for  granted,  we  cannot  realize 
the  mairnitude  of  the  gift  this  new  principle  inaugurated,  or  its 
astounding  novelty.  A  Brahmin,  who  should  proclaim  it  in  India, 
and  illustrate  the  social    enfranchisement    he  taught,   by  raising  a 


404  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

despised  Pariah  to  his  intimate  intercourse  and  friendship,  would  be 
the  only  counterpart  we  can  imagine  at  this  day. 

It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  Matthew  should  celebrate  an  event 
80  unique  as  his  call,  by  a  "great  feast  in  his  house,"  in  honour  of 
Jesus;  and  no  less  so  that  he  should  invite  a  large  number  of  liis  class, 
to  rejoice  Avith  him  at  the  new  era  opened  lo  them,  or  that  he  should 
ejitend  the  invitation  to  his  friends  of  the  proscribed  classes  generally. 
A  number  of  persons  in  bad  odour  with  their  more  correct  fellow- 
citizens  were,  hence,  brought  together  by  him,  along  with  the  pub- 
licans of  the  locality,  to  do  Jesus  honour:  persons  branded  by  public 
opinion  as  "sinners,"  a  name  given  indiscriminately  to  usurers, 
gamblers,  thieves,  publicans,  shepherds,  and  sellers  of  fruit  grown  in 
the  sabbath  years.  It  might  have  seemed  doubtful  whether  Jesus 
■would  sit  down  with  such  a  company,  for,  even  with  us,  it  would  be 
a  bold  step  for  any  public  teacher  to  join  a  gathering  of  persons  in 
bad  repute.  The  admission  of  Matthew  to  the  discipleship  must  have 
seemed  to  many  a  great  mistake.  Nothing  could  more  certainly  dam- 
age the  prospects  of  Jesus  with  the  influential  classes,  or  create  a  wider 
or  deeper  prejudice  and  distrust.  But  nothing  weighed  for  a  moment 
with  Him  against  truth  and  right.  His  soul  was  filled  with  a  grand 
enthusiasm  for  humanity,  and  no  false  or  narrow  exclusiveness  of  the 
day  could  be  allowed  to  stand  in  its  way.  He  accepted  the  invitation 
with  the  readiest  cheerfulness,  and  spent  the  evening  in  the  pleasures 
of  friendly  social  intercourse  with  the  strange  assembly. 

The  Rabbis  had  hardly  as  yet  made  up  their  minds  how  to  act 
respecting  Him.  They  had  attended  John's  preaching,  though  they 
did  not  submit  to  his  baptism,  which  would  have  been  to  own  his 
sweeping  charges  against  their  order,  as  a  brood  of  serpents.  But 
Jesus  had  not  as  yet  attacked  them.  He  would  fain  have  won 
them,  as  well  as  the  people,  to  the  kingdom  of  God.  He  had  preached 
this  kingdom,  and  the  need  of  righteousness:  had  honoured  IMoses 
and  the  prophets:  had  pressed,  as  His  great  precepts,  the  love  of 
God  and  our  neighbour;  and  in  all  these  matters  the  Pharisees  could 
support  Him.  He  had  enforced  moderation  on  His  disciples,  and 
had  sought  intercourse  with  the  Rabbis,  rather  than  shunned  it. 
His  reply  to  their  earlier  opposition  was  gentle,  though  unanswerable. 
No  doubt  He  knew  from  the  first  that  they  would  reject  His  over- 
tures, but  it  was  none  the  less  right  to  seek  to  woo  tliem  to  friend- 
ship, that  they  might  enter  His  kingdom  if  they  would.  Had  they 
joined  Him,  their  influence  would  have  aided  His  work:  if  they 
refused,  He  had  done  His  part.  He  did,  indeed,  win  some.  Here 
and  there  a  Rabbi  humbled  himself  to  follow  Him  though  He  did 
not  belong  to  the  schools,  and  was  the  deadly  opponent  of  their 
cherished  traditions.  Others  hesitated,  but  some  even  of  the  leading 
Pharisees,  as  at  Capernaum,  invited  Him  to  their  houses  and  tables, 
listened  to  His  teaching,  reasoned  modestly  with  Him,  and  treated 
Him,  every  way,  with  respect.     He  was  looked  upon  by  them  as  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  405 

friend  of  the  nation,  and  the  title  of  Rabbi  was  willingly  given 
Him. 

But  it  became  clearer,  each  day,  that  there  could  be  no  alliance 
between  views  so  opposed  as  His  and  theirs.  Where  action  was 
needed  He  would  not  for  a  moment  conceal  His  difference  from  them, 
and  Matthew's  feast  was  an  occasion  on  which  a  great  principle 
demanded  decisive  expression. 

To  the  Rabbis,  and  the  Pharisees  at  large,  nothing  could  be  more 
unbecoming  and  irregular  than  the  presence  of  Jesus  at  ^Matthew's 
feast.  To  be  Levitically  "  clean,"  was  the  supreme  necessity  of  their 
religious  lives.  They  regarded  themselves  as  true"  friends  of  their 
race,  and  they  were,  in  fact,  the  leaders  of  the  nation.  But  they 
looked  at  men  not  simply  as  such,  but  through  the  cold  superficial 
medium  of  an  artificial  theology,  which  dried  up  their  sympathy. 
Their  philanthropy  was  narrowed  to  the  limits  of  Levitical  purity. 
Publicans  and  sinners,  and  the  mass  of  tlie  lower  classes,  were,  to 
a. Pharisee,  liopelessly  lost,  because  of  their  "uncleanness,"  and  he 
shrank  from  all  contact  with  them.  He  might  wish  to  save,  but 
he  dared  not  touch,  or  come  near  them,  and  so  left  them  to  their 
misery  and  sin.  No  Pliarisee  would  receive  a  person  as  a  guest  if 
he  suspected  that  he  was  a  "sinner."  He  would  not  let  one  of  the 
"Amhaaretz" — the  common  people — toucli  him.  It  was  unlawful 
to  come  into  their  company,  even  witli  the  holy  design  of  inducing 
them  to  read  the  Law,  and  "it  was  defilement  to  take  food  from  them, 
or,  indeed,  from  any  stranger,  or  even  to  touch  a  knife  belonging  to 
them.  The  thousands  "  unclean"  from  mere  ignorance,  or  from  their 
callings,  or  from  carelessness,  were  an  "abomination,"  "vermin," 
"unclean  beasts,"  and  "  twice  accursed."  And  as  to  touch  the  clothes 
of  one  of  the  "common  people,"  defiled  every  Pharisee  alike,  the 
touch  of  those  of  a  Pharisee  of  a  lower  grade  of  Levitical  purity  defiled 
one  of  a  higher.  Like  the  Essenes,  one  Pharisee  avoided  the  contact 
of  another  less  strict,  and,  therefore,  of  a  lower  rank  of  holiness. 

It  must,  therefore,  have  been  as  if  a  Brahmin  had  outraged  every 
idea  of  Hindoo  religion  and  morals,  by  sitting  down  at  a  meal  with 
Sudras,  when  the  Rabbis  at  Capernaum  saw  and  heard  of  Jesus 
reclining  at  table  among  a  promiscuous  gathering  of  publicans  and 
sinners. 

They  had  not  yet,  however,  come  to  open  controversy  Avith  Him, 
and  contented  themselves  with  contemptuous  taunts  about  Ilim  to 
tlie  disciples,  who,  as  Jews,  mu.st  have  at  least  formerly  shared  the 
sovereign  contempt  felt  for  such  hated  social  outcasts.  Even  to  holl 
a  religious  service  witli  them  would  have  been  a  breach  of  tlie  Law, 
but  to  join  them  on  a  footing  of  friendly  intercourse!  "  Founder  of 
a  new  holy  kingdom  of  God,  and  recline  at  table  with  publicans  and 
sinners!"  How  keenly  such  words  must  have  wounded  men  like 
Peter,  and  the  small  knot  of  disciples  as  yet  round  Jesus,  may  bo 
imagined.     They  had  been  taught  in  the  school  of  the  Baptist,  an 


406  THE  LIFE  OP  CITRIST. 

earnest  Jew,  who  had  enforced  ultra-Pharisaic  Judaism.  The  early 
scruples  of  Peter  survived  even  to  apostolic  times.  James  was  a 
Kezarite,  if  we  can  trust  tradition,  till  his  death,  and  even  Maithew, 
tiiC  prieslly  publican,  for  his  name  Levi  shows  him  to  have  been  of 
priestly  race,  is  said  to  have  eaten,  through  life,  only  fruit,  vegetables, 
and  bread,  but  no  flesh.  In  their  perplexity  and  distress  they  appealed 
to  Jesus. 

It  was  well  they  did  so,  for  their  distress  procured  for  all  ages  an 
answer  of  divine  sweetness  and  grandeur.  "To  whom  shmddl  go 
but  to  such  as  these  ?  The  whole  have  no  need  of  a  physician,  but 
they  that  are  sick.  Turn  to  the  prophets  whom  you  revere,  and 
think  what  the  words  of  Hosea  mean,  '  I  desire  mercy  and  not  sacri- 
fice, ' — ^acls  rather  than  offerings — practical  godliness,  not  legal  forms 
— divine  sympathy  with  the  lost,  rather  than  only  the  empty  show  of 
outward  worship — for  I  have  not  come  to  call  the  righteous,  but  to 
call  sinners  to  reijentance.  I  expect  nothing  from  men  who  think 
they  are  righteous  and  despise  others.  They  feel  no  need  of  me.  My 
help  is  needed  for  just  such  '  sinners '  as  they  would  have  me  leave 'to 
perish. " 

Jesus  had  not,  of  course,  the  bodily  sick  in  His  thoughts.  He  spoke 
of  the  miass  of  the  people  of  the  middle  and  lower  ranks,  too  sadly 
marked  by  religious  shortcomings  and  unworthiness.  The  guests 
at  Matthew's  table  were,  doubtless,  more  or  less  open  to  accusations 
of  covetousness,  impurity,  indifference  to  morality  and  religion,  and 
troublesomeness  as  citizens.  John  would  have  kept  himself  aloof 
from  them,  unless  they  came  as  penitents,  for  baptism.  He  had  lived  in 
vrildernesses,  apart  from  men,  shrinking  from  the  turmoil  of  the  great 
world.  He  had  even  forbidden  lawful  enjoyments  and  pleasures.  He 
had  sought  to  build  up  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  on  the  lonely  banks 
of  the  Jordan,  far  from  men,  by  sternly  commanding  the  broken 
hearts  that  sought  peace  and  consolation  from  him,  to  live  lives  of 
Jewish  austerity  and  repentance.  Jesus  required  a  change  of  heart 
no  less  than  he,  but  He  did  not  lead  men  out  of  the  world  to  secure  it, 
or  burden  life  with  the  anxiety  and  disquiet  of  an  outward  purity. 

He  came  trustfully  to  them  into  their  little  world,  bringing  with  Him 
a  heart  full  of  divine  benevolence  and  tender  gentleness.  In  His  eyes 
they  were  "sick,"  and  He  treated  them  like  a  true  physician,  entering 
into  all  their  interests,  sympathizing  with  their  cares  and  sorows,  realiz- 
ing their  special  wants,  and  bearing  Himself  as  a  friend  among  friends. 
They  were  men,  and,  as  such,  capable  of  sorrow  for  siu,  and  efforts 
towards  a  nobler  life.  They  had  hearts  to  recognize  goodness,  and 
might  thus  be  won  to  faith  in  Himself,  as  the  ideal  of  the  highest 
spiritual  life.  Nothing  can  mark  the  grandeur  of  His  enthusiai>m 
for  humanity,  more  than  tiiat  He  thus  proposed  to  lay  the  foundation 
of  His  kingdom  in  a  class  on  which  the  priests  and  theologians,  and 
the  higher  ranks  of  the  day,  looked  do%vn  with  haughty  contempt  and 
moral  aversion.    It  shows  how  deeply  He  looked  into  things,  that  He 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  4&7 

recognized  the  greater  openness  for  the  Truth,  of  castes  thus  dis- 
credited ;  their  franker  and  more  decisive  bearing  towards  the  start- 
ling innovations  of  His  teaching;  their  deeper  longing  for  peace  of 
conscience  and  reconciliation  to  God  It  was  the  sense  of  this  that 
had  led  to  the  choice  of  His  first  disciples  from  the  ranks  of  the 
people;  and  it  was  this,  in  part,  that  led  to  that  of  Matthew.  In  his 
case,  however,  there  was,  also,  the  proclamation  of  His  indiflferenco 
to  outward  distinctions,  or  rules,  afterwards  formulated  by  Peter,  who 
had  never  forgotten  the  lesson,  into  the  memorable  words — "Of  a 
truth  I  perceive  that  God  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  but,  in  every 
nation,  he  that  feareth  Him,  and  worketh  righteousness,  is  accepted 
of  Him."  A  truth  evident  enough  to-day,  but  carrying  with  it,  when 
ina\igurated  by  Jesus,  an  entire  revolution  in  the  religious  history  of 
manidnd. 

The  divine  charity  that  ran  so  counter  to  the  narrow  pride  of  tho 
Rabbis  was  no  less  startling  to  the  disciples  of  John,  but  there  were 
other  difficulties  to  both.  No  open  breach  had  yet  taken  place,  and 
a  friendly  conference  might  explain  much.  Jesus  had  silently  left 
the  harsh  discipline  of  fasting  behind,  and  had  prescribed  no  fonn.al 
rules  for  prayer,  such  as  were  common  to  the  Rabbis  and  their  dis- 
ciples, and  to  those  of  the  Baptist;  and  now  a  deputation  came  to  ask 
Him  for  an  explanation.  The  law  of  Moses  had  appointed  only  one 
fast  in  the  year,  on  the  Day  of  Atonement,  but  the  liabbis  had  added 
many,  both  public  and  private.  They  enjoined  one  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  Jerusalem  by  the  Chaldeans,  and  others  for  various  incidents 
connected  witli  the  siege,  or  the  troubles  of  the  first  period  after  the 
Captivity.  There  was  another  to  lament  the  day  on  which  the  trans- 
lation of  the  Scriptures  into  Greek  had  been  finished,  and  every  public 
calamity  or  emergency  was  signalized  by  a  fast  specially  enjoined  by 
the  authorities.  It  was  rather  to  private  fasts,  however,  that  allusion 
was  made.  Strict  Pliarisees,  aiming  at  the  highest  degree  of  merit, 
fast«d  voluntarily  every  Monday  and  Thursday,  to  commemorate, 
respectively,  the  going  up  of  Moses  to  the  Mount  on  the  fifth  day,  to 
receive  the  renewed  tables  of  the  Commandments,  and  his  descent  on 
the  second.  They  often  added  other  fasts,  to  have  lucky  dreams,  and 
to  obtain  their  interpretation,  for,  like  the  Essenes,  the  Pharisees 
looked  on  fasts  as  a  preparation  for  receiving  revelations.  They 
fasted  also  to  avert  evil,  or  to  procure  some  good.  Mortification  and 
self-infliction  had  become  a  formal  religious  merit,  in  the  mercenary 
theology  of  the  day,  and  was  paraded  before  the  world  by  some,  to 
heighten  their  reputation  for  holiness.  The  idea  had,  at  first,  risen 
from  a  fancied  opposition  between  the  body  and  the  soul ;  as  if  the 
latter  could  only  be  duly  raised  by  depressing  the  former.  But  ascet- 
icism was  contrary  to  the  genius  of  the  new  kingdom  of  God,  which 
laid  no '  stress  on  meat,  or  drink,  or  abstinence  from  them,  but  on 
"righteousness,  peace,  and  joy,  in  the  Holy  Ghost." 

Even  prayer  had  been  reduff^fi  to  n  mechanical  system,  as  part  ol 
li  of  c-u 


408  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"the  hedge  of  the  Law,"  invented  by  the  Rabbis.  No  one  could  lay 
greater  stress  on  it  than  Jesus,  when  offered  as  the  utterance  of  con- 
trite humility;  but,  as  a  part  of  a  system  of  merit  like  the  Rabbinical 
theology  of  the  day,  He  held  it  lightly.  No  precepts  could  be  mora 
worthy  than  many  found,  even  yet,  in  the  Rabbis,  respecting  the  true 
worth  of  prayer;  but,  in  practice,  these  liigher  teachings  had  fallen 
into  wide  disuse.  It  had  come  to  be  tedious  for  length,  and  abounded 
in  repetitions.  Fixed  rules  for  correct  prayer  were  taught,  with  fixed 
hours,  and  prescribed  forms,  and  superstitious  power  was  assigned  to 
the  mere  Avords.  The  householder  was  to  repeat  the  Sch'ma  in  his 
house  each  evening,  to  drive  away  evil  spirits.  To  say  it  when  in 
bed  was  like  grasping  a  two-edged  sword,  to  slay  the  assaulting 
demons.  The  mere  form  of  prayer,  if  repeated  rightly  and  often, 
was  counted  as  merit  laid  up  in  heaven.  To  repeat  the  Sch'ma  was, 
in  fact,  in  the  phrase  of  the  Rabbis,  ' '  to  make  the  kingdom  of  Heaven 
one's  own." 

It  could  not  be  doubtful  how  Jesus  would  bear  Himself  to  views  so 
opposed  to  inner  and  spiritual  religion.  Silently  omitting  any  refer- 
ence to  the  objection  respecting  prayer,  He  addressed  Himself  to 
the  question  of  fasting.  "His  presence  with  His  disciples  was  like 
that  of  a  bridegroom  with  His  companions,  during  the  marriage  re- 
joicings. Could  He  ask  them  to  fast  while  He  was  with  them?  It 
would  be  time  for  them  to  do  so  when  He  was  taken  away  from 
them.  They  would  fast  then!"  Seizing  the  opportunity,  and  ad- 
dressing the  disciples  of  John  especially.  He  went  even  further. 
' '  John  had  sought  to  do  what  was  worse  than  hopeless — to  renew  the 
old  theocracy,  by  merely  external  reform;  to  patch  up  the  olJTand 
torn  robe  of  Judaism,  and  make  it  serve  a  new  age.  It  was  as  vain 
as  a  man's  sewing  a  piece  of  raw  imteazled  cloth  on  the  rent  of  an  old 
garment;  the  patch  could  only  tear  off  so  much  more,  and  make  the 
rent  worse,  while  the  patch  would  itself  be  a  mere  shred.  Or,  it  was 
like  putting  new  wine  into  old  skins,  which  must  burst  when  the 
Avlne  fermented.  New  teaching,  like  His,  must  be  put  into  new 
bottles;  the  forms  and  rites  that  had  served  till  now  were  of  no  more 
use :  a  new  dispensation  had  come,  which  these  forms  would  only 
cumber.  New  forms  were  needed  for  the  new  religious  life  He  came 
to  introduce." 

Words  so  fatal  to  cherished  prejudices  must  have  struck  deep,  but 
the  hearts  He  had  unavoidably  wounded  were  not  left  without  tender 
footliing.  "It was  no  wonder  that  John  had  clung  to  the  faith  of 
his  fathers,  even  in  its  outward  accidents.  He  had  drunk  of  the  old 
wine,  and  would  not  change  it  for  new,  contented  to  know  that  'the 
old  was  good.'"  Henceforth,  however,  the  position  of  Jesus  to  the 
worn-out  forms  of  the  past  was  unmistakable.  He  had  chosen  His 
path,  and  would  lead  mankind  from  the  bondage  of  the  letter  to  the 
freedom  of  the  spirit,  and  the  worshippers  of  the  letter  arrayed  them- 
selves against  Him.      As  became  the  founder  of  the  first  religion  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  409 

the  spirit  alone,  the  world  had  seen,  He  henceforth  silently  ignored 
the  ceremonial  law,  avoiding  open  condemnation,  but  bearing  Him- 
self towards  it  throughout,  as  He  did  in  the  matter  of  circumcison, 
which  He  never  enforced  on  His  disciples,  or  demanded  from  believ- 
ing heathen,  and  never  commended,  though  He  never,  in  words,  con- 
demned it.  The  whole  ritual  system,  of  which  it  was  the  most  prom- 
inent feature,  was  treated  as  merely  indifferent. 

It  was  indescribably  touching  to  see,  at  the  very  threshold  of  our 
Lord's  public  life,  that  even  when  He  uses  so  joyous  an  image  of 
Himself  as  that  of  a  bridegroom,  He  dashesin  the  picture  v.'ith 
shadow.  He  had  begun  His  course  by  the  Temptation,  but  from  it 
till  the  close,  His  path  lay  through  struggle,  suffering,  and  self-sacri- 
fice, to  a  far  other  glory  than  that  which  the  world  expected  in  tlie 
Messiah.  He  would,  indeed,  have  known  His  nation,  and  their 
Roman  masters;  the  dominant  Pharisees,  and  the  priesthood,  badly, 
not  to  have  foreseen,  from  the  first,  that  He  would  have  to  pass 
through  the  fiercest  conflict,  only  to  reach  a  tragic  end.  Thoughts  of 
self-denial,  self-sacrifice,  even  to  the  surrender  of  life;  of  Iqsing  life 
that  He  might  gain  it;  of  the  corn  dying  that  it  might  bring  forth 
fruit,  run  like  a  dark  thread  through  all  His  discourses,  to  the  very 
end.  He  sends  His  apostles  forth  like  sheep  among-st  wolves;  fore- 
tells their  suffering  tlie  bitterest  persecution;  and  consoles  them  only 
with  the  one  thought  tliat  it  should  content  the  disciple  to  be  on  the 
eame  footing  with  Himself.  In  the  sermon  on  the  Mount,  He  predicts 
that  all  who  believe  on  Him  will  suffer  hatred  and  evil  treatment. 
He  recognizes  those  only  as  His  true  followers  who,  denying  them- 
selves, take  up  His  cross  and  bear  it.  He  has  nothing  to  promise  His 
disciples  but  that  they  should  be  servants,  submitting  patiently  to  the 
extremest  wrong,  and  has  no  higher  vision  even  for  Himself.  He 
may  rejoice  as  the  bridegroom  with  His  friends,  for  a  time,  but  will 
soon  be  taken  away  from  them.  A  kingdom  founded  on  such  a  basis 
of  deliberate  self -denial  and  self-sacrifice,  is  unique  in  the  history  of 
the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE   CHOICE  OP    THE  TWELVE,    AND  THE    SERMON    ON    THE    MOTJNT. 

How  long  Jcsiis  remained  at  Capernaum  is  not  told  us,  but  we  may 
readily  believe  that  He  was  glad  to  leave  it,  with  its  gathering  oppo- 
sition, as  soon  as  possible.  It  was  His  centre  of  action,  but  the 
kingdom  needed  to  be  proclaimed  over  the  whole  land.  Preaching 
was  the  spec-ial  agency  on  which  He  relied,  far  more  than  on  any 
displays  of  supernatural  power.  It  was  by  it  He  designed  to  work 
the  stupendous  spiritual  miracle  of  the  new  birth  of  Israel  and  of 
Humanity.  As  the  iirst  founder  of  a  religion  which  had  no  code  of 
laws,  and  repudiated  force,  addressing  itself  solely  to  the  free  coa- 
victions  of  men,  the  living  word  and  its  illustration  in  His  own  life, 
were  alone  open  to  Him  as  means  for  its  diffusion.  The  hearts  and 
souls  must  be  won  over  to  the  highest  truth,  by  persuading  the  con- 
science, and  thus  iniluencing  the  will.  In  these  earlier  months  He 
took  advantage  of  the  facilities  of  the  Synagogue  service,  to  gain  the 
ear  of  the  people,  but  His  preaching  was  very  different  from  the 
stereot5q3ed  hfelessness  of  the  Rabbis,  and  excited  universal  astonish- 
ment by  its  originality,  power,  and  resistless  enthusiasm.  At  a  later 
time,  when  His  "new  doctrine"  had  roused  the  opposition  of  tlie 
authorities,  the  use  of  the  synagogues  was  no  longer  permitted  Him. 
But,  even  from  the  first.  He  did  not  confine  Himself  to  fixed  ti-mes  or 
places.  He  addressed  the  people  on  the  shores  of  the  lake,  on  the 
lonely  slopes  and  valleys  of  the  hills,  in  the  streets  and  market-places 
of  towns  and  villages,  at  the  crossing  points  of  the  public  roads,  and 
even  in  houses;  any  place,  indeed,  that  offered  an  audience,  was  alike 
to  Him.  The  burden  and  spirit  of  His  preaching  may  be  gathered 
from  the  Gospels  throughout.  He  proclaimed  Himself  the  Good 
Shepherd  seeking  to  bring  back  the  lost  sheep  to  the  heavenly  fold ; 
to  quicken  and  turn  towards  God  the  weak,  sinful  human  will,  and 
to  breathe  into  the  soul  aspirations  after  a  higher  spiritual  life,  from 
the  fullness  of  His  own  perfect  example. 

To  win  all.  He  moved  as  a  man  among  men,  a  friend  among  friends^ 
a  helper  amongst  all  who  needed  help,  declining  every  outward  honour 
or  flattery,  or  even  the  appearance  of  either.  While  advancing  the 
most  amazing  pretensions  as  His  kingly  prerogative.  He  was,  person- 
ally, so  meek  and  lowly  that  He  cobld  make  this  gentle  humility  a 
ground  for  the  trust  and  unembarrassed  approach  of  all  who  were 
troubled.  Content  v/ith  obscurity,  and  leaving  to  others  the  struggle 
for  distinction  or  place,  He  chose  a  life  so  humble  that  the  poorest 
had  no  awe  of  His  dignity,  but  gathered  round  Him  as  their  special 
friend.  His  tastes  were  in  keeping  with  this  simplicity,  for  He  de- 
lighted in  the  society  of  the  lowly,  and  children  clustered  in  His  steps 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  411 

•with  the  natural  instinct  that-  detects  one  who  loves  them.  He  was 
never  engrossed  by  His  own  affairs,  but  ever  ready  to  give  Himself 
up  to  those  of  others — to  counsel  them  in  difficulties,  to  sympathize 
with  them  in  their  sorrows  or  joys,  and  to  relieve  their  sickness  or 
wants.  It  is  His  grand  neculiarity,  that  there  is  a  total  oblivion  of 
self  in  His  whole  life.  The  enthusiasm  of  a  divine  love,  in  the  pure 
light  of  which  no  selfish  thought  could  live,  tilled  His  whole  soul.  He 
showed  abiding  sympathy  for  human  weakness,  and  to  cheer  the  out- 
cast and  hopeless.  He  announced  that  He  came  to  seek  such  as  to 
others  .seemed  lost.  In  His  joy  over  a  sinner  won  back  to  righteous- 
ness He  hears  even  the  angels  of  God  rejoicing. 

There  had  never  appeared  in  any  age  such  a  man,  such  a  friend, 
or  such  a  helper.  He  seemed  the  contrast  of  a  king  or  prince,  and 
yet  all  His  words  were  kingly;  all  His  acts  a  succession  of  the  king- 
iiest  deeds,  decisions,  and  commands,  and  His  whole  public  life,  the 
silent  and  yet  truest  foundation  of  an  everlasting  kingdom.  He 
must,  indeed,  have  seemed  anything  rather  than  the  founder  of  a  new 
society,  or  of  a  new  empire,  and  it  must  have  startled  men  when  they 
found  that  He  had,  by  His  works  and  life,  established  in  the  midst 
of  the  old  theocracy  the  framework  of  the  most  imperishable  and  the 
widest-reaching  empire  this  earth  has  ever  seen;  an  empire  before 
which  all  former  religious  systems  were  to  fade  away.  But  though 
His  absolute  self-control  was  never  intermitted,  there  were  times 
wljpn  the  claims  of  the  truth,  or  the  service  of  His  kingdom,  brought 
out  the  full  grandeur  of  His  power  and  kingly  greatness.  It  was  thus 
when  He  had  to  meet  and  confute  prejudice  and  error,  or  to  heal  the 
sick  and  diseased.  At  times  we  shall  see  Him  forced  to  blame  and 
condemn,  but  this  was  only  a  passing  shadow  on  the  clear  heaven  of 
His  unvarying  grace  and  love.  It  is  impossible  to  realize  such  an 
appearance,  but  we  can  imagine  it  in  some  measure.  The  stainless 
truth  and  uprightness  which  tilled  His  whole  nature,  the  exhaustless 
love  and  pity,  which  were  the  very  breath  of  His  spirit;  the  radiant 
joy  of  the  bridegroom  wedding  redeemed  humanity;  the  calm  light 
as  of  other  worlds  in  His  every  look,  may  well  account  for  the  death- 
less love  and  devotion  He  inspired  in  those  whom  He  suffered  to  fol- 
low Him. 

The  widening  success  of  His  work  had  already  required  an  addition 
to  the  small  circle  of  His  immediate  attendants.  But  a  single  acces- 
sion, like  that  of  Matthew,  was,  erelong,  not  enough.  It  .soon  l)ecame 
necessary  to  select  a  larger  number  who  might  be  constantly  in  His 
company,  and  receive  His  instructions,  that  they  might,  in  due  time, 
go  forth  to  proclaim  the  kingdom  over  a  wider  area  tlian  He  could 
Himself  reach.  Its  laws,  its  morality,  its  relations  to  the  Old  Dispen- 
sation, must  be  taught  them,  and^they  nuist  catch  His  entlmsiasm  by 
such  a  lengthened  intercourse  in  the  familiarity  of  private  life,  as 
would  kindle  in  their  souls  the  ideal  He  presented.  That  they  should 
rollow  Him  at  all  would  be  left  to  themselves,  but  the  choice  would 


412  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

be  made  by  Himself,  of  such  as,  on  various  grounds,  He  saw  fittest. 
They  were  to  be  Apostles,  or  missionaries,  and  would  have,  for  their 
high  commission,  the  organization  of  the  new  kingdom  of  God,  first 
in  Israel,  and  then  through  the  world. 

To  accept  such  an  invitation  implied  no  little  enthusiasm.  No 
earthly  reward  was  held  out,  but,  on  the  contrary,  the  sacrifice  of  all 
personal  claims  was  demanded.  They  were  to  abandon  their  former 
calling,  whatever  it  might  be,  with  all  its  present  oi  v\Oc<i.o^._-.v  & 
vantages,  to  give  up  all  family  ties,  to  hcai  Ihe  worst  indignities  and 
ill-treatment,  and  yet  repress  even  just  resentment.  They  were  to  hold 
their  lives  at  His  service,  and  willingly  yield  them,  if  it  required  the 
sacrifice.  A  measure  of  self-restriction  is  implied  as  the  basis  of  any 
state,  for  no  society  could  flourish  where  its  interests,  as  a  whole,  are 
not  spontaneously  considered  before  those  of  the  individual  citizen. 
But  the  self-abnegation  required  by  Jesus  in  these  admitted  to  that 
which  He  was  now  founding,  was  without  a  parallel,  fcr  while  earthly 
states  return  an  equivalent,  in  many  ways,  for  the  self-surrender  they 
impose.  He  proclaimed  from  the  first  that  those  who  joined  His  king- 
dom must  do  so  "  hoping  for  nothing  again"  to  compensate  for  any 
self-sacrifice,  even  the  greatest.  In  the  ea.'^e  of  the  "Apostles,"  the  self- 
surrenderwas  not  merely  contingent,  but  present  and  final,  for  He 
held  before  them  no  prospect  through  life  butp  rival  ion  and  persecu- 
tion, and  even  possible  martyrdom.  In  the  next  world,  indeed.  He 
promised  rewards,  but  He  precluded  mere  mercenary  hopes  even.of 
these,  by  making  them  conditional  on  unfeigned  .sincerity  in  the  obe- 
dience to  His  laws  and  love  of  His  person.  The  mere  hypocrite — or 
actor — could  have  no  object  in  joining  Him,  and  was  indignantly 
denounced.  The  truest  honesty  in  word  and  deed  were  alone  accepted, 
and  the  want  of  it,  in  any  degree,  was  the  one  fatal  moral  defect. 

It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  all  who  offered  themselves  as 
His  followers  were  not  accepted.  Where  He  saw  unfitness,  He  re- 
pelled advances.  To  a  Rabbi  who  came  saluting  Him  as  "Teacher," 
and  professing  his  willingness  to  follow  Hira  as  His  disciple.  He  re- 
turned the  discouraging  answer,  that  the  foxes  had  holes,  and  the 
birds  of  the  air  nests,  but  the  Son  of  Man — the  Messiah — had  not 
where  to  lay  His  head.  It  might  have  seemed  of  moment  to  secure 
the  support  of  a  Rabbi,  but  Jesus  had  seen  the  worldly  bent  of  his 
thoughts,  and  thus  turned  him  aside,  by  blasting  any  hopes  of  advan- 
tage or  honour  in  joining  Him.  Even  indecision  or  hesitation,  what- 
ever the  ground,  was  fatal  to  admittance  to  His  favour.  The  request 
of  a  disciple  to  go  first  and  bury  his  father,  before  finally  following 
Him,  was  only  met  by  the  command  to  follow  Him  at  once,  and  leave 
the  spiritually  dead  to  bury  the  corporeally  dead:  to  put  off  decision, 
even  for  so  worthy  a  cause  as  desire  to  perform  the  last  otfices  to  a 
father,  was  dangerous!  "  Go,  thou,  and  preach  the  kingdom  of  God." 
The  devotion  due  to  it,  unreservedly,  could  not  be  shared,  even  by 
the  claims  of  affection  and  earthly  duties.     A  request  to  be  allowed 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.        "  413 

to  hid  his  household  farewell,  hefore  finally  leaving  them,  was  methv 
a  similar  answer--"  No  man  having  put  Ins  hand  to  the  plough,  and 
looking  back,  is  fit  for  the  kingdom  of  God."  The  indispensable 
condition  of  admittance  into  the  inner  circle  who  followed  and  livcvi 
witli  Him,  was  an  engrossing  enthusiasm  for  Himself  and  His  work, 
which  permitted  concern  for  no  second  interest  whatever. 

He  had  determined  to  surround  Himself  with  a  small  body  of  such 
trustworthy  followers,  limiting  the  number,  by  an  association  natural 
to  His  race,  to  twelve.  They  were  to  form  the  closest,  inmost  circle 
of  His  disciples,  and  to  be,  in  fact,  His  friends  and  companions.  He 
v»-ould  give  them  His  fullest  confidence:  open  His  mind  to  them  more 
fully  than  to  others:  and,  by  living  among  them,  inspire  them  with 
His  own  fervour,  and  mould  them  to  His  own  likeness.  They  would 
see  how  His  soul  never  unbent  from  its  grand  enthusiasm :  how  He 
never  wearied  in  HLs  transcendent  devotion  of  body  and  spirit  to  His 
v.-ork.  In  seeing  and  hearing  Him,  tlie}'- would  gain  experience:  in 
the  opposition  and  trials  they  met  in  llis  company,  their  fidelity  would 
be  put  to  the  test,  and,  in  the  end,  they  would  be  qualified  for  the 
special  work  for  which  they  had  been  chosen — to  be  sent  forth  to 
preach,  and  to  repeat  the  miraculous  works  of  their  Master,  as  evi- 
dence of  His  divine  authority. 

It  is  not  stated  definitely  where  the  selection  of  the  Apostle  was 
made.  His  preaching  had  already  gained  a  "  great  multitude"  of  dis- 
ciples who  followed  Him  in  HLs  journey  from  town  to  town,  along 
with  a  vast  crowd  drawn  after  Him  by  various  motives.  The  move- 
ment was  rapidly  assuming  an  importance  like  that  of  John's;  it  wa3 
extending  over  tlie  nation.  Withdrawing  Himself,  as  was  His  frequent 
custom,  from  the  throng,  by  night,  He  retired  once  more  into  the  hills 
to  pray,  and  continued  in  devotion  till  morning.  Brought  up  among 
hills,  He  was  ever  f  ^nd  of  their  solitude,  their  pure  air  and  open  sky, 
viliich  seeliied  to  bring  Him  nearer  His  Father.  It  was  sonicv.-here 
f,ppare.:tly,  in  the  hilly  background  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  for  though 
s;.oken  of  as  "the  mountain,"  tliere  are  no  means  of  deciding  the 
precise  locality.  When  the  day  broke,  instead  of  seeking  rest.  He 
s'.io'ved  the  subject  of  His  night-long  communion  with  His  Heavenly 
F::t!ier,  by  proceeding  to  select  Ills  future  Apostles.  The  crov.-d  of 
His  dis.iples  had  returned  with  the  new  day,  from  the  nci'::!>ouring 
towns  and  villages  where  they  had  spent  the  night,  when  Jesus,  com- 
i;!g  down  from  His  solitary  devotions,  gathered  them  once  more  round 
I-im,  and  "  calling  to  Him  whom  He  Himself  would,"  "appointed 
t  *e;ve,  that  they  might  be  with  Him,  and  that  He  should  send  them 
forth  to  preach — to  heal  sicknesses,  and  to  cast  out  devils." 

IJis  choice  was  necessarily  made  from  a  comparatively  small  num- 
I  er,  lor  the  majority  must  have  lately  joined  Him,  and  must  thus 
1  .;ve  been,  as  yet,  little  known.  So  far  as  possible  He  made  Ilis  se- 
Lc!i,  n  from  those  who  had  been  longest  with  Him,  and  whom  H^ 
Lad,  ia  some  measure,  proved;  but  tliey  were  as  a  whole,  simple,  u» 


414  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

learned,  plastic  men  of  the  people,  for  Jesus  had  already  seen  thatth* 
spiritual  regeneration  of  Israel  must  rise  from  the  humbler  classes. 
He  knew  that  the  educated  men  of  the  nation,  the  Rabbis  and  priests, 
were. perverted  and  prejudiced,  and  He  could  not  look  to  the  officials 
or  authorities  of  any  grade,  or  to  the  prevailing  religious  schools. 
The  commonalty  were  sounder,  freer  from  the  errors  "of  the  age, — 
more  open  to  theelernal  truths  He  came  to  announce,  and  more  ready 
to  accept  the  spiritual  kingdom  He  came  to  found.  Yet,  it  may  be, 
that  had  the  choice  been  wider,  some  one  might  have  been  available 
from  the  trained  intellects  of  the  nation,  with  results  it  would  be  vain 
to  conjecture.  Had  Paul  been  one  of  the  twelve,  noAv  chosen  by 
Christ,  how  much  might  the  genius,  the  Rabbinical  training,  the 
breadth  of  mind,  and  the  grand  loving  enthusiasm  which  almost 
founded  Western  Christianity,  have  changed,  in  the  history  told  by 
the  Gospels?  He  laid  no  stress  on  their  fonner  social  position,  or 
religious  party,  for  they  included,  on  the  one  side,  a  publican,  who 
was  also  a  Levite,  and  on  the  other,  one  who  had  belonged  to  the 
ultra-puritan  Zealots,  the  fanatical  party  of  Judas  the  Galila?an.  Nor 
did  He  require  them  to  be  unmarried,  for  Peter,  we  know,  had  a  wife, 
and  if  we  may  trust  the  tradition  of  the  Armenian  Church,  the  only 
Apostles  who  were  single  Avere  the  sons  of  Zebedee,  and  Thomas. 
The  Capernaum  circle  yielded  Him  no  fewer  than  seven  of  the  twelve, 
• — Peter,  and  his  brother  Andrew,  who  lived  with  him;  two  sons  from 
the  house  of  Zabdai, — James  and  John ;  two  sons  of  Alphaus. — James 
the  Eittle,  and  Jude,  who  is  commonly  distinguished  as  Lebbseus,  the 
stout-hearted, — or  Thaddivus,  the  l)rave.  The  publican  Matthew  was 
also  from  Capernaum,  and  was  the  third  from  the  household  of  Al- 
phiseus,  if  the  name  refer  to  the  father  of  James  the  Little  and  Jude; 
and  Philip  belonged  to  the  village  of  Bethsaida  in  its  immediate 
neighbourhood,  making  in  all,  eight  of  the  twelve,  virtually  from  the 
same  favoured  place.  Of  the  remaining  four,  Nathanael,  the  son  of 
Talmai,  the  Bartholomew  of  our  version,  was  from  Cana,  on  the 
north  side  of  the  plain  of  El  Battauf,  on  which  Jesus  had  so  often 
looked  down  from  the  Nazareth  hill-top.  Thomas — ready  to  die,  but 
slow  to  believe:  manly  and  full  of  grave  tenderness, — whose  Hebrew 
name  was  sometimes  turned  into  the  Greek  equivalent  Didymus,  the 
twin, — was  the  same  person, — one  tradition  says, — as  Judas,  the 
brother  of  Jesus,  as  if  Mary  had  liad  a  double  birth,  after  bearing 
her  eldest  son.  If  so,  one  of  the  household  amongst  whom  our 
Saviour  had  grown  up,  one  son  of  His  mother,  redeemed  the  general 
coldness  of  the  rest.  The  name  of  Simon  the  Zealot,  another  Gali- 
Isean,  and  that  of  the  only  Apostle  from  Judea, — Judas,  the  traitor, 
of  the  village  of  Kerioth,  in  the  south  of  Juda — close  the  list. 

Such  was  the  band  which  Jesus  now  gathered  round  Him.  At 
least  four, — James  and  John,  and  James  the  Little  and  Jude, — seem 
to  have  been  His  relations,  or  connections,  to  whom,  if  we  accept  the 
tradition  I  have  quoted,  we  must  add  Thomas.     One,  at  least,  was  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  415 

priestly  race, — the  de,2:enerate  Levite,  Matthew,  who  had  sunk  to  an 
office  held  so  utterly  infamous  as  a  publican's.  He  and  the  sons  of 
Zebedee  seem  to  have  been  in  a  fair  position,  but  Peter,  whom  we  see 
in  the  forty  days  after  the  Resurrection,  once  more  busy  as  a  fisher- 
man, in  his  boat  on  tlie  Lake  of  Galilee;  naked,  perhaps  literally,  ai 
the  fishermen  there  still  often  are,  that  he  might  the  better,  like  themi 
drag  the  net  after  him  through  the  water,  as  he  swam  with  it;  o; 
casting  his  fisher's  coat  round  him,  and  leaping  into  the  Lake  to  swim 
ashore  to  .Tesus,  is,  it  may  be,  a  fair  illustration  of  the  social  position 
of  most  of  His  brethren  in  the  Apostolate. 

In  the  lists  given  in  the  Gospels,  Peter,  the  host  of  His  Lord,  at 
Capernaum,  always  holds  the  first  place,  Init  there  are  variations  in 
the  order  assigned  to  others.  A  true  GaliUcan — Peter  was  energetic 
and  fiery,  rather  than  self-contamed  and  retiective.  Warm  hearted 
and  impulsive,  he  had  at  once  th  e  strength  and  weakness  of  such  a 
temperament.  He  is  always  the  first  to  speak  for  his  brethren;  he 
craves  earnestly  one  moment  what  he  as  earnestly  refused  the  moment 
before ;  he  is  the  first  to  draw  the  sword  for  Jesus,  l)ut  also  the  first 
to  deny  Him.  John  recognizes  his  risen  JNIaster  first  at  the  Lake  of 
Galilee,  but  Peter  throws  himself  forthwith  into  the  Lake,  and  is  the? 
first  to  reach  Jesus'  feet;  he  acts  on  tlie  moment,  and  has  even  to  b3 
rebuked  for  being  too  ready  with  his  counsel.  Though  for  a  moment 
he  denies  Christ,  a  look  melts  him,  and  tradition  only  fills  up  whr.t 
we  feel  a  true  picture,  when  it  tells  vis  that  he  rose  each  night, 
through  life,  at  the  hour  at  which  he  had  sinned  so  weakly,  to  pra/ 
for  forgiveness ;  or  when  it  speaks  of  him,  at  last,  as  crucified  wil'i 
his  head  downwards,  thinking  himself  unworthy  of  a  nearer  approach 
to  the  death  of  his  Lord. 

In  Peter,  Jesus  had  an  apostle  who  gave  up  his  whole  being  to  hii 
Master.  No  one  was  more  receptive  of  lofty  impressions,  and  wit'i. 
this  moral  sensibility,  there  was  a  ready,  quick,  happy  insight,  which 
divined  the  significance  of  his  Master's  words  with  swift  intelligence. 
Yet,  with  this  delicacy  of  forecast,  and  true  conception  of  the  inner 
and  the  expressed  thoughts  of  Jesus ;  with  his  quick  eye  for  the  signs 
of  the  times,  and  his  zeal  to  act  on  their  indications,  lie  was  deficient 
in  sharp  logical  power  of  thought,  and  in  tenacious  strength  of  will. 
In  this  combination  of  strength  and  weakness,  he  was  the  most  per- 
fect type  of  the  Galilaean  in  the  Apostolate,  and  became  a  special 
friend  of  Jesus,  who  found  in  him  the  most  enthusiastic  of  His  f ol- 
io W(ts;  the  reflection,  in  some  respects,  of  His  own  nature,  and  a 
heart  than  which  none  beat  truer,  though  in  the  most  decisive  moments 
he  proved  no  firm  support,  but  a  bending  reed,  weak  from  momentary 
trust  in  himself  rather  than  on  his  Lord. 

James  and  John,  the  sons  of  Zabdai,  were  men  of  a  different  mould. 
They  supplied  what  was  wanting  in  Peter.  Ready  to  accept  the 
new  ideas,  and  reproducing  them  for  themselves,  with  mingled  en- 
thusiasm and  freshness  of  conception,  they  had  the  same  intense  deT». 


416  THP  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

tion  to  their  Master  as  Peter,  witli  Pomething-,  at  times,  of  the  same 
artless  and  unconscious  self-prominence.  Their  energy  of  will,  and 
quick  tlaming  up  at  any  opposition,  were  marked  features  of  both, 
and  obtained  for  them,  from  Jesus,  the  name  of  "the  Sons  of  Thun- 
der." In  their  zeal  for  their  Master  they  would  have  called  doAvn 
judgment  from  heaven  again.st  an  inhospitable  village,  and  wished  to 
silence  an  unknown  worker  who  spoke  in  the  name  of  Christ,  without 
belonging  to  the  twelve.  In  James,  the  Apostles  had  their  first  mar- 
tyr, but  John  lived  to  be  the  last  survivor  of  them  all.  Hot  zeal, 
based  on  intense  devotion,  was.  however,  only  a  passing  characteristic, 
at  least  of  John.  He,  of  all  the  twelve,  drank  deepest  into  liis  Ma.ster'3 
Spirit,  and  realized  it  most.  Self-contained,  meditative,  tender,  he 
thought  less  of  Christ's  acts,  than  of  the  words  which  were  the  reve- 
lations of  His  inner  Being.  His  whole  spiritual  nature  gave  itself  up 
to  loving  contemplation  of  the  wondrous  life  passing  before  him. 
We  owe  to  him,  in  his  Gospel,  an  image  of  the  higher  nature  of  our 
Lord,  such  as  only  one  to  whom  He  was  all  in  all  could  have  painted. 
If  perfect  love  beget  love  in  return,  it  was  inevitable  that  John  should 
win  the  supreme  place  in  Christ's  affection.  If  the  disciple  leaned 
on  the  Master's  bosom,  it  was  because  he  had  shown  the  love  that  at 
the  last  brought  him,  alone,  of  the  twelve,  to  the  foot  of  the  Cross. 

Of  Andrew,  the  brother  of  Peter,  we  know  very  little.  We  have 
to  trust  to  tradition,  alone,  for  his  history,  after  Oirist's  death.  He 
is  said,  by  one  legend,  to  have  gone  among  the  Scythians,  and,  on  this 
ground,  the  Russians  have  made  him  their  national  Saint.  Another 
assigns  Greece,  and  afterwards  Asia  Minor  and  Thrace,  as  the  scene 
of  his  work,  and  speaks  of  him  as  put  to  death  in  Achaia,  on  a  cross 
of  the  form  since  known  by  his  name.  The  incidental  notices  of  the 
others,  in  the  Gospels,  are  very  slight,  and  need  not  be  anticipated. 
Philip  is  said,  in  the  ecclesiastical  legends,  to  have  been  a  chariot 
driver;  Bartholomew,  a  sheplierd,  or  gardener.  But  no  name  is  more 
striking  in  the  list  than  that  of  Simon  the  Zealot,  for  to  none  of  the 
twelve  could  the  contrast  be  so  vivid  between  their  former  and  their 
new  position.  What  revolution  of  thought  and  heart  could  be 
greater  than  that  whicli  had  tlius  changed"  into  a  follower  of  Jesus 
one  of  the  tierce  war  party  of  the  day,  which  looked  on  the  presence 
of  Rome  in  tlie  Holy  Land  as  treason  against  the  Majesty  of  Jehovah 
— a  party  who  were  fanatical  in  their  Jewish  strictness  and  exclusive- 
ness?  Like  many  others  of  the  twelve,  he  is  little  more  than  a  name. 
Indeed,  even  in  the  second  century,  the  vaguest  traditions  were  all 
that  survived  of  any  but  two  or  three  of  them.  Tliey  were  men  of 
no  high  commanding  powers,  to  make  their  names  rise  on  all  men's 
tongues,  but  they,  doubtless,  in  every  case  but  that  of  the  betrayer, 
did  their  work  faithfully,  and  effected  results  of  permanent  value  in 
the  spread  of  the  Kingdom.  •  Still  more,  they  displayed  before  the 
world,  for  the  first  time,  the  then  amazing  spectacle  and  teaching  of 
a  Christian  life.   That  we  know  so  little  of  men  who  were  such  signal 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  417 

benefactors  of  the  race,  is  only  what  we  have  to  ponder  in  the  cases 
of  those  to  whom  the  world  lias  owed  most.  It  is  the  law,  in  the 
moral  as  in  the  physical  world,  that  one  sows  and  another  reaps,  and 
the  seed  which  bears  the  golden  ears  has  long  died  away  unremem- 
bered,  before  the  gathering  of  the  autumn  sheaves. 

It  is  touching  to  think  of  Jesus  surrounded  by  the  little  band  He 
had  thus  chosen — simple,  true-hearted  men,  indeed,  but  needing  so 
much  to  tit  them  for  their  amazing  honour,  and  momentous  duties. 
No  wonder  they  were  timid  and  reverent  before  Him;  no  wonder 
that  He  was  so  sorely  tried  with  their  dull  apprehension  and  weak 
human  shortcomings,  as  to  speak  sternly  or  sadly  to  them  at  times; 
once  indeed,  with  Ihe  words,  "  O  unbelieving  generation,  how  long 
shall  I  he  with  you,  how  long  shall  I  suffer  you?"  He  calls  them 
"of  little  understanding,"  "hardened,"  "fearful,"  "worldly,"  and 
"of  little  faith."  But  amidst  all,  they  "continued  with  Him  in  His 
trials"  till  the  end,  and  He  forgot  their  failings  in  the  tender  thought, 
that  if  their  flesh  was  weak,  their  spirit  was  willing.  They  were  His 
"brethren,"  His  "servants,"  His  "  f  el  low- workers,"  His  "  little  chil- 
dren," His  "little  ones,"  and,  even,  as  the  end  approached,  "His 
friends."  He  might,  at  times,  have  to  reprove  them,  but  His  bearing 
to'ivards  them,  day  by  day,  was  a  loving  condescension  to  their  weak- 
ness, and  a  patient  eifort  to  draw  them  to  Himself,  as  far  as  possible. 
There  is  no  trace  of  such  formal  instru^'tion  as  the  Kabl)is  gave  their 
followers;  they  had  rather  to  listen  to  His  words  to  the  peojjle,  and 
as'c  Him  in  private  for  explanation  where  needei.  He  rather  trained 
and  developed  their  spiritual  character,  than  indoctrinated  them  in 
systematic  theology.  Above  all.  He  lived  before  them,  and  was  Him- 
s  If  their  great  les.son.  Nor  can  there  be  a  more  striking  illustration 
of  the  completeness  with  which  they  forgot  their  own  being  in  the 
p"esence  of  their  Master,  than  the  silence  of  the  writers  of  the  Gos- 
p  'Is  respecting  themselves  in  tlieir  records  of  Jesus.  He,  alone,  filled 
t'Ai'ir  eye,  their  thoughts,  their  hearts.  They  had  been  like  children 
b  'fore  Him,  while  He  was  with  them,  and  in  the  hallowed  reverence 
of  their  remembered  intercour.se,  His  image  filled  the  whole  retrospect, 
to  the  utter  subordination  of  all  things  else.  The  months  they  had 
spent  in  His  company  under  the  palm-trees,  or  on  the  hills,  or  by  the 
SL'a;  when  they  breathed  the  same  air  with  Him;  heard  His  voice; 
SA'.v  His  life;  and  wondered  at  His  mighty  acts, — raised  them,  in 
t'ljlr  own  belief,  above  the  prophets  and  the  kings,  who  had  longed 
for  such  a  vision  of  the  Messiah,  but  had  not  had  it  vouchsafed 
them. 

Of  the  preaching  of  Jesus,  the  Gospel  preserves  numerous  frag- 
ments, but  no  lengriiened  abstract  of  any  single  discourse,  except  that 
of  the  "Sermon  on  the  Mount."  It  seems  to  have  been  delivered 
i:nmediately  after  the  choice  of  the  twelve,  to  the  disciples  at  large 
and  the  multitude  who  thronged  to  hear  the  new  Rabbi.  Descending 
from  the  higher  point  to  which  He  had  called  up  His  Apostles,  He 


418  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

came  towards  the  crowd,  which  waited  for  Ilim  at  a  level  place  below. 
There  were  numbers  from  every  part — from  Judea  and  Jerusalem 
in  the  south,  and  even  from  the  sea-coast  of  Tyre  and  Sidon ;  some  to 
hear  Him,  others  to  be  cured  of  tlieir  diseases,  and  many  to  be 
delivered  from  unclean  spirits.  The  commotion  and  excitement  Vvxre 
great  at  His  appearance,  for  it  had  been  found  that  to  touch  IIi:n  was 
to  be  cured,  and,  hence,  all  sought,  either  by  tlieir  own  eCorts. 
or  with  the  help  of  friends,  to  get  near  enough  to  Him  to  do  so. 
After  a  time,  however,  the  tumult  was  stayed,  all  having  been  healed, 
and  He  proceeded,  before  they  broke  up,  to  care  for  their  spiritual, 
as  He  had  already  foi  their  physical  wants. 

Tradition  has  chosen  the  hill  known  as  the  "  Horns  of  Hattin,"  two 
horn-like  heights,  rising  sixty  feet  above  the  plain  between  them — 
two  hours  west  of  Tiberias,  at  the  mouth  of  the  gorge  which  opens, 
past  Magdala,  into  the  wild  cliflEs  of  Arbela,  famous  in  the  history  of 
the  Zealots  as  their  hiding-place,  and  famous  also  for  Herod's  battles 
in  mid-air  at  the  mouths  of  their  caves,  by  means  of  great  cages  tilled 
with  soldiers  let  down  the  precipices.  It  is  greatly  in  favour  of  this 
site,  to  tind  such  a  writer  as  Dean  Stanley  saying,  that  the  situation 
so  strikingly  coincides  with  the  intimations  of  the  Gospel  narrative, 
as  almost  to  force  the  inference,  that,  in  this  instance,  the  eye  of  those 
who  selected  the  spot  was  rightly  guided.  The  plain  on  which  the 
hill  stands  is  easily  accessible  from  the  Lake,  and  it  is  only  a  few 
minutes'  walk  from  it  to  the  summit,  before  reaching  which,  a  broad 
"  level  place"  has  to  be  crossed — exactly  suited  for  the  gathering  of 
a  multitude  together.  It  was  to  this,  apparently,  that  Jesus  came 
down,  from  one  of  the  higher  horns,  to  address  the  people.  Seated 
on  some  slightly  elevated  rock — for  the  teacher  always  sat  while  he 
taught — the  people  and  the  disciples  sitting  at  His  feet,  on  the  grass; 
the  cloudless  Syrian  sky  over  them;  the  blue  Lake,  with  its  moving 
life,  on  the  one  hand,  and,  in  the  far  north,  the  grand  form  of 
Hermon,  glittering  in  the  upper  air;  He  began  what  is  to  us  the 
Magna  C'liarta  of  our  faith,  and  to  the  hearers  must  have  been  the 
formal  inauguration  of  the  new  kingdom  of  God. 

The  choice  of  the  twelve  Apostles  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 
mark  a  turning  point  in  the  public  life  of  Jesus.  A  crisis  in  the 
development  of  His  work  had  arrived.  He  had,  till  now,  taken  no 
steps  towards  a  formal  and  open  separation  from  Judaism,  but  had 
contented  Himself  with  gathering  converts,  whom  He  left  to  follow 
the  new  life  He  taught,  without  any  organization  as  a  distinct  com- 
munion. The  symptoms  of  an  approaching  rupture  with  the  priesta 
and  Rabbis  had,  however,  forced  on  Him  more  decisive  action.  He 
liad  met  the  murmurs  at  the  healing  of  the  paralytic,  by  the  trium- 
phant vindication  of  the  language  which  had  given  offence.  The 
choice  of  a  publican  as  a  disciple  immediately  after,  had  been  a 
further  expression  of  the  fundamental  opposition  between  His  ideas 
and  those  of  the  schools  and  the  Temple,  and  His  justification  of  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  419 

disuse  by  Hi"-  riisciplos,  of  the  out'^ard  riles  and  forms  which  were 
vital  in  tiic  eyes  of  tlie  orthodoxy  of  the  day,  had  been  another  step 
in  the  same  diverQ;ent  path.  He  had  openly  sanctioned  the  omission 
of  fasts,  and  of  mechanical  rules  for  prayer,  which  were  sacred  with 
the  Rabbis.  He  had  even  set  the  old  and  new  order  of  things  in 
contrast,  and  had  thus  assumed  independent  authority  as  a  religious 
teacher;  the  sum  of  all  offence  in  a  rigid  theocracy. 

The  choice  of  the  twelve,  and  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  were  the 
final  and  distinct  proclamation  of  His  new  position.  The  Apostles 
mus^  have  seemed,  to  a  Jew,  the  twelve  patriarchs  of  a  new  spiritual 
Israel,  to  be  substituted  for  the  old;  the  heads  of  new  tribes,  to  be 
gathered  by  their  teaching,  as  the  future  people  of  God.  The  old 
skins  had  been  proved  unfit  for  the  new  wine ;  henceforth,  new  skins 
must  be  provided;  new  forms,  for  a  new  faith.  The  society  thus 
organized  needed  a  promulgation  of  the  laws  under  which  it  was  to 
live,  and  this  it  received  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

The  audience  addressed  consisted  of  the  newly  chosen  twelve;  the 
unknown  crowd  who  heard  Him  with  favour,  and  were,  hence, 
fipoken  of  as  His  disciples;  and  the  promiscuous  multitude  drawn  to 
Him,  for  the  time,  by  various  motives.  Jesus  had  no  outer  and  inner 
circle,  for  public  and  secret  doctrines,  like  the  Rabbis,  for,  though 
He  explained  to  the  twelve,  m  private,  any  points  iu  His  discourses 
they  had  not  understood,  the  discourses  themselves  were  delivered 
to  all  who  came  to  hear  them.  This  Sermon,  wliich  is  the  fullest 
statement  we  have  of  the  nature  of  His  kingdom,  and  of  the  condition 
and  duties  of  its  citizenship,  was  spoken  under  the  open  sky,  to  all 
who  happened  to  form  His  audience. 

In  this  great  declaration  of  the  principles  and  laws  of  the  Christian 
republic — a  republic  in  the  relations  of  its  citizens  to  each  other — 
a  kingdom,  in  their  relations  to  Jesus,  the  omissions  are  no  less 
striking  than  the  demands.  There  is  no  reference  to  the  priests  or 
liabbis — till  then  the  undisputed  authorities  iu  religion — nor  is  the 
"ite  of  circumcision  even  mentioned,  though  it  made  the  Jew  a 
^  ember  of  the  Old  Covenant,  as  a  mere  theocratic  form,  apart  from 
moral  requirements.  It  is  not  condemned,  but  it  is  ignored.  Till 
now,  a  vital  condition  of  entrance  into  the  kingdom  of  God,  it  is 
so  no  more.  Nor  are  any  other  outward  forms  more  in  favour. 
The  new  kingdom  is  to  be  founded  only  on  righteousness  and  love, 
and  contrasts  with  the  old  by  its  spiritual  freedom,  untrammeled  by 
o  it  ward  rules.  It  opposes  to  the  nationality  and  limitation  of  the 
old  theocracy  a  universal  invitation,  witli  no  restriction  except  that 
of  character  and  conduct.  Citizenship  is  oifered  to  all  who  sincerely 
believe  in  Jesus  as  the  Messiah,  and  honestly  repent  before  God. 
Even  the  few  opening  sentences  mark  the  revolution  in  religioua 
conceptions  which  the  new.  faith  involves.  Temporal  evil,  which, 
vmder  the  former  dispensation  had  been  the  mark  of  divine  dis- 
pleasure,  became,  in  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  the  mark  of  fcUowship 


430  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  pledge  of  heavenly  reward.  The  opinion  of  the  day  regarded 
poverty,  hunger,  trouble,  and  persecution  as  punishments  for  sin :  He 
enumerates  them  as  blessings.  Throughout  the  whole  Sermon,  no 
political  or  theocratic  ideas  find  place,  but  only  spiritual.  For  the 
first  time  in  the  history  of  religion,  a  ciunmunion  is  founded  without 
a  priesthood,  or  offerings,  or  a  Temple,  or  ceremonial  services;  without 
symbolical  worship,  or  a  visible  sanctuary.  There  is  an  utter  absence 
of  everything  external  or  sensuous:  the  grand  spiritual  truths  of 
absolute  religious  freedom,  love,  and  righteousness,  alone  are  heard. 
Nor  is  the  kingdom,  thus  founded,  in  itself  visible,  or  corporate,  in 
any  ordinary  sense ;  it  is  manifested  only  by  the  witness  of  the  Spirit 
in  the  heart,  and  by  the  power  going  forth  from  it  in  the  life.  In  the 
fine  words  of  Herder,  Christianity  was  founded  in  direct  opposition 
to  the  stupid  dependence  on  customs,  formulae,  and  empty  usages. 
It  humbled  the  Jewish,  and  even  the  Roman  national  pride:  the 
moribund  Levitical  worship  and  idolatry,  however  fanatically  defend- 
ed, were  wounded  to  death. 

Nothing  can  be  more  certain  than  that  Jesus  had  never  studied 
under  the  Sopherim,  or  Scribes.  His  contemporaries,  the  Rabbis  of 
Jerusalem,  leave  no  doubt  of  this,  for  they  frankly  avowed  their 
wonder  at  His  knowledge  of  their  theology,  and  power  of  Scriptural 
exposition,  though  He  liad  never  learned  theological  science  in  their 
schools.  The  same  minute  acquaintance  with  the  opinions  and  teach- 
ings of  the  day  is  seen  through  the  whole  of  the  Hill  Sermon.  Apart 
from  His  mysterious  divinity,  He  was  a  man  like  ourselves,  "growing 
in  wisdom"  with  His  j'cars,  and,  therefore,  indebted  in  a  measure,  at 
least,  to  the  influences  and  means  around  Him,  for  His  human  knowl- 
edge and  opinions.  It  speaks  volumes  for  His  early  training  by  His 
mother  and  Joseph,  that  He  should  have  known  the  Scriptures  as  He 
did,  for  it  is  in  childhood  that  the  memory  gets  the  bent  which  marks 
its  strength  in  manhood.  The  synagogue  school,  and  constantly 
recurring  services,  must,  however,  have  been  the  gi'eat  seminary  of 
the  wondrous  Boy.  Passages  of  the  Law  had  been  His  only  school- 
book,  and,  doubtless,  the  village  teacher,  steeped  in  reflected 
Rabbinism,  had  often  flattered  his  harmless  vanity  by  a  display 
before  his  young  charge,  of  liis  knowledge  of  the  traditions  and 
glosses,  which  won  so  much  honour  to  the  Scribes.  The  Sabbath 
and  week-da_y  homilies  of  the  Synagogue  had  made  Him  a  constant 
listener  to  local  or  travelling  Rabbis,  till,  in  the  thirty  years  of  His 
Nazareth  life.  His  mind  and  memory  had,  doubtless,  been  saturated 
with  their  modes  of  thought,  and  the  opinions  of  all  the  different 
schools.  Theology,  moreover,  Avas  the  staple  of  village  conversation 
in  Nazareth,  as  elsewhere,  for  his  religion  was  also  the  politics  of  the 
Jew,  and  the  justitication  of  his  haughty  national  pride.  Doubtless, 
also,  in  Joseph's  cottage  there  was  a  manuscript  of  the  Law,  and  a 
Boul  filled  with  devotion  to  His  Heavenly  Father,  like  that  of  Jesus, 
•would  find  some  »f  the  Prophets,  eitlier  there  or  among  His  family 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  421 

friends.  Rabbis  from  Jerusalem,  or  resident  in  Galilee,  must  of  tea 
have  come  in  Hiswaj%  during  tlie  thirty  private  years,  and  how  much 
would  such  a  mind  and  heart  learn  of  their  "  wisdom,"  even  in  such 
casual  intercourse?  His  clearness  of  intellect.  His  transparent  inno- 
cence of  soul.  His  freedom  of  spirit,  and  transcendent  loftiness  of 
morals  were  all  His  own,  but  they  must  have  used,  for  their  high  ends, 
tlie  facilities  around  Him.  The  very  neighbourhood  of  a  heathen 
population  may  have  had  its  intiuence  in  breaking  down  the  heredi- 
tary narrowness  of  His  race,  and  who  caa  tell  what  ardours  may 
have  been  kindled  by  the  wondrous  view  from  the  hill  top  of  Nazareth? 
Free  from  all  thought  of  Himself:  tilled  with  a  divine  enthusiasm  for 
His  Father  above  and  for  humanity,  these  mountains,  that  azure  sky, 
the  sweeping  table-laud  beyond  the  Jordan,  the  wide  glory  of  heaven 
and  earth,  veiling,  above,  the  eternal  kingdoms,  and,  at  flis  feet,  re- 
vealing the  enchanting  homes  of  wide  populations  differing  in  blood 
and  in  faith,  but  all  atike  His  brethren,  may  have  coloured  not  a  few 
•  of  the  sacred  utterances  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

This  unique  example  of  our  Saviour's  teaching  displays  in  one  view 
nearly  all  the  characteristics  presented  by  the  more  detached  illus- 
trations preserved  in  the  Gospels.  Never  systematic,  the  discourses 
of  Jesus  were  rather  poiflted  utterances  of  special  truths  demanded 
by  the  occasion.  In  perfect  inner  harmony  with  each  other,  these 
sententious  teachings  at  times  appear  to  conflict,  for  they  are  of  tea 
designed  to  present  opposite  sides  of  the  same  truth,  as  the  distinct; 
point  to  be  met  required.  The  external  and  sensuous  in  all  His 
teachings,  however,  was  always  made  the  vehicle  of  an  inner  and 
heavenly  lesson.  He  necessarily  followed  the  mode  to  which  His 
hearers  were  used,  and  taught  them  as  their  own  Rabbis  were  wont, 
that  He  might  engage  attention.  At  times  He  puts  direct  questions; 
at  others  He  is  rhetorical  or  polemic,  or  speaks  in  proverbs,  or  in 
more  lengthened  discourse.  He  often  uses  parables,  and  sometimes 
even  symbolical  actions;  is  always  spontaneous  and  ready;  and  even, 
at  times,  points  His  words  by  friendly  or  cutting  irony.  But  while 
thus  in  many  wavs  adopting  the  style  of  the  Rabbis,  His  teaching 
■was  very  different  even  in  outward  characteristics.  They  delivered, 
painfully,  what  they  had  learned  like  children,  overlaying  every 
address  with  citations,  in  their  fear  of  saying  a  word  of  their  own; 
but  the  teaching  of  Christ  was  the  free  expression  of  His  own 
thoughts  and  feelings,  and  this,  with  the  weight  of  the  teaching 
itself,  gave  Him  power  over  the  hearts  of  His  audience.  With  a 
minute  and  exact  knowledge  of  the  teaching  of  the  schools,  Ho 
shows,  by  repeated  use  of  Rabbinical  proofs  and  arguments,  that  He 
was  familiar,  also,  with  the  current  modes  of  controversy.  His 
fervour,  His  orginality,  and  the  grandeur  of  the  truths  He  pro- 
claimed, were  enough  in  themselves  to  commend  His  words,  but 
He  constantly  supports  them  by  the  supreme  authority  of  the 
Scriptures,  which   were  familiar  to    Him  as    His    mother-speech. 


422  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Simple,  rs  a  rule,  in  all  He  says.  He  yet  often  opens  glimpses  into 
the  infinite  heights,  where  no  human  thought  can  follow  Him.  The 
spirit  of  His  preaching  is  as  transcendent  as  its  matter.  Tenderness 
and  yeicrning  love  prevail,  but  there  is  not  wanting,  when  needed,  the 
sternness  of  the  righteous  judge.  Throughout  the  whole  of  His 
ministry,  and  notably,  in  the  8ermon  on  thel^Iount,  He  bears  Himself 
with  a  kingly  grandeur,  dispensing  the  rewards  and  punishments  of 
the  world  to  come ;  opening  the  kingdom  of  heaven  to  those  only 
who  fulfil  His  requirements,  and  resting  the  future  prospects  of  men 
on  the  reception  they  give  His  words.  Eyen  to  read  His  utterances 
forces  from  all  the  confession  of  those  who  heard  Him,  that  "'Never 
man  spake  like  this." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THK  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT  {Continued). 

The  opening  verses  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  mark  the  contrast 
between  the  JMew  Kingdom  of  God  and  the  Old.  There  is  no  mention 
of  forms,  for  the  whole  life  of  Jesus  was  one  unbroken  service  of 
God.  The  Temple  Service,  and  the  burdensome  laws  of  sacrifices, 
are  passed  over,  for  the  Sermon  was  delivered  in  Galilee,  far  from  the 
splendour  of  the  one,  or  the  vexatious  minuteness  and  materialism  of 
the  other.  The  great  question  of  clean  and  unclean,  which  idivided 
the  nation  within  itself;  made  life  a  slavery  to  rules;  and  isolated  the 
Jew  from  all  brotherhood  with  humanity  at  large,  is  left  to  sink  into 
indifference  before  the  grand  spiritual  truths  enunciated.  The  Law 
came  with  threats,  prohibitions,  and  commands;  the  "Sermon  "  opens 
with  benedictions,  and  moves  in  an  atmosphere  of  promises  and 
enticements.  Its  first  sentences  are  a  succession  of  lofty  congratula- 
tions of  those  whose  spirit  and  bearing  already  proclaim  tliem  fit  for 
the  new  society. 

The  virtues  thus  praised  are  not  the  active  only,  but  the  passive; 
not  those  of  doing  alone,  but  of  bearing.  ' '  Blessed  are  the  poor  in 
spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  Ivingdom  of  Heaven;  blessed  the  meek,  for  they 
will  inherit  the  earth ;  blessed  they  that  moxim,  for  tbey  wUl  be  com- 
forted; blessed  they  that  hunger  and  thirst  after  righteousness,  for 
they  will  be  satisfied ;  blessed  the  merciful,  for  they  will  find  mercy ; 
blessed  the  peace-makers,  for  they  will  be  called  sons  of  God,  bkssed 
they  that  have  been  persecuted  for  righteousness  sake,  for  theirs  is  the 
Kingdom  of  Heaven.  Blessed  are  ye,  when  they  shall  reproach  and 
persecute  you,  and  shall  say  all  manner  of  evil  against  you  falsely, 
for  My  sake.  Rejoice  and  exult,  for  your  reward  is  great  in  Heaven; 
for  so  did  they  persecute  the  prophets  that  were  before  you," 

The  mission  of  Christ  was  said  by  Himself,  in  a  quotation  from 
Isaiah,  to  be  to  preach  to  the  poor,  and  hence  it  is  with  no  surj)rise 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  433 

that  we  find  St.  Luke  substitute  simply  "  the  iioor"  for  the  "poor  in 
spirit,"  for  botli  are  ri,2:lit.     The  first  disciples  were  won  r.l most  ex- 
clusively from  amouir  the   lowly.     "  Tlie   contented   poor."   Jesus 
would  here  say.  "  who  bear  their  burden  meekly,  since  it  comes  froni 
God,   those — that  is,  who  are   'poor  in  spirit,' — have,  in  their  very 
meekness,  the  sign  and  proof  that,  though  poor  in  outward  things 
they  are  rich  in  higher,  for  they  will,  so  much  the  more  surely,  be 
hereafter,  the  opposite  of  what  they  are  here.     They  arc  the  poor 
who  have  nothing  and  yet  have  a'll.     They  have  nothing  of  this 
world's  possessions,  and  have  not  yet  received  the  blessing  in  the 
world  to  come.     But  the  very  longing  for  the  future,  and  hope  of 
it,  are  virtually  a    present    possession.      Their    devoat    poverty  is 
their  wealth,  for  it  secures  treasures  hereafter.     The  '  iftngdom  of 
Heaven'  is  theirs  already."      This  principle  runs  through  all  the 
beatitudes.     As  Christ's  disciples,  the  future  will  be  the  contrast  to 
the  present;  riches  for  poverty;  joy  for  mourning;  plenty  for  hun- 
ger, a  heavenly  crown  for  earthly  suffering  for  the  Master's  .sake. 
The  contrast  of  sin  and  pardon;  the  lowly  sense  of  needed  salvation, 
which  already  has  in  itself  the  assurance  that  salvation  is  granted' 
are  implied  in  all  the  states  of  heart  recounted.     Through  all,  there 
runs  the  deepest  sense  of  the  sinfulness  and  troubles  of  the  present, 
and  springing  from  this,  the  loftiest   religious  aspirations,  rising  far- 
above  the  earth,  to  eternal  realities.      They  thus  disclose  the  inmost 
and  central  principle  of  the  new    Kingdom;  the  willing  and  even 
joyful  surrender  of  the  present,   in   lowly  hope  of  the  future— and 
that  from  no  lower  motive  than   loving  obedience   and   fidelity  to 
Christ.     Immediate  self-interest  is  to  be  disregarded,  for  the  infinitely 
higher  prospects  of  the  future  worid.      The  one  passion  of  the  heart 
IS  to  be  for  greater  righteousness, —that  is,  for  an  ever  more  complete 
self-surrender  to  the  will  of  God,  and   active  fulfilment  of  its  de- 
mands.    For  Himself  Jesus  claims  the  most  loyal  devotion,  even  to 
the  endurance  of  "all  manner  of  evil,"  for  His  sake.     To  seek 
happiness  is  to  fail  to  obtain  it,  but  self-surrender  to  God.  and  faith 
m  Christ  as  the  Messiah,  in  themselves  bring  it,  when  disinterested 
and  sincere. 

It  is  striking  to  note  the  anticipations  of  suffering  associated  by 
Jesus  with  true  discipleship.  Suffering  is  as.sumed  as  its  inevitable 
result.  He  holds  out  no  attractions  to  insincerity  or  worldliness,  but 
at  the  very  outset,  fans  the  chaff  from  the  wheat;  and  repels  all  but 
the  earnest  and  devoted. 

Four  benedictions  are  bestowed  on  the  passive  virtues;  four  on  the 
active.  To  bear  poverty  with  lowly  re,signation  to  Gk)d;  to  mourn, 
and  yet  teust  that  all  is  for  the  best;  to  reproduce  the  meekness  which 
Jesus  Himself  displayed,  and  to  endure  trials  and  persecutions  loyally 
for  His  Kike,  are  the  negative  graces  demanded  as  conditions  of 
memberehip  of  the  New  Kingdom.  But  active  virtues  are  no  lesa 
rc'i'oired;  the  hungeri.ij  and  thirsting  after  righteousness,  which  finds 


424  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Its  food  in  fresh,  joyful,  continuous  acts  of  goodness;  the  mercy 
niiich  delights  to  bless  the  wretched;  the  purity  of  heart,  which 
strives  to  realize  in  the  soul  the  image  of  God,  and  the  gentleness 
which  spreads  peace  around  it. 

The  key-note  of  all  the  utterances  cf  Christ  reveals  iteelf  in  these 
few  sentences.  His  kingdom  is  at  once  present  and  future :  present 
by  (he  undoubting  faith  in  His  assurances  that  it  would  liereafter  ar- 
Buredly  be  attained:  future  in  the  fact  that  the  realization  of  its  jo}s 
Nvas  reserved  for  the  life  to  come.  Unlike  John,  He  proclaims  that  the 
time  of  expectation  is  over:  that  the  New  Kingdom  has  already  come 
as  a  living  power  in  the  soul,  diffrsing  its  blessings,  at  once  within 
and  around  its  members.  It  is  established  in  its  rights  and  duties,  t;) 
develop  aif&  advance,  henceforth,  till  its  glory  cover  the  earth.  In 
one  aspect,  it  is  incomplete  till  its  full  rea'lization  in  the  distant 
future :  in  another  it  is  already  perfect,  for  it  reigns  in  every  single 
soul  which  has  humbly  accepted  Jesus  as  its  King. 

After  this  introduction,  lie  proceeds  to  enforce  on  Ills  disciples 
the  duties  of  their  new  relation  to  Him,  and  to  cheer  them,  by  recall- 
ing the  dignity  it  confers.  "You  have,  indeed,  good  cause  to  re- 
joice," says  He,  "  and  to  be  brave  of  heart,  for  you  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth;  the  light  of  the  world;  a  city  set  on  a  hill."  Mere  osten- 
tation, or  insincere  parade  of  virtue,  were  abhorrent  to  Him,  and 
formed  His  great  charge  against  the  acted  religion  of  the  day.  But 
the  enthu.siasm  of  true  goodness,  He  tells  them,  must  of  necessity  be 
seen  and  felt.  Life  is  shown  by  its  energy;  where  there  is  no  active 
vital  power,  there  is  only  death.  He  prescribes  no  lengthened  code 
of  duties,  but  trusts  to  the  ardour  and  devotion  of  loyalty  to  Him- 
self, as  a  perfect  equivalent.  Drawn  to  Him  by  grateful  and  lowly 
affection,  He  leaves  it  to  the  love  of  His  followers  to  exceed  all  pre- 
cise directions,  and  outstrip  all  formal  requirements.  His  kingdom 
is  as  strictly  under  law  as  any  other,  but,  for  the  endless  statutes 
of  earthly  monarchies,  and  the  equally  unnumbered  prescriptions  oi 
the  old  theocracy.  He  substitutes  a  single  all-sufficing  law — the  lavyr 
of  love,  which  makes  each  member  of  His  kingdom  a  law  to  him- 
self. All  are  to  give  themselves  up  to  Him  as  unreservedly  as  He 
has  given  Himself  up  for  them. 

Intense  sincerity  is  thus  made  the  fundamental  demand,  and  His 
own  personal  example  their  standard  and  pattern.  To  be  the  light 
of  the  world,  they  must  needs  look  to  Him,  for  He  had  especially 
applied  that  name  to  Himself.  They  had  the  immense  advantage  of 
example,  so  much  more  effective  than  precept.  The  New  Kingdom 
was  only  the  reflection  of  His  own  character,  and,  thus.  His  com- 
mands were  best  carried  out  by  imitating  His  life ;  for  He,  Himself, 
was  the  one  perfect  illustration  of  complete  fulfilment  of  its  laws. 
No  grudging  or  partial  devotion  would  sufiice.  They  must  heartily 
conform  their  inmost  being  to  His  image,  and  shed  round  them,  in 
their   respective    spheres,   the    spiritual    blessings    which    beamed 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  425 

brightest  from  Himself.  Thus  calmly,  and  as  His  natural  right  and 
place,  He  constitutes  Himself  the  grand  ideal  of  humanity,  and  men 
feel  that  there  is  no  rashness  or  incongruity  in  His  assumption  of  the 
stupendous  dignity. 

Failure,  however,  is  human,  and  hence  a  few  solemn  words  of 
warning  are  added.  "Salt  keeps  and  makes  sound  what  would  else 
corrupt.  But  impure  salt  may  lose  its  saltness,  and  once  lost  it  can- 
not be  restored.  What  was  before  of  blessed  use,  is,  henceforth,  worth- 
less, and  may  be  cast  out  upon  the  road  to  be  trodden  under  foot. 
If  you,  the  salt  of  the  earth,  lose  your  spiritual  worth,  by  faint-hearted- 
ness,  or  sloth,  or  dark  unfaithfulness,  your  needed  energj'  and  effi- 
ciency are  irreparably  gone.  Who  will  take  your  place?  You  will  be 
no  longer  tit  for  the  work  I  have  assigned  you.  If  the  salt  be  pure, 
it  will  not  lose  its  power;  it  is  the  earth  and  impurities  mixed  with 
it,  that  make  it  worthless;  and  so  you  must  put  away  all  that  might 
make  you  go  back,  if  you  avouUI  be  true  disciples.  Your  lasting 
worth  "depends  on  your  devotion  to  me  being  unqualified  and  abso- 
lute. You  are  to  enlighten  men  as  the  sun  enlightens  the  world.  I 
am  the  light  of  the  world:  you  shine  by  my  light:  see  that,  in  turn, 
you  illumine  the  darkness  round  you.  A  light  is  to  shine,  not  to  be 
hidden.  Like  a  lamp  on  its  stand,  it  is  your  office  to  shed  light,  and 
drive  olf  darkness.  The  beams  of  your  good  works  must  shine  before 
men,  that  they  may  honour  God,  "your  Father,  in  Heaven.  Like  a 
city  set  on  a  hill,  you  are  to  draw  on  you  all  eyes. " 

Passing  from  general  principles  to  specific  details,  Jesus  now  pro- 
ceedei  to  show  the  relations  of  His  new  kingdom  to  the  old  the- 
ocracy. The  charge  of  hostility  to  the  Law  had  been  brought  against 
Him,  and  would  be  urged  against  His  disciples.  He  would  shov/ 
them  that  the  new  roots  itself  in  the  old,  and  is  its  completion  and 
glory,  not  its  destruction. 

"Think  not,"  said  He,  "that  I  came  to  supersede  your  ancient 
S:;riptures — the  Law  and  the  Prophets.  I  came  not  to  destroy,  but 
to  fulfil.  Worthless  forms,  worn  out  with  age,  may  perish  and  muot, 
but  not  the  least  jot  or  tittle  of  the  sacred  truths  they  for  a  time  have 
clothed,  shall  pass,  while  heaven  or  earth  endure.  The  forms  are 
not  the  Law.  Rites  and  ceremonies  are  only  helps,  for  simple  ages, 
which  need  material  symbols.  The  kingdom  of  God  has  now  out- 
grown them.  The  truth  must  henceforth  stand  alone,  appealing  to 
tlie  spirit  without  such  outward  aids.  Local  and  national,  they  have 
served  their  day,  but  the  new  kingdom  of  God,  wliich  is  for  all  times 
and  race^,  knows  only  a  worship  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  So  far  am  I 
from  slig'.iting  or  destroying  the  truth  hidden  under  these  outward 
form's,  that  he  who  breaks  one  of  the  least  spiritual  demands  of  the 
Law,  and  teaches  men  to  copy  him  in  doing  fo,  shnll  be  called  least 
in  my  kingdom:  while  he  who  obeys  and  leichcj  them  as  a  whole, 
shall'be  called  great  in  it.  The  Law  is  for  ever  cacrcd.  I  only  strip 
it  of  its  outward  accidents,  to  reveal  the    better   its  divine  glory. 


426  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Spoken  by  God,  it  is  eternal.  I  come  to  do  it  honour;  to  confirm, 
but  also  to  clear  it  from  human  additions  and  corruptions." 

Jesus,  in  thus  speali^iiig.  had  a  very  different  conception  of  the  Laiy 
from  that  of  the  liabbis.  To  Him  it  meant  the  sacred  moral  com- 
mands given  from  Sinai.  The  whole  apparatus  of  ceremony  and 
rite  at  first  connected  with  them,  were  onl}'  rude  external  accommoda- 
tions to  the  childhood  of  religion,  to  aid  tiie  simple  and  gross  ideas 
of  early  ages.  Looking  beneath  the  symbol  to  the  essential  truth,  it 
was  a  lofty,  religious,  moral,  and  social  legislation,  far  deeper,  wiser, 
holier,  and  more  complete  than  the  highest  human  system.  He  knew 
how  the  prophets  had  drawn  from  it  the  pure  and  exalted  conceptions 
they  had  enforced,  anticipating  in  their  spirituality  His  own  teaching. 
But  centuries  lay  between  Him  and  the  prophets,  and  Judaism  had 
sunk  to  a  painful  idolatry  of  the  letter  and  outward  form  of  the  Law, 
to  the  neglect  of  its  spirit  and  substance.  The  Exile  had  weakened 
and  perverted  the  national  con.science,  and  a  burning  zeal  for  rigid 
external  observapce  of  the  letter  had  followed  the  just  belief  that 
their  national  troubles  had  been  a  punishment  for  previous  short- 
comings. 

The  Pharisees,  who  gave  the  tone  to  the  people,  filled  up  their  life 
with  a  weary  round  of  offerings,  ceremonies,  and  purifications;  and, 
not  content  with  the  prescriptions  of  Mo.ses,  had  added  a  tedious 
system  of  meritorious  works;  fasts,  washings,  alms,  and  prayers. 
I'he  Essenes,  and  still  more  John,  had  turned  oack  to  the  purer  air  of 
the  prophets,  from  this  barren,  mechanical  piety,  and  liad  taught  that 
righteousness,  love,  and  human  sympathy,  were  the  highest  require- 
nients  of  the  Law.  But  the  veil  was  still  on  their  eyes ;  their  reforms 
v.-cre  partial.  The  E.ssenes  had  even  more  wa.shings  than  the  Phari- 
sees; they  eschewed  marriage,  property,  and  the  world,  and  the 
Baptist  fasted,  and  required  Pharisaic  forms.  Jesus  pierced  to  the 
heart  of  the  truth.  Stripping  off'  all  obsolete  wrappings  of  rite  and 
symbol,  and  repudiating  all  human  additions,  lie  proclaimed  tlie 
Lav.'  in  its  divine  ideal,  as  binding  for  ever,  in  its  least  part,  on  all 
ages. 

IJis  supreme  loyalty  to  (he  Law  could  not  fail,  in  a  spirit  so  divinely 
sincere,  to  involve  a  condcmna::on  of  its  corruption  by  the  religious 
teachers  of  the  day.  It  followed  presently:  ' '  Except  your  rigliteous- 
n?c3  exceed  that  of  the  Scribes  r.nd  Pharisees,"  He  continued,  "ye 
v.ill  not  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  lie  charges  them,  net 
only  with  themselves  breaking  the  commandments,  by  their  casuistry 
end  their  immoral  additions,  but  wdth  leading  men  at  large  in  the 
came  evil  path. 

The  fundamental  principle  of  the  Pharisaic  conception  of  rightcous- 
r.cES  Avhich  Jesus  thus  strenuously  opposed,  was  their  idea  that  strict 
observance  of  the  traditions  and  commands  of  their  schools,  in  itself 
satiGlicd  the  requirements  of  God.  Fulfilment  of  what  was  written  in 
the  Law  and  its  Iiabbinical  expositions,  was,  in  their  opinion,  only  a 


THE  LIFE  OF  CUPJGT.  427 

question  of  pvinctilious  outward  observnnce.  They  •weakened  the 
conception  of  moral  evil  by  sul)tle  discriminations  of  casuistry.  In 
trifles  tlie  most  exact  minuteness  was  required,  buo  in  greater  matters 
the  principles  of  morality  were  boldly  undermined  or  surrendered. 
The  tithing  of  mint,  dill,  and  cummin — mere  garden  herbs — Vv'as 
vital,  but  grave  questions  of  right  and  wrong  were  treated  with 
inditTerence  This  moral  prudery  and  pedantry,  wliich  strained  the 
wine  before  drinking  it,  lest  a  fly  might  have  fallen  into  it  and  made 
it  unclean,  but  made  no  trouble  of  swallowing  a  camel,  was  the  hypo- 
critical ri^fliteousuess  against  which  Jesus  directed  His  bitterest 
words.  Willi  all  their  lip  veneration  for  it,  they  set  little  value  on 
the  study  of  the  Law  itself,  but  much  on  that  of  tlie  commentaries  of 
the  Rabbis,  now  embodied  in  the  Mischna  and  Gemara.  The  Rab- 
binical tradition  so  amplilied  and  twisted  the  words  of  the  Law,  as  to 
make  it  express,  in  many  cases,  the  opposite  of  its  natural  meaning. 
Religion  had  become  almost  wholly  a  mechanical  service,  without 
reference  to  th?  heart.  As  in  other  theocratic  communities,  a  man 
might  be  eminently  religioTis,  in  the  Pharisaic  sense,  and  yet  utterly 
depraved  and  immoral.  The  teaching  of  the  prophets,  which  de- 
mand >d  internal  godliness,  was  slighted,  and  the  study  of  their  writ- 
ings almjst  entirely  put  aside  for  that  of  the  legal  traditions  and  of 
the  La  .v.  Tlie  desire  to  define,  to  the  smallest  detail,  what  the  Law 
required,  had  led,  in  the  course  of  ages,  to  a  mass  of  conflicting 
Rabbinical  opinions,  which  darkened  rather  than  explained  each 
command.  Tlie  "hedge"  round  the  Law  had  proved  a  hedge  of 
thorns,  for  Rabbis  and  people  alike.  The  question  was,  not  what  was 
right  or  wrong,  but  what  the  Law,  as  expounded  by  the  Rabbis, 
demanded,  and  zeal  was  stimidated  by  the  mercenary  expectation  of 
an  equivalent  reward,  for  scrupulous  exactness  in  fulfllment. 

A  better  illustration  of  the  moral  worthlcssness  of  the  Pharisaic 
ideas  of  righteousness  could  hardly,  perhaps,  be  found,  than  in  the 
fact  that,  with  all  their  ostentatious  reverence  for  the  Scriptures,  he 
who  touched  a  copy  of  them  was,  thereby,  made  unclean.  "  Accord- 
ing to  you,"  said  the  Sadducees  of  their  rivals,  "  the  Scriptures  defile 
tlie  hands,  while  Homer  does  not."  The  skins  on  which  the  sacred 
books  were  written  might  have  been  those  of  an  unclean  beast,  or,  at 
least,  they  were  part  of  a  dead  body.  But  the  Pharisees  had  their 
retort  ready.  "Why,"  asked  they,  "  are  the  bones  of  an  ass  clean 
and  those  of  the  high  priest,  John  Hyrcanus,  unclean?"  "It  is  the 
kind  of  bone  that  determines  the  uncleanness,"  answered  the  Saddu- 
cees, "  else  we  would  make  spoons  of  the  bones  of  our  relatives!" 
"Just  so,"  retorted  the  Pharisees,  "it  is  the  value  we  attach  to  the 
Scriptures  wliich  has  made  us  decide  that  they  defile  the  hand.s, 
while  Homer  does  not."  They  worshipped  the  letter,  but  mi.scon- 
ceived  the  essence  of  Scripture:  treated  morality  as  a  trifle,  and  trifles 
as  the  only  religion.  In  their  esirly  days,  fired  by  a  true  zeal  for  God; 
they  had  degenerated,  as  a  body,  into  mere  "  actors."     "  There  were 


428  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

plenty  of  Pharisees,"  says  even  Jost,  himself  a  Jew,  "  who  used  the 
appearance  of  piety  as  a  cloak  for  shameful  ends."  Nor  did  this 
escape  the  people,  especially  as  these  hypocrites  sought  to  attract 
attention  by  cxaj^gerated  displays,  and  contemptuous  bynames  were 
presently  given  them.  The  name  of  Pharisee  came  to  be  lil^e  that 
of  Jesuit  in  the  mouth  of  friends  or  opponents.  Even  Philo  docs  not 
mention  it,  and  it  soon  died  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  people,  and  sur- 
vived only  as  a  term  of  the  schools. 

■\v'iLh  a  system  so  utterly  hollow,  and  yet  so  deeply  rooted  in 
popular  favour,  Jesus  could  hold  no  terms.  Yv'ith  the  better  side  of 
Pharisaism  He  had  much  in  common,  but,  as  it  showed  itself,  in  its 
growing  corruption.  He  could  only  condemn  it.  Zealots  for  words 
and  forms;  lofty  in  abstract  views;  the  mouthpiece  of  the  nation  at 
large,  in  its  religious  and  political  aspirations,  there  must  have  been 
little  real  soundness  in  a  body  at  large,  of  which  a  spirit  so  gentle  as  that 
of  Christ  could  speak  as  whited  sepulchres  and  a  generation  of  vipers. 

To  illustrate  His  meaning,  Jesus  proceeds  to  give  examples  of 
Pharisaic  abuse  of  the  Law,  holding  up  what  is  implied  in  its  due 
observance,  that  He  may  show  how  it  was  broken  by  its  professed 
zealous  defenders.  The  sublime  morality  of  the  New  Kingdom,  with 
its  lofty  spiritualization  of  the  Law,  is.  He  implies,  the  true  conserva- 
tism— it  is  His  opponents  who  are  undermining  it. 

The  Mosaic  prohibition  of  murder  had  been  limited  by  the  Rabbis 
to  literal  liomicide,  and  they  had  added  to  the  brief  words  of  the 
Law,  that  the  criminal  was  in  danger  of  the  judgment  of  God,  in 
some  cases,  and  of  the  Sanhedrim  in  others.  But  this  did  not  satisfy 
the  high  spirituality  of  the  New  Kingdom.  It  included  in  the  brief 
utterance  of  God,  through  ]\Ioses,  a  condemnation  even  of  angry 
words  or  thoughts.  "  I  say  unto  you,  that  every  one  who  is  angry 
with  liis  brother  will  be  liable  to  the  judgment  of  God;  and  whoso- 
ever shall  express  contempt  for  his  brother,  will  be  liable  to  the  San- 
hedrim; and  whosoever  shall  say.  Thou  worthless  one,  will  be  liable 
to  hell  fire.  I  go  beyond  the  Scribes,  for  I  declare,  as  the  fulfiller 
of  the  Law,  that  unrighteous  anger  is  worthy  of  the  full  punishment 
they  attach  to  its  overt  result  in  homicide ;  nay,  more,  I  declare  the 
.expression  of  such  anger  in  bitter  words  as  incurring  the  danger  of 
hell.  Not  to  love  one's  'brother'  is,  with  me,  theessence  of  the 
crime  condemned  by  the  Law :  the  lesser  expressions  of  anger  I  de- 
nounce as  worthy  of  divine,  tliough  temporal  punishment;  in  the 
worst  cases,  as  worthy  of  punishment  in  tlie  world  to  come."  Anger 
with  a  brother  entails  the  anger  and  judgment  of  God:  public  re- 
proach merits  a  public  penalty,  but  he  wiio  would  consign  another 
to  hell  is  himself  in  danger  of  being  sent  to  it.  He  does  not  suppose 
His  disciples  could  possibly  commit  the  crime  of  murder,  or  even 
break  into  open  violence,  but  He  ranks  under  an  equal  guilt  tlie  pas- 
sions which  lead  to  them  in  others.  He  charges  the  murder,  not 
against  the  hand  that  strikes,  but  the  heart  thut  hates. 


THE  LIFE  ar  CHRIST.  429 

This  was  startling  enough,  hut  the  application  made  of  it  must 
have  sounded  no  less  so.  "  Only  the  pure  in  heart  can  see  God,  and 
hence  it  is  vain  for  you  to  seek  His  presence  hy  an  offering,  if  you 
have  in  any  way  thus  offended.  If  you  have,  and  in  the  solemn  mo- 
ment of  appearing  before  God  remember  it, — evil  tliougli  men  think 
it  to  break  off  or  interrupt  a  sacrifice, — leave  your  offering  before  the 
altar;  seek  him  whom  you  have  wronged,  and  be  reconciled  to  him, 
and,  then,  come  and  offer  your  gift.  You  have  wronged  God,  not 
man  only.  Beware  lest,  if  you  do  not  make  peace  with  Him,  by 
instant  atonement  to  your  brother,  He  act  to  you  as  a  creditor  does 
with  a  debtor  he  meets  in  the  street — whom  he  delivers  up  to  the 
judge,  and  whom  the  judge  hands  over  to  the  officer  to  cast  into 
prison.  1  tell  you,  if  God  thus  let  His  anger  kindle  upon  you,  you 
will  not  come  out  till  you  have  paid  the  last  farthing!" 

The  Pharisaic  doctrine  of  marriage  offences  and  divorce  was  next 
unsparingly  condemned,  as  an  inadequate  expression  of  the  spirit  of 
the  Law.  It  restricted  adultery  to  the  crime  itself,  and  it  sanctioned. 
divorce  at  the  mere  whim  of  the  husband.  Doubtless  individual 
Rabbis  represented  healthier  views  than  others,  but  they  did  not 
affect  the  prevailing  tone.  As  with  homicide,  so.  in  adultery,  the 
morality  of  the  New  Kingdom  traced  the  crime  home  to  the  heart, 
and  condemned  the  unclean  glance  as  a  virtual  commission  of  the 
crime  itself.  The  thoughts  were  nothing,  in  the  loose  morality  of  the 
day,  but  Jesus  arraigns  the  secret  lusts  of  the  breast,  with  an  earnest- 
ness unknown  to  the  Rabbis.  Unconditional  self-mortification  is  to 
be  carried  out,  when  guilty  thoughts  imperil  the  soul.  "If  your 
right  eye,"  says  He,  "or  your  riglit  hand,  your  sight  or  your  touch, 
lead  you  into  temptation,  it  is  better  for  you  to  pluck  out  the  one, 
and  cut  off  the  other,  ratlier  than  be  led  astray,  and  not  only  lose  a 
share  in  my  kingdom,  but  be  cast  into  hell  hereafter."  Not  that  He 
meant  this  in  a  hard  and  literal  sense.  The  sin  is  with  Him,  in  the 
heart,  but  the  senses  are  its  instruments,  and  no  guard  can  be  too 
strict,  no  self-restraint  too  great,  if  they  endanger  spiritual  purity. 

The  Pharisaic  laws  of  divorce  were  shamefully  loose.  "If  any 
one,"  said  the  Rabbis,  "see  a  woman  handsomer  than  his  wife,  he 
may  dismiss  liis  wife  and  marry  that  woman,"  and  they  had  the  audac- 
ity to  justify  this  by  a  text  of  Scripture.  Even  the  strict  Schammai 
held  that  if  a  wife  went  out  without  being  shrouded  in  the  veil  which 
Eastern  women  still  wear,  she  might  be  divorced,  and  hence  many 
Rabbis  locked  up  their  wives  when  they  went  out!  While  some 
held  that  divorce  should  be  lawful  only  for  adultery,  others,  like 
Josephus,  claimed  the  right  to  send  away  their  wives  if  they  were 
not  pleased  with  their  behaviour.  The  school  of  Hillel  even  main- 
tained that,  if  a  wife  cooked  her  husband's  food  badly,  by  over-salting 
or  over-roasting  it,  he  might  put  her  away,  and  he  might  also  do  so  if 
she  were  stricken  by  any  grievous  bodily  affliction '  The  facility  of 
divorce  among  the  Jews,  had,  indeed,  become  sp  great  a  scandal. 


430  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

even  amonj;  their  heathen  neighbours,  that  the  Rabbis  were  fain 
to  boast  of  it  as  a  privilege  granted  to  Israel,  but  not  to  other  na- 
tions! 

The  woman  divorced  was  at  once  free  to  marry,  her  letter  of  dis- 
missal, signed  by  witnesses,  expressly  granting  her  the  liberty  to  do  so. 

Rising  high  above  all  this  festering  hypocrisy,  the  law  of  the  Few 
Kingdom  sounded  out,  clear  and  decisive.  '"It  has  been  said  by 
Moses,"  continued  Jesus,  "Whosoever  shall  put  away  his  wife,  let 
him  give  her  a  bill  of  divorce.  But  I  say  unto  ycu,  that  whosoever 
shall  put  away  his  wife,  except  for  fornication,  causes  her  to  be  the 
occasion  of  adultery  if  she  marry  again,  for  she  is  still  a  wife:  and 
who.soever  marries  her,  when  put  away,  thus  commits  adultery." 

The  use  of  oaths  was  no  less  prevalent  in  Christ's  day  than  it  still 
is  in  the  East,  and  the  Rabbis  had  sanctioned  the  practice  by  laying 
down  minute  rules  for  its  regulation.  The  law  of  Moses  had  abso- 
lutely forbidden  perjury,  but'the  casuistry  of  the  Rabbis  had  so  dark- 
ened the  whole  subject  of  oaths,  that  they  had,  in  effect,  become 
utterly  worthless.  They  were  formally  classed  under  different  heads, 
in  Rabbinical  jurisprudence,  and  endless  refinements  opened  facilities 
for  any  one  to  break  them  who  wished.  Their  number  was  endless; 
men  swore  by  heaven,  by  the  earth,  by  the  sun,  by  the  prophets,  by 
the  Temple,  by  Jerusalem,  by  the  altar,  by  the  wood  used  for  it,  by 
the  sacritices,  by  the  Temple  vessels,  by  their  own  heads. 

By  joining  a  second  text,  from  a  different  part,  to  the  prohibition 
of  perjury,  the  Scribes  had,  in  effect,  opened  the  door  to  every  abuse. 
To  the  prohibition  of  Moses,  "Thou  shalt  not  swear  falsely,"  they 
had  added  the  charge,  "but  shalt  perform  unto  the  Lord  thine  oaths," 
and  from  this  it  was  argued  that  no  oath  was  binding,  either  on  one's- 
self  or  towards  others,  which  had  no  vow  of  sacritice  as  a  part  of  it, 
or  if  the  vow  had  been  punctually  fullilled."  Any  oath,  any  decep- 
tion towards  God  or  man,  and  even  perjury  itself,  was  thus  sanc- 
tioned, if  it  were  only  consecrated  and  purified  by  an  offering.  The 
garrulous,  exaggerating,  crafty  Jew  needed  to  be  checked,  rather  than 
helped  in  his  untruthfulness,  but  the  guardians  of  the  purity  of  the 
Law  had  invented  endless  oaths,  with  minute  discriminations,  and 
verbal  shades  and  catches,  which  did  not  expressly  name  God,  or  the 
Temple,  or  the  altar,  and  these  the  people  might  use,  without  scruple, 
mock  oaths,  harmless  to  themselves  and  of  no  binding  force ! 

Against  such  equivocation  and  consecrated  hypocrisy  Jesus  lifted 
His  voice.  "I  say  unto  you,  swear  not  at  all;  neither  by  heaven, 
for  it  is  God's  throne;  neither  by  the  earth,  for  it  is  His  footstuol; 
nor  by  Jerusalem,  for  it  is  the  city  of  the  Great  King.  You  would 
tremble  to  swear  by  God,  but  when  you  swear  by  anything  connected 
with  His  works  or  His  worship,  you  swear,  in  reality,  by  Himself. 
Nor  shall  you  swear  by  your  head,  for  you  cannot  make  a  hair  of  it 
white  or  black;  and,  thus,  your  oaths  by  it  are  idle  words.  But  let 
your  speech  be  simply  yes  and  no,  for  what  exceeds  these  is  from  the 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  431 

'evil  one.'  As  my  disciples,  your  word  is  enough:  j-ou  -will  speak 
only  as  ever  in  the  presence  of  God." 

The  theory  of  life  under  the  New  Kingdom,  as  vrc  have  seen,  wa3 
the  very  opposite  of  tliat  held  by  the  schools  of  the  day.  Prosperity, 
vrith  them,  was  an  imbroken  enjoyment  of  life  to  extreme  old  aire, 
abundance  of  worldly  comforts,  and  continuous  success  in  all  undcr- 
takinjTs,  and  triumphant  victory  over  all  enemies.  All  this  was  ex- 
]iecled  as  the  just  reward  of  a  stiict  obedience  to  Rabbinical  prescrip- 
tions, which  constituted  the  "  righteousness  of  the  Law. "  Jesus  held 
forth  the  very  opposite  of  all  this  as  the  blessedness  to,  be  sought  in 
the  New  Kingdom.  Poverty,  sorrow,  and  persecution,  were  to  be 
the  natural  lot  of  Ilis  followers,  but  their  transcendent  reward,  here- 
after, and  the  love  which  inspired  such  devotion,  transfigured  them 
to  gain  and  honour,  and  demanded  the  highest  joy. 

To  make  the  contrast  more  vivid  between  the  Old  Kingdom  and 
the  New,  He  had  added  "  woes"  in  connection  with  all  that  the 
former  had  praised  as  specially  blessed.  The  rich,  who  have  their 
reward  in  their  earthly  possessions;  the  prosperous,  who  cared  for 
notliing  except  this  world,  would  suffer  hunger  hereafter;  those  who 
cared  only  for  present  jo ",  would  one  day  mourn  and  weep ;  those 
whom  men  praised,  would  find  the  praise  only  deceiving  flatter}-. 
Patience,  humility,  gentleness,  resignation,  and  love,  were  to  charac- 
terize the  New  Israel;  the  virtues  and  rewards  of  the  soul;  the  piety 
of  form  and  rew;irds  in  this  world,  Avere  discountenanced.  The 
New  Kingdom  was  to  win  4iearts  by  spiritual  attractions,  till  now 
little  valued. 

As  a  practical  application  of  the  ideal,  thus  sketched,  He  required 
His  followers  to  repudiate  the  Old  Testament  doctrine  of  retaliation, 
with  the  endless  refinements  of  the  Rabbis,  and  to  adopt,  in  its  place, 
the  principle  of  overcoming  evil  with  good.  Antiquity,  both  Jewish 
and  heathen,  cherished  the  idea  of  revenge  for  injuries.  To  requite 
like  with  like  was  assumed  as  both  just  and  righteous.  Even  Socrates 
had  no  higher  idea  of  virtue  than  to  surpass  friends  in  showing  kind- 
ness, and  enemies  in  inflicting  hurt.  Plato,  indeed,  held  that  revenge 
was  wrong,  and  that  no  one  should  do  evil  on  any  ground ;  that  it 
was  worse  to  do  wrong  than  to  suffer  it,  and  that  the  virtuous  man 
would  not  injure  any  one,  because  to  do  so  injured  himself.  But 
Plato  had  only  in  his  mind,  in  these  noble  sentiments,  the  relations 
of  Greek  citizens  to  each  other,  to  the  exclusion  of  slaves,  and  of  all 
the  world  but  his  own  race;  and  the  motive  for  his  magnanimity  was 
not  love  for  the  individual  man,  or  for  ideal  humanity,  but  only  polit- 
ical justice  and  right.  Roman  stoicism  rose  higher,  but  its  injunctions 
of  kindness  to  enemies  were  rather  the  expression  of  self-approving 
virtue  than  of  loving  moral  conviction.  Among  the  Jews,  retaliation 
had  the  sanction  of  Moses.  Eye  for  eye,  tooth  for  tooth,  hand  for 
hand,  foot  for  foot,  burning  for  burning,  wound  for  wound,  stripe  for 
Btripe,  are  required  by  him.     The  stern  Sadducee  party  clung  to  the 


433  THE  LIFE  OP  CHBIST. 

letter  of  the  Law,  but  the  milder  Pharisees  had  invented  a  scale  of 
money  payments  instead.  As  in  our  own  middle  ages,  a  tariff  of 
fines  was  constructed  for  each  personal  injury;  for  tearing  the  hair, 
for  a  cuff  on  the  ear,  a  blow  on  the  back,  spitting  on  the  person, 
taking  away  an  under  garment,  uncovering  a  woman's  head,  and  the 
like.  The  value  of  a  hand,  or  foot,  or  an  eye,  was  computed  by  the 
depreciation  it  would  have  made  in  the  value  of  a  slave.  A  blow  on 
the  ear  was  variously  set  at  the  fine  of  a  shilling  or  a  pound :  a  blow 
on  the  one  cheek  at  two  hundred  zuzees;  on  both  cheeks,  at  double. 
To  tear  out  hair,  to  spit  on  the  person,  to  take  away  one's  coat,  or  to 
uncover  a  woman's  head,  was  compensated  by  a  payment  of  four 
hundred  ZAizees. 

This  rude  and  often  mercenary  softening  of  the  harshness  of  the 
old  Law  fell  wholly  below  the  requirements  of  the  New  Kingdom. 
Its  members  must  suffer  wrong  patiently,  that  the  conscience  of  the 
"wrong-doer.^^become  its  own  accuser, — might  be  won  to  repentance, 
by  the  lesson  of  unresisting  meekness.  Christ's  own  divine  charity 
and  foi'giveness  was  to  be  repeated  by  His  followers.  Sin  was  to  be 
conquered  by  being  made  to  feel  the  power  of  goodness.  The  present 
was,  at  best,  only  a  discipline  for  the  future,  and  the  patient  endur- 
ance of  wrong,  from  Christ-like  love  and  gentleness,  was  part  of  tha 
preparation  for  the  pure  joys  of  the  Messianic  kingdom.  "  Ye  have 
heard,"  said  lie,  "that  it  was  said,  An  eye  for  gn  eye,  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth.  But  I  say  unto  you,  that  ye  resist  rot  the  evil  man ;  but 
whosoever  smites  thee  on  the  riglit  cheek,  turn  to  lihn  the  other  also. 
And  to  him  who  desires  to  contend  with  thee  and  take  thy  coat, 
leave  him  thy  cloak  also.  And  whosoever  shall  prei^fi  thee  one  mile, 
go  with  him  two.  To  him  that  asks  thee,  give,  and  from  him  that 
desires  to  borrow  of  thee,  turn  not  away."  The  spirit  of  such  injunc- 
tions is  evident.  Hasty  retaliation ;  readiness  to  stand  on  one's  rights 
in  all  cases;  deliberate  revenge  rather  than  pity,  are  ULV/orthy  a  mem- 
ber of  the  New  Kingdom.  It  is  for  him  to  teach  by  bearing,  yield- 
ing, and  giving,  and  not  by  words  only.  The  virtues  he  commends 
he  is  to  illustrate.  But  it  is  far  from  the  teaching  of  Christ  that  law 
is  to  cease,  or  that  the  evil-doer  is  to  have  everything  at  hh  mercy. 
Only,  as  far  as  possible,  the  principle  of  His  kingdom  i»  tP  be  the 
purest,  deepest,  self-sacrificing  love. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII- 

THE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT  {Concluded). 

Jesus  had  led  His  audience  step  by  step  to  higher  and  higher 
conceptions,  and  now,  by  an  easy  transition,  raised  them  to  the  high- 
est of  all. 

The  character  of  any  religion  depends  on  its  idea  of  God.  The 
Jews  had  no  loftier  thought  of  Him  than  as  a  national  deity,  the 
Father  of  Israel  and  of  its  proselytes,  but  not  the  God  of  the  world  at 
larsrc.  They  looked  on  Him  also  as  a  jealous  God,  and  tiie  Pharisee 
urged  himself  to  a  painful  zeal  in  his  fullilment  of  the  Law  by  the 
thought  that  the  sins  of  the  father  were  visited  on  the  third  and  fourth 
generation.  If  he  agonized  to  carry  out  a  thousand  minute  prescrip- 
tions, if  the  Essene  secluded  himself  in  hurtful  loneliness,  if  the  Sad- 
ducee  toiled  to  discharge  all  that  was  required  in  the  service  of  the 
Temple,  and  in  the  presentation  of  offerings,  if  tl>e  people  mourned 
in  the  apprehension  that  God  had  forsaken  them,  it  was  because  all 
alike  looked  up  to  a  Being  who,  as  they  believed,  required  what  they 
could  hardly  render.  They  should  have  drawn  other  conceptions 
from  their  ancient  Scriptures,  but  they  did  not.  They  had  always 
learned  much  that  was  true  and  sublime  from  the  Law  and  the 
Prophets— the  Majesty  of  God  and  the  dependence  of  the  creature — 
the  dignity  of  man  as  the  divine  image,  and  the  kingly  relation  of 
Jehovah  to  Israel — His  son.  His  lirst-born.  His  bride,  Ilis  spouse. 
Tliey  had  never  lost  the  conviction  that  their  nation  could  not  perish, 
because  the  honour  of  God  was  pledged  to  defend  it,  and  they  even 
looked  forward,  with  a  frenzied  earnestness,  to  a  future  when  He 
would  send  His  Messiah,  and  raise  them  above  all  the  nations.  As 
Jews,  many  dou])tlQSs  drew  comfort  from  the  divine  words,  that,  like 
as  a  father  pitieth  his  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear 
Him.  But  their  theology  had  sunk  to  a  mere  mercenary  relation  of 
performance  and  reward.  The  idea  of  a  strict  return  of  good  for 
good,  or  evil  for  evil,  extended  to  the  next  world  as  well  as  this, 
and  at  the  best,  God  was  only  the  Father  of  Israel,  not  of  mankind. 
Still,  above  all,  the  Master,  looking  for  service  from  man  as  the  ser- 
vant— the  fond  thought  of  His  fatherhood,  even  in  its  limited  national 
sense,  grew  more  and  more  common  as  Christ's  day  grew  near.  The 
Jew  was  being  educated  for  the  divine  announcement  of  the  whole 
truth. 

The  heathen  world,  also,  had  long  been  unconsciously  preparing 
for  its  proclamation.  Greek  philosophy  had  spoken  of  the  Father  of 
gods  and  men.  Man  was  the  divine  image  an(l  of  divine  origin — the 
friend,  the  fellow-citizen,  the  emanation,  the  Son,  of  God.  In  an  in- 
sincere age,  when  fine  words  were  used  as  mere  rhetorical  flourishes. 


434  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

springing  from  no  conviction  or  earnestness,  Seneca,  a  generation 
later,  was  able  to  speak  almost  like  a  Christian,  "The  gods,"  said 
he,  "are  full  of  pity  and  friendliness — do  everything  for  our  good, 
and  for  our  benefit  have  created  all  kinds  of  blessings,  with  exhaust- 
less  bounty,  and  prepared  everything  for  us  beforehand.  What  they 
have  they  make  over  to  us:  that  is  how  they  use  things;  and  they  are 
unwearied,  day  and  night,  dispensing  their  benefits  as  the  protectors 
of  the  human  race.  We  are  loved  by  them  as  childern  of  their  bosom, 
and,  like  loving  parents,  they  smile  at  the  faults  of  their  children, 
and  cease  not  to  bestow  kindness  on  kindness  to  us;  give  us  before 
we  ask,  and  coDtinue  to  do  so,  although  we  do  not  thank  them,  and 
even  though  we  cry  out  defiantly,  '  1  shall  take  nothmg  from  them; 
let  them  keep  what  they  liave  for  themselves! '  The  sun  rises  over 
the  unjust,  and  the  seas  spread  out  even  for  sea  robbers.  The  gods 
are  easily  appeased,  never  unforgiving:  how  unfortunate  were  we  if 
they  v^^ere  not  so!"  Thus  also  "The  way  of  man,  in  which  the  god- 
like walks,  goes  upwards  to  the  gods,  who  reach  out  the  hand  to  us 
without  pride  or  jealousy,  to  help  us  to  rise.  We  need  no  temple, 
nor  even  to  lift  up  our  liands  to  heaven :  God  is  near  thee;  the  Holy 
Spirit,  the  Watcher  over  good  or  evil,  Avho  ever,  unweariedly,  leads  us 
to  God."  Words  like  these  sound  Christian,  though  we  know  that 
they  were  only  artificial  rhetoric,  composed  to  turn  aside  the  charge 
of  worshipping  stocks  and  stones.  Faith  in  the  divinity  often  gives 
way,  in  Seneca,  before  haughty  pride  in  humanity,  and  that  pride,  in 
turn,  sinks  before  the  dark  future.  The  fancy  played  over  the  dark 
abj'ss  with  empty  words  of  comfort,  respecting  the  father-like  gods 
and  god-like  man,  but  even  prosperity  could  hardly  amuse  itself  with 
them,  and  the  hour  of  trial  repeated  them  with  hollow  laughter  and 
self-murder.  Yet  they  were  there  to  use  for  the  highest  good,  had 
men  chosen.  The  religous  education  of  the  world  had  gradually, 
through  long  ages,  become  ready  for  the  teachings  of  Jesus. 

The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  was  spoken  while  every  sign  of  the 
wrath  of  God  with  the  nation  lay  like  a  burden  otf  all,  and  perplexed 
the  masters  in  Israel.  Yet  it  was  then  that  Jesus  revealed  that  God 
was  the  Father  of  men,  and  had  loved  them  from  the  beginning  of 
the  world,  appealing  for  proof  even  to  the  lilies  of  the  field  and  the  birds 
of  the  air.  For  the  first  time,  men  heard  that  the  whole  race  were 
the  sons  of  the  great  heavenly  Father;  that  the  world  lay  in  the  sun- 
shine of  His  cLernal  love,  and  that  all  alike  were  invited  to  seek  His 
face.  It  was  the  first  proclamation  of  a  universal  religion,  and,  as 
such,  an  event  unique  in  the  history  of  mankind.  In  the  early  ages 
of  the  world,  war  was  perpetual.  Eveu  after  men  had  long  adopted 
city  life  and  its  civilization,  a  btranger  and  art  enemy  were  synony- 
mous. Thus,  in  the  first  ages  of  Home,  a  stranger  who  had  not  put 
himself  formally  under  the  protection  of  some  Koman,  had  no  rights 
and  no  protection.  What  the  Koman  citizen  took  from  him  was  as 
lawful  gain  as  the  shell  wliich  no  one  owned,  picked  up  on  the  sea- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  436 

shore.  He  was  like  a  wild  beast,  to  be  hunted  and  preyed  on  at  any 
one's  will.  To  use  Mommsen's  figure,  a  tribe  or  people  must  be 
either  the  anvil  or  the  hammer.  Ulysses  was  only  the  type  of  the 
world  at  large  in  his  day,  when,  in  the  early  part  of  his  wanderings, 
he  landed  in  Thrace,  and  having  found  a  city,  instantly  sacked  it 
and  killed  all  the  inhabitants.  Where  there  was  no  express  treaty, 
plunder  and  murder  were  always  to  be  dreaded.  The  only  safety  of 
individuals  or  communities  was  their  own  capacity  of  self-defence. 
As  tribes  and  clans  expanded  to  nations,  the  blood  connection 
secured  peace,  more  or  less,  in  the  area  they  occupied,  and,  ultimately, 
the  interests  of  commerce,  or  the  impulse  of  self-perservation,  joined 
even  slates  of  different  nationalities  in  peaceful  alliances.  Isolated 
nations,  like  the  Jews,  still  kept  up  the  intense  aversion  to  all  but 
their  own  race,  but  the  progress  of  the  world  made  them  more  and 
more  exceptional. 

Before  the  age  of  Christ,  the  conquests  of  Rome  had  broken  down 
the  dividing  walls  of  nationality  over  the  civilized  earth,  and  had 
united  all  races  iinder  a  common  government,  which  secured  a  wide- 
spread peace,  hitherto  imknown.  Men  of  races  living  far  apart  found 
themselves  free  to  compete  for  the  highest  honours  of  public  life  or 
of  letters,  and  Rome  accepted  emperors  and  men  of  genius,  alike, 
from  the  obscure  populations  of  the  provinces. 

But  though  conquest  had  forced  the  nations  into  an  outward  unity, 
there  was  no  real  fusion  or  brotherhood.  Man.  as  man,  had  gained 
nothing.  The  barbarian  and  the  slave  were  no  less  despised  than 
before,  and  had  gained  no  more  rights.  The  Romans  had  been  forced, 
for  their  own  sakes,  to  raise  the  conquered  to  more  or  less  political 
equality  with  themselves,  but  they  did  so  from  no  sentiment,  of  re- 
spect to  them  as  fellow-men,  and  still  bore  themselves  towards  them 
with  the  same  haughty  superiority  and  ill-concealed  aversion.  It 
was  the  peace  of  political  and  even  moral  death.  All  mankind  had 
become  the  slaves  of  the  despot  on  the  Tiber.  Ancient  virtues  had 
passed  away,  and  vice  and  corruption,  unequ'\lled,  perhaps,  in  any 
age,  lay  like  a  deadly  miasma  over  universal  society.  The  union  of 
the  world  was  regretted,  as  superseding  the  times  when  Rome  could 
indulge  its  tastes  in  war  and  plunder.  It  was  a  political  comprehen- 
sion, not  a  moral  federation.  The  hostility  of  the  past  was  impos- 
sible, but  the  world  had  only  become  a  mob,  not  a  brotherhood,  ot 
nations,  and  had  sunk  in  morality,  as  it  had  advanced  in  outward  alli- 
ance. 

With  the  Jews,  the  old  hatred  of  all  races  but  their  own  had  grown 
with  the  calamities  of  the  nation.  It  seemed  to  them  a  duty  to  hate 
the  heathen  and  the  Samaritan,  but  their  cynicism  extended,  besides, 
to  all  respecting  Avhom  the  jealousy  for  the  honour  of  the  Law  had 
raised  suspicion.  They  hated  the  publicans;  the  Rabbi  hated  the 
priest,  the  Pharisee  the  Sudducee,  and  both  loathed  and  hated  the 
common  peopl«,  who  did  not  know  the  ten  thousand  injunctions  of 


436  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  schools.  They  had  forgotten  what  the  Old  Testament  taught 
of  the  love  of  God  towards  men,  and  of  the  love  due  by  man  to  his 
fellow.  They  remembered  that  they  had  been  commanded  to  show 
no  favour  to  the  sunken  nations  of  Canaan,  but  they  forgot  that  they 
had  not  been  told  to  hate  them.  The  Law  had  said  "Thou  shalt 
love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself;"  but  their  neighbour,  they  assumed, 
meant  only  a  Jew  or  a  proselyte,  and  they  had  added  that  they  should 
"hate  their  enemies."  "If  a  Jew  see  a  Gentile  fall  into  the  sea," 
wrote  Maimonides,  still  cherishing  the  old  feeling  centuries  later,  "let 
him  by  no  means  take  him  out;  for  it  is  written,  '  Thou  shalt  not  rise 
up  against  the  blood  of  thy  neighbour, '  but  this  is  not  thy  neighbour. " 
The  spirit  of  revenge  which  prevailed,  embittered  even  private  life 
among  the  Jews  themselves.  Each  had  his  own  enemies,  whom  he 
felt  free  to  hate  and  to  injure,  and  all,  alike,  hated  Avhole  classes  of 
their  own  nation,  and  the  whole  heathen  races. 

Jesus  was,  now,  by  a  simple  utterance,  to  create  a  new  religious  era. 
"Ye  have  heard,"  said  He,  "that  it  was  said.  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbour  and  hate  thine  enemy.  But  I  say  unto  you.  Love  your 
enemies,  and  pray  for  them  who  persecute  you;  that  ye  may  become 
sons  of  your  Father,  who  is  in  heaven ;  for  He  makes  His  sun  to  rise  on 
the  evil  and  good,  and  sends  rain  on  the  righteous  and  imrighteous. 
For  if  ye  love  them  that  love  you,  what  reward  have  ye?  (in  my 
kingdom).  Do  not  even  the  (hated)  publicans  the  same?  And  if  ye 
salute  your  brethren  only,  what  do  ye  that  exceeds?  Do  not  even  the 
(heathen)  Gentiles  the  same  thing?  Be  ye,  therefore,  perfect,  as  your 
heavenly  Father  is  perfect." 

It  was  a  new  era  for  man.  Heathenism  had  fine  sentiments,  but 
they  were  supported  by  no  high  morality,  and  no  living  hopes.  Thu 
Old  Testament  often  commended  kindness  and  mercy,  but  it  also 
sanctioned  revenge  and  triumph  over  the  fall  of  an  enemy,  and,  even 
in  the  most  attractive  passages,  it  seemed  as  if  piety  were  expected 
to  make  the  anger  of  God  on  one's  adversaries  the  more  certain.  But 
Jesus  throws  down  the  dividing  prejudices  of  nationality,  and  teaches 
universal  love  without  distinction  of  race,  merit,  or  rank.  A  man's 
neighbour,  henceforth,  was  every  one  who  needed  help,  even  an 
enemy.  AH  men,  from  the  slave  to  the  highest,  were  sons  of  one 
Father  in  heaven,  and  should  feel  and  act  towards  each  other,  as 
brethren.  No  human  standard  of  virtue  would  suffice :  no  imitation  of 
the  loftiest  examples  among  men.  Moral  perfection  had  been  recog- 
nized, alike  by  heathen  and  Jews,  as  found  only  in  likeness  to  the 
divine,  and  that  Jesus  proclaims  as,  henceforth,  the  one  ideal  for  all 
humanity.  With  a  sublime  enthusiasm  and  brotherly  love  for  the  race. 
He  rises  above  His  age,  and  annoxHices  a  common  Father  of  all  man- 
kind, and  one  grand  spiritual  ideal  in  resemblance  to  Him. 

With  this  grand  truth  of  Christianity  the  relation  of  man  to  His' 
maker  was  entirely  changed.  The  love  of  a  child  to  a  father  took 
the  place  of  fear,  as  a  motive  to  His  service.     A  new  spiritual  king- 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  437 

dom  of  filial  love  and  obedience  was  called  into  being,  with  filial 
yearnings  after  Him,  and  childlike  devotion  to  His  will — a  kingdom 
In  which  the  humble,  the  meek,  and  the  merciful  found  their  heaven, 
and  in  which  all  who  hungered  and  thirsted  after  righteousness  felt 
that  they  could  be  satisfied.  The  pure  in  heart  were,  as  such,  its 
citizens;  the  souls  who  love  the  things  of  peace  were  called  its  children, 
and  those  who  bore  presecution  and  sorrow  for  the  sake  of  righteous- 
ness were  to  inherit  it. 

To  be  "  perfect  as  the  great  Father  in  heaven  is  perfect,"  is  to  do 
God's  will  on  earth  as  the  angels  do  it  above,  and,  hence,  the  new 
kingdom  is  thus  spoken  of  elsewhere.  It  was  to  be  wholly  spiritual, 
in  contrast  to  the  political  dreams  of  the  Pharisees.  Tliey  had  trans- 
formed the  predictions  of  the  prophets  to  a  political  programme, 
which  should  be  realized  by  war  against  Rome,  and  zealous  agitation 
against  the  Sadducean  aristocracy.  They  thought  of  another  ]\Iac- 
caboean  war,  to  be  followed  by  a  revelation  of  the  Messiah  from 
heaven.  The  kingdom  of  Jesus,  on  the  contrary,  was  not  to  rise  like 
a  Slate,  so  that  men  could  say  it  was  here,  or  there,  because  it 
was  already  in  their  midst.  It  could  not  be  otherwise,  lie  had  pro- 
claimed that  God  was  the  great  Father,  and,  as  such,  the  loving, 
filial  desire  that  they  might  be  His  children  thrust  aside  the  cold 
thought  of  reward,  which  had  hitherto  ruled.  He  proclaimed  that 
God  loved  them,  not  in  return  for  their  services,  but  from  the  love 
and  tenderness  of  a  Father's  heart,  which  sent  forth  His  sun  over  good 
and  bad  alike,  and  rejoiced  more  over  a  sinner's  repentance  than  over 
the  weary  exactness  in  Rabbinical  rules  of  fifty  who  thought  them- 
selves righteous.  The  fundamental  principle  of  the  Judaism  of  the 
tlay  was  undermined  by  the  new  doctrine.  What  need  was  there 
longer  for  offerings,  for  Temple  ritual,  for  washings  or  fastings,  or 
scrupulous  tithings,  Avhen  the  great  Father  sought  only  the  heai  t  of 
His  i)euilent child?  The  hope  of  the  Rabbis  that  they  could  hold  God 
to  the  fulfilment  of  what  they  thought  His  promises,  if  only  the  Jlosaic 
ideal  of  the  theocracy,  in  their  sense,  was  restored,  fell  to  the  ground. 
The  isolation  of  the  Jews,  and  their  glory  as  the  chosen  people  of  God, 
were  things  of  the  past.  One  part  of  the  theocracy  after  the  other 
was  doomed  to  fall  before  this  grand  proclamation,  for  its  foundations 
were  sapped.  The  Fatherhood  of  God,  which  now  falls  like  an 
empty  sound  on  the  ear  of  the  multitude,  was,  at  its  utterance,  the 
creation  of  a  new  world. 

Jesus  had,  now,  set  forth  the  characteristics  of  citizenship  in  His 
new  kingdom,  and  the  new  law;  He  pas.sed,  ne.xt,  to  the  new  life. 
A  Avarning  was  needed  to  guard  His  followers,  in  their  religious 
duties,  from  the  abuses  of  the  Rabbinical  party. 

Almsgiving  had  been  exalted  by  the  Scribes  to  an  act  in  itself 
meritorious  before  God.  The  words  "alms,"  and  "righteousness," 
were,  indeed,  used  interchangeably.  "  For  one  farthing  given  to  the 
poor,"  said  the  Rabbis,  "a  man  will  receive  heaven.''    The  words, 


438  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

' '  I  shall  behold  Thy  face  in  righteousness, "  were  rendered  in  the 
gloss  "because  of  alms."  "This  money,"  said  others,  "goes  for 
alms,  that  my  sons  may  live,  and  that  1  may  obtain  the  world  to 
come."  "A  man's  table  now  expiates  by  alms,  as  the  altar, 
heretofore,  did  by  sacrifice. "  "He  who  gives  alms  will  be  kept  from 
all  evil."  In  an  age  when  the  religious  spirit  was  dead,  outward  acts 
of  religion  were  ostentatiously  practised,  at  once  to  earn  a  reward 
from  God,  and  to  secure  honour  for  holiness  from  men.  Religion 
was  acted  for  gain,  either  jjresent  or  future.  Against  such  hopocrisy 
Jesus  warns  His  followers.  ' '  Take  heed  that  ye  do  not  your  righteous- 
ness before  men,  to  be  seen  by  them,  otherwise  jou  have  no  reward  with 
your  Father  who  is  in  heaven. "  They  were  to  draw  no  attention  to 
their  charity,  by  having  it  proclaimed  in  the  synagogue,  or  by  osten- 
tatiously giving  it  in  the  streets,  to  earn  praise  of  men,  but  were  to 
liide  it  as  if  they  would  not  even  let  their  left  hand  know  what  their 
right  hand  was  doing.  Sincerity  only,  gave  charity  value.  The 
amount  was  not  essential:  the  spirit  was  all.  Insincerity  had  no 
reward  but  the  empty  honour  from  men,  got  by  deceit;  sincerity  was 
rewarded  by  their  Father  in  Heaven,  who  saw  the  secret  deed. 

Even  ])rayer  had  become  a  foniial  mechanical  act,  prescribed  by 
exact  rules.  The  hours,  the  matter,  the  manner,  were  all  laid  down. 
A  rigid  Pharisee  prayed  many  times  a  day,  and  too  many  took  care 
to  liave  the  hours  of  prayer  overtake  them,  decked  in  their  broad 
phylacteries,  at  the  street  corners,  that  they  m.ight  publicly  show  their 
devoutness, — or  went  to  the  synagogue  that  the  congregation  might 
see  it.  Nor  were  they  content  with  short  prayers,  but  leugthened 
their  devotions  as  if  to  make  a  merit  of  their  duration.  Instead  of 
this,  the  members  of  the  new  kingdom  were  to  retire  to  strict  secrecy 
when  they  prayed,  and  address  their  Father  who  sees  in  secret,  and 
would  reward  them  hereafter,  in  the  future  world,  for  their  sincerity. 
Nor  wei-e  they  to  use  the  foolish  repetitions  iu  vogue  with  the 
heathen,  who  thought  they  would  be  heard  for  their  much  speaking. 
The  great  Father  knows  what  we  need  before  we  ask  Him,  and  re- 
quires no  lengthened  petitions.  Prayer  in  the  congregation  is  not  for- 
bidden, for  Jesus  Himself  frequented  the  synagogue,  and  joined  in 
public  devotions.  But  private  prayer  must  be  private,  to  guard 
against  human  weakness  corrupting  it  into  worthless  parade.  The 
eunplest,  shortest  prayer,  imheard  by  human  ear,  is  accepted  of  God, 
if  it  rise  from  the  heart:  if  the  heart  be  wanting,  all  i^rayer  is  mere 
form. 

It  is  always  much  eaiser,  however,  to  follow  a  pattern  than  a  precept, 
and,  hence,  Jesus  proceeded  to  set  before  them  a  model  prayer.  '  'After 
this  manner,  therefore,  pray  ye.  Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven, 
hallowed  be  Thy  name,  I'hy  kingdom  come.  Thy  will  be  done,  as 
in  heaven,  so  also  on  earth.  Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.  And 
forgive  us  our  debts  (to  Thee),  as  we,  also,  have  forgiven  our  debtors. 
Aad  lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  deliver  us  from  the  evil  one." 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  439 

He  added  that  our  licing  forgiven  our  trespasses  by  God  depended  on 
cur  forgiving  men  tlieirs  against  us. 

It  was  tlie  custom  of  every  Rabbi  to  teach  liis  disciples  a  form  of 
prayer,  and  in  "The  Lord's  Prayer,"  Jesus,  as  John  already  liad 
done,  followed  the  example.  But  Avbat  a  difference  between  His 
model  and  tliat  of  other  teachers!  He  had  created  a  new  heaven, 
and  a  new  earth,  for  the  soul,  and  in  this  prayer  the  mighty  revela- 
tion of  the  Fatherhood  of  God  shines,  iike  a  sun,  over  all  liumanity. 
The  highest  conceivable  ideal  of  perfection  and  felicity  for  the  race, 
is  offered  in  the  will  of  the  Eternal  Father  being  done  on  earth  as  it 
is  in  heaven.  Childlike  trust  and  dependence  ask,  and  are  conteutec^ 
with,  daily  bounty  from  that  Father's  hand.  His  mercy  is  pleaded 
by  hearts  that  already  have  learned  to  show  it  to  others.  The  spirit 
stands  before  Him  clothed  in  humility,  and  full  of  love  and  tender- 
ness towards  its  fellows.  Conscious  Aveakness  stretches  out  its  hand 
for  heavenly  help,  distrusting  itself,  but  strong  in  a.  Higher.  Each 
clause,  almost  each  word,  is  full  of  the  deepest  significance.  Each  is 
filled  with  divine  light.  After  eighteen  centuries,  Christendom  knows 
no  expression  of  thoughts  and  feelings  so  full  in  so  small  a  compass, 
so  rich,  so  majestic  in  praise  and  petition.  Hallowed  phrases,  cur- 
rent in  His  day,  niay  be  quoted  as  parallels  of  single  parts,  but  He 
alone  united  them  to  Avords  of  His  own  with  a  breadth  and  solidity,  a 
childlike  simplicity  and  wisdom,  a  strength  and  lowliness  wholly  un- 
known in  Jewish  literature. 

Fasting  had  become  one  of  the  prominent  religioiis  usages  of  our 
Saviour's  day.  Though  only  one  fast  had  been  appointed  by  Closes 
— that  of  the  Day  of  Atonement — the  Pharisees  liad  added  numerous 
others,  especially  on  the  two  days  of  the  week,  Monday  and  Thursday, 
on  which  synagogue  worship  was  held.  When  fasting,  they  strewed 
their  heads  with  ashes,  and  neither  washed  nor  anointed  themselves 
nor  trimmed  their  beards,  but  put  on  wretcned  clothing,  and  showed 
themselves  in  all  the  outward  signs  of  mourning  and  sadness  used  for 
the  dead.  Insincerity  made  capital  of  feigned  humiliation  and  contri- 
tion, till  even  the  Roman  theatre  noticed  it.  In  one  of  the  plays  of 
the  time,  a  camel,  covered  with  a  mourning  cloth,  was  led  on  the 
stage.  "Why  is  the  camel  in  mourning?"  asked  one  of  the  players. 
"  Because  the  Jews  are  keeping  the  Sal)bath  year,  and  grow  nothing, 
but  are  living  on  thistles.  The  camel  is  moin-ning  because  its  food  is 
thus  taken  from  it."  Rabbis  were  forbidden  to  anoint  themselves 
before  going  out,  and  it  was  recorded  of  a  specially  famous  doctor, 
that  his  face  was  always  black  Avith  fasting.  All  pretence  Avas  abhor- 
rent to  the  soul  of  Jesus,  especially  in  religion.  "When  ye  fast," 
said  He,  "  be  not  as  the  hypocrites,  of  a  sad  countenance;  for  they 
disfigure  their  faces,  that  they  may  appear  unto  men  to  fast.  Yerily 
I  say  unto  you.  They  have  tlieir  reward.  Bat  do  thou,  Avhen  thou 
fastest,  anoint  thine  head  and  Avash  thy  face ;  that  thou  maj'est  not 
appear  unto  men  to  fast,  but  to  thv  Father  who  is  in  secret,  and 

L  of  c— 15, 


440  ■  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lliy  Father,  ttIio  cces  in  secret,  will  reward  thee."  To  seek  effect, 
applause,  credit,  cr  rain,  ly  a,  shov/  cf  godliness,  must  ho  shunned 
];y  members  cf  the  Ncv\r  Ivingdcm.  It  would  bo  better  to  let  men 
think  evil  cf  l!icm,  than  to  be  tempted  to  use  religion  for  ulterior  ends. 
True  pain  and  true  sorrow  hide  from  the  eye  of  strangers;  they  with- 
draw to  the  secrecy  of  the  breast. 

He  had  already  spoken  cf  the  need  of  care  in  the  right  use  of  the 
blessings  of  life,  but  He  knew  our  proneness  to  forget,  and  returns  to 
the  subject  once  more.  "Heap  not  up  for  j'ourselves, "  said  He, 
"treasures  on  earth,  where  moth  and  rust  consume,  and  Avherc 
thieves  break  through  and  steal.  But  treasure  up  for  jourselves 
treasures  in  heaven,  where  neither  moth  nor  rust  consumes,  and  where 
thieves  do  not  break  through  nor  steal.  For,  if  your  treasure  is  on 
earth,  j-our  Iieart  must  needs  be  careless  of  heaven.  But  if  it  be  in 
heaven,  your  hearts  will  be  there  also.  To  have  it  there,  you  must 
have  the  inner  light  in  your  souls, — j'our  mind  and  heart — by  which 
you  percciver.nd  cherish  the  truth — unclouded.  If  they  be  darkened, 
it  will  turn  your  heart  away  from  the  right  and  divine.  The  body 
without  the  eye  is  in  darkness;  for  light  enters  only  by  the  ej'c,  as 
from  a  lamp.  AVhen  your  eye  issound,  your  body  is  full  of  light ;  when 
it  is  darkened,  all  Avithin  is  night.     Po  is  it  with  the  eye  cf^he  soul." 

"Do  not  fancy,"  He  continued,  "  that  j-ou  can  join  the  striving  for 
riches  and  for  the  kingdom  of  God.  They  are  absolutely  opposed. 
No  man  can  serve  two  masters  T\'hosc  interests  rre  opposite.  Either 
he  will  hate  the  one  and  love  the  other,  cr  he  vvill  hold  to  the  one  and 
despise  the  other.  You  cannot  worship  the  God  of  heaven,  and 
Mammon,  the  god  cf  riches.  To  cerve  God,  and  yet  make  money 
your  idol,  is  impossible!    They  are  opposites!" 

"  An  undivided  heart,  which  worships  God  alone,  and  tnists  Him 
as  it  should,  is  raised  above  anxiety  for  earthly  wants.  Therefore, 
I  say  unto  you,  Be  not  anxious  for  your  life,  what  ye  shall  cat,  nor 
yet  for  your  body,  what  j-e  shall  put  on.  Is  not  the  life  more  than 
the  food,  and  the  body  than  the  raiment?  Behold  the  birds  of  the 
air;  they  sow  not,  neither  reap,  nor  gather  into  barns,  and  yet  your 
Heavenly  Father  feeds  them.  Are  ye  not  much  better  than  they? 
Which  of  you,  by  anxious  thought,  can  add  one  cubit  to  the  length 
ofliislife?  And  about  raiment  why  are  ye  anxious?  Consider  the 
lilies  of  the  field,  how  fair  and  beautiful  they  grow.  They  toil  not, 
neither  do  they  spin,  and  j'et  Solomon,  in  his  royal  robes,  was  not 
arrayed  like  one  of  these.  And  if  God  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the  l^eld, 
which  to-day  is,  and  to-morroAviscast  into  an  oven,  will  He  not  much 
more  clotlie  you,  O  yc  of  little  faith?  Be  not,  therefore,  anxious,' 
saying.  What  shall  we  cat,  or  what  shall  we  drink,  or  what  shall  Ave 
put  on?  For  the  Gentiles  seek  after  all  these  things.  But  j'our 
Heavenly  Father  knov\'s  that  ye  have  need  of  them.  Seek,  fir.st.  His 
kingdom  and  righteousness,  and  they  shall  all  be  added  to  you.  Be 
not,  therefore,  anxious  for  the  morrow.     The  morrov?  will  have  its 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  441 

own  cares.  Each  day's  evil  is  sufficient  for  the  day."  Tin  enjoins 
not  iillc  indifference  and  easiness  of  temper,  but  the  freedom  from 
care  of  a  soul  which  tirmly  trusts  in  the  Providence  of  God.  The 
citizens  of  the  New  Kingdom  might  well  confide  in  tlicir  Heavenly 
Father,  and  amidst  all  the  trials  and  straits  even  of  such  a  martyr 
life  as  had  been  predicted  for  them,  might  and  should  retain  calm  and 
unshaken  confidence  in  the  sustaining  and  guiding  wisdom  and  love 
of  God.  As  His  children,  they  had  an  express  right  to  look  for  His 
all-sufhcientcare. 

No  vice  was  more  rank  among  the  Jews,  through  the  influence  of 
their  priestly  and  Rabbinical  leaders,  than  narrow  bigotrj',  which 
condemned  all  opinions  varying  in  the  least  from  their  own.  They 
were  trained  to  take  it  for  granted  that  their  whole  religious  system, 
in  its  minutest  forms  and  rules — their  religious  thought,  faith,  and 
life — had  been  revealed  by  God  from  heaven.  They  were  a  nation  of 
fanatics,  ready  to  tight  to  the  death  for  any  one  of  the  ten  thousand 
ritual  iujuuctiond  of  their  religious  teachers.  A  discourse  designed 
to  proclaim  the  advent,  character,  and  laws  of  the  new  theocracy, 
could  not  close  without  touching  on  the  duties  of  social  life,  and  lay- 
ing down  principles  for  guidance.  He  had  enjoined  the  broad  lav/ of 
gentle  love,  as  the  rule  for  intercourse  with  men  at  large.  He  now 
illustrates  it  in  additional  applications. 

"Judge  not,"  said  He,  "  that  ye  be  not  judged  (by  God);  condemn 
not,  and  ye  shall  not  be  condemned;  forgive,  and  ye  shall  be  forgiven. 
For  with  what  judgment  ye  judge  (men)  ye  shall  be  judged  (here- 
after). Give,  and  it  will  be  given  to  you;  good  measure,  pressed 
down,  shaken  together,  running  over,  will  they  give  into  your  bosom. 
For  with  what  measure  ye  mete,  it  shall  be  measured  to  j'ou.  Be 
charitable  respecting  the  errors  and  shortcomings  of  others,  that  j-ou 
may  not  have  your  own  sins  brought  against  you  at  the  great  day, 
and  find  there  the  condemnation  you  have  jourself  shown  here.  It 
is  a  fearful  thing  for  you,  who  are  to  teach  men,  to  fall  away  from 
the  truth,  for  how,  then,  will  you  instruct  sinful  men  aright?  If 
the  blind  attempt  to  lead  the  blind  both  fall  into  a  ditch,  and  if  you 
yourselves  be  wrong  you  cannot  lead  others,  who  know  nothing  of  it, 
to  the  salvation  of  the  New  Kingdom.  You  will  both  go  more  and 
more  hopelessly  wrong,  till,  at  last,  you  sink  into  Gehenna.  Those  you 
teach  cannot  be  wiser  than  you,  their  teachers,  for  a  disciple  io  not 
above  his  master,  but  comes,  at  best,  in  the  end,  to  be  like  him.  If, 
then,  you  would  not  be  blind  leaders  of  the  blind,  take  care,  before  yoii 
essay  to  judge  and  better  the  religious  state  of  others,  to  examine 
your  own  spiritual  condition,  and  reform  whatever  is  wroni^  i.i  ;ii. 
NYhy  should  you  mark  the  atom  of  straw  or  dust  that  is  in  }'ok. 
brother's  eye — his  petty  fault — if  you  do  not,  in  your  self-righteoui 
ness,  see  the  beam  that  is  in  your  own  eye?  Self-blinded  hyijocrite! 
first  cast  the  beam  out  of  j'our  own  eye,  autl  then  you  will  SjCc  clcoi'i 
to  cast  the  mote  out  of  your  brother's  eye." 


442  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"  You  Tvill  meet'n'ith  men,"  He  continued,  who,  when  the  divine 
tnith  is  offered  them,  will  only  profane  it — men  utterly  ungodly  and 
hardened,  wlio  wilfully  reject  the  counsel  of  God,  with  Ijlasphomy, 
mocking,  and  slandering.  Do  not  put  it  in  their  power  to  dishonour  it. 
To  do  so  is  like  ca.sting  a  holy  thing  to  the  street  dogs,  or  throwing 
pearls  before  wild  swine,  who  would  only  trample  them  as  worthless 
under  their  feet,  and  turn  against  yourselves  and  rend  you. " 

"You  will  need  help  from  God  m  your  great  task;  lor  your  own 
spiritual  welfare,  and  for  success  in  your  work.  Ask,  therefore,  and 
it  will  be  given  you ;  seelv,  and  ye  will  find ;  knock,  and  it  will  be  opened 
to  3^)U.  For  everyone  that  asks  receives;  and  he  that  geeks  finds; 
and  to  him  that  knocks  it  shall  be  opened.  If  your  eon  ask  bread,  do 
you  mock  him  by  giving  him  a  stone?  or,  if  he  a.sk  a  Csh,  doyou 
mock  him  by  giving  him  a  serpent?  or,  if  he  ask  an  egg,  will  you 
give  liira  a  scorpion?  You  need,  then,  have  no  fear  of  refusal  of 
spiritual  Iielp  from  your  Heavenly  Father,  for  if  j'ou  who  are  sinful, 
though  members  of  the  Isew  Kingdom,  would  not  think  of  refusing 
to  supply  the  wants  of  your  children,  far  less  will  your  Father  above 
refuse  you.  His  spiritual  children,  what  j-ou  need." 

Jesus  had  now  come  to  the  close  of  His  exposition  of  the  nature 
and  duties  of  His  kingdom,  and  ended  His  statement  of  them  by  a 
])rief  recapitulation  and  summary  of  all  He  had  said  of  the  latter,  in 
their  relatipn  to  men  at  large.  "All  things,  therefore,  whatsoever 
ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  j'e  also  so  to  them,  for  this  is 
the  law  and  the  prophets. "  The  Law  had  said,  ' '  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbour  as  thyself,"  Imt  it  had  meant  by  neighbour  a  Jew  or  a 
Ijroselyte,  and  had  commanded  the  extirpation  of  the  C'anaanites,  and 
sanctioned  merciless  war  with  the  heathen  around.  These  grand 
words  were,  therefore,  a  rule  for  the  nation  towards  its  own  members, 
hut  no  great  law  for  mankind.  But  Jesus  ignores  this  narrowness, 
and  proclaims  all  men  brethren,  as  common  children  of  one  Father 
in  Heaven.  This  golden  rule  had  been  proclaimed  more  or  less  fully 
before.  It  is  found  in  Socrates  and  3Ienandcr,  and  even  in  the 
Chinese  classics.  Philo  quotes,  as  an  old  Jewish  saying,  "Do  not  to 
others  Avhat  j'ou  would  be  unwilling  to  suffer;"  and  the  book  of  Tobit 
enjoins,  "Do  that  to  no  man  which  thou  hatest."  In  the  generation 
before  Jesus  it  had  been  repeated  by  Hillel  to  a  heathen,  who  mock- 
ingly asked  him  if  he  could  teach  him  the  whole  Law  while  he  «-tood 
on  one  foot.  "  What  j'ou  would  not  like  done  'o  j'ourself,  do  not  to 
thy  neighbour,"  replied  the  Rabbi — "  this  is  the  whole  Law :  all  the 
rest  is  a  commentary  on  it — go  learn  this."  But,  as  Iiillel  gave  it, 
this  noble  answer  was  only  misleading.  It  avus  striking  to  find  a 
Rabbi  with  such  enlightened  insight  into  the  essence  of  the  Law  as 
to  see  that  all  its  ordinances  and  rites  had  a  moral  end,  but  the  Law 
was  much  more  than  a  mere  code  of  morals  between  man  and  man. 
Its  fitting  summary  is  much  rather  that  central  requirement  repeated 
each  day,  even  till  now,  by  every  Jew  in  his  prayers — "Thou  t-Lalt 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  443 

lore  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thine  licart,  and  Avith  all  thy  soul,  and 
with  all  thy  might.''  ]\Iorality,  apart  from  its  religious  basis  and 
supreme  enforcement,  degrades' the  Law  to  a  level  Avith  the  common 
morality  of  the  world  at  large.  It  was  reserved  for  Jesus  to  announce 
our  duty  to  man  in  its  subordination  to  our  higher  relation  to  God;  to 
make  it  only  ]iart  of  that  filial  love  which  reflects  the  tenderness  on 
all  our  brethren  which  it  feels  supremely  towards  their  Father  and 
ours,  in  Heaven.  With  Him,  love  of  uniVersal  humanity  has  its  deep 
religious  ground  in  theloveof  God  whom  we  are  to  resemble, —towards 
all  the  race,  as  His  children.  The  love  of  man.  He  tells  us,  is  the 
second  great  commandmtnt;  not  the  first;  itis  the  moon  shining  by 
light  borrow^ed  from  that  8un.  The  higliest  of  the  Kabbis  cannot 
stand  in  the  jiresence  of  the  Son  of  i^Iary! 

He  had  reached  His  peroration.  It  remained  only  to  add  solemn 
warnings,  and  these  He  now  gave.  "  Enter  in."  said  He,  "through 
the  narrow  gate,  for  narrow  is  the  gate  and  straitened  is  the  way  of 
self-denial  and  struggle  that  leads  to  life,  and  few  there  are  that 
find  it.  But  wide  is  the  gate  and  broad  is  the  way  of  sin  that  leads 
to  destruction,  and  those  v.ho enter  tbrougli  it  are  many.  Beware  of 
false  teachers,  who  would  turn  you  aside  from  the  safe  road.  They 
will  come  to  you  affecting  to  be  my  followers,  but  they  will  be  only 
wolves  in  sheep's  clothing.  You  will  know  them  fully  by  their 
fruits — that  is,  by  their  lives.  Do  men  gather  grapes  off  thorn.s,  or 
figs  off  thistles?  So,  every  good  tree  brings  forth  good  fruit ;  but  the 
corrupt  tree  brings  forth  evil  fruit.  The  good,  out  of  the  good  treas- 
ure of  the  heart,  bring  forth  tliat  which  is  good;  and  theevil  man, 
out  of  the  evil,  brings  forth  that  whicli  is  evil;  for  out  of  the  abundance 
of  the  heart  his  mouth  speaks.  A  good  tree  cannot  bring  forth  evil 
fruit ;  neither  can  accn-rupt  tree  bring  forth  good  fruit.  Have  nothing 
to  do  with  them,  and  do  not  follow  them,  for  every  tree  that  brings 
not  forth  good  fruit  is  cut  down,  and  cast  into  the  lire.  So,  then,  by 
their  fruits  ye  will  know  them  fully." 

"Nor is  the  danger  of  being  led  astray  by  false  teachers  light,  for 
not  all  who  acknowledge  me  as  their  Master  will  enter  into  the  glory 
of  the  lieavenly  Kingdom,  but  those  only  who  do  the  will  of  my 
Father,  who  is  in  heaven.  ]\huiv  will  .^ay  to  me  in  that  day,  'Lord, 
Lord,  did  we  not  teach  in  Thy  name  confessing  Thee  asJesus  ^lessias, 
and  by  the  power  of  Thy  name  cast  out  devils,  and,  by  the  samo 
power,  did  we  not  do  many  mighty  works,  owning  Thee,  "and  work- 
ing through  Thee,  in  all  things'?'  And  then  shall  I  say  unto  them, 
'  I  never  knew  j'ou ;  depart  from  me,  ye  that  work  iniquity.'  Take 
warning,  for  even  some  of  you  call  me  Lord,  Lord,  and  do  not  tlic 
things  which  I  say." 

That  one  in  the  position  of  Jesus,  an  imknown  Galilscan ;  untrained 
in  the  schools;  in  early  manhood;  Avith  no  .•support  from  the  learned 
or  the  powerful,  shoidd  have  used  such  words,  in  a  discourse  so  tran- 
scendeutly  lofty  iu  its  teachings,  is  to  be  explained  only  on  the  ground 


444  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

tliat  He  spolce  with  a  divine  consciousness  of  being  the  TJessiah,  who 
should  hereafter  he  the  Judge  of  mankind.  He  calmly  founds  a 
kingdom  in  which  the  only  rewards  and  punishrnents  arc  those  cf  the 
conscience  here,  and  those  of  eternity,  r.ltcr  death.  He  hears  Him- 
self, and  speaks,  as  a  King;  supersedes  or  perfects  the  laws  cf  the 
existing  theocracy  as  He  thinks  best;  invites  adherents,  1  ut  warns  off 
all  except  the  truly  godly  and  sincere,  by  holding  out  the  most  dis- 
couraging prospects  through  life;  keeps a'ocf  from  the  civil  cr  tcclc- 
siastical  authorities,  and  acts  independently  cf  both.  Finally,  as  the 
one  law  of  His  invisible  kingdom  in  the  souls  cf  men.  He  requires 
supreme  love  and  devotion  to  Himself,  and  demands  that  this  be 
shown  by  humble  and  continuous  efforts  after  likeness  to  God,  and  by 
the  imitation  of  His  own  jiure  and  universal  love  to  mankind.  To 
have  conceived  a  spiritual  empire  so  unique  in  the  history  of  religion, 
is  to  have  proved  His  title  to  His  highest  clrims. 

His  conchiding  words  are  in  keeping  Avith  these.  He  had  announced 
that  He  would  judge  the  Avorld  at  the  great  day.  and  now  makes 
hearty  acceptance  and  performance  cf  His  commands  the  condition 
of  future  salvation  or  niin.  "  Every  cne,  therefoie  (now,  or  hereafter), 
who  hears  these  sayings  of  mine  and  obeys  them,  is  like  a  man,  who, 
in  building  a  house,  digged  deep,  and  laid  a  foundation  upon  the 
rock.  And  the  winter  rains  fell,  and  the  torrents  rose,  rnd  the 
storms  blew,  and  beat  iipon  that  house,  and  did  not  shake  it,  because 
it  was  well  built,  and  had  been  founded  ui^on  the  rock.  Eut  every 
one  who  hears  them,  and  does  not  obey  them,  is  like  a  foolish  man, 
who,  Avithout  a  foundation,  built  his  liouse  upon  the  sandy  earth. 
And  the  rain  descended,  and  the  torrents  rushed  down,  and  (he  winds 
blew,  and  beat  upon  that  house,  and  straightway  it  fell,  and  the  ruin 
of  that  house  was  great." 

No  Avonder  that  when  He  had  finished  such  an  address,  the  multi- 
tudes were  astonished  at  His  teaching.  lliey  had  been  accustomed 
to  the  tame  and  slavish  f  ervility  of  the  Eabi)is,  with  their  dread  of 
varying  a  Avord  from  prece  Tent  and  authority ;  their  cobAvebbery  of 
endless  sophistries  and  verbal  trifling;  their  laborious  dissertations  on 
the  infinitely  little;  their  unconscious  oversight  of  all  that  could  affect 
the  lieart;  their  industrious  trackings  througli  the  jungles  of  tradition 
and  prescription;  and  felt  that  in  the  preaching  of  Jesus,  they,  for  the 
first  time,  had  something  that  stirred  their  souls,  and  came  home  to 
their  consciences.  One  of  the  Rabbis  had  boasted  that  every  verse 
of  the  Bible  Avas  capable  of  six  hundred  thousand  different  explana- 
tions, and  there  were  seventy  different  modes  of  interpretation  cur- 
rent, but  the  vast  mass  of  explanations  and  interpretations  Avere  no 
better  than  pedantic  folly,  concerning  itself  Avith  mere  insignificant 
minutiae  which  had  no  bearing  on  religion  or  morals.  Instead  of 
this,  Jesus  had  spoken  as  a  legislator,  vested  Avith  greater  authority 
than  Moses.  To  transmit,  imchanged,  the  traditions  received  from 
the  past,  was  the  one  idea  of  all  other  teachers;  but  He,  while  reverent. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  445 

was  not  afraid  to  criticize,  to  reject,  and  to  supplement.  To  venture 
on  originalit}^  and  independence  was  something  hitherto  vmknown. 

The  life  of  Jesus,  in  ali  its  aspects,  is  the  great  lesson  of  humanity: 
His  death  is  its  hope.  But  there  lies  a  wondrous  treasvire  in  His 
words.  What  but  a  pure  and  sinless  soul  could  have  conceived  such 
an  idea  of  God  as  the  Father  of  mankind,  drawing  us  to  Himself  by 
the  attraction  of  holy  and  exhaustless  love?  "It  could  only  rise," 
says  Hausrath,  "in  a  spirit  that  stood  pure,  guiltless,  and  sinless  be- 
fore God — a  spirit  in  which  all  human  unrest  and  disturbance  were 
unknown,  on  which  there  lay  no  sense  of  the  littleness  of  life,  no 
distracting  feeling  of  disappointed  ambition.  Sinful  man,  with  a 
stained  or  even  uneasy  conscience,  will  always  think  of  God  as  jeal- 
ous, wrathful,  and  about  to  avenge  Himself.  The  revelation  that 
God  is  the  Father  of  men  could  rise  only  in  a  mind  in  which  the 
image  of  God  mirrored  itself  in  calm  completeness,  because  the  mir- 
ror had  no  specks  to  mar  it.  The  revelation  of  God  as  the  Father 
is  the  strongest  proof  of  the  absolute  perfection  of  the  human  nature 
in  Jesus."  ■  ' 

"He  has  left  us  not  only  a  life,  but  a  rich  Avorld  of  thoughts,"  says 
Keim,  "in  which  all  the  best  inspirations  and  longings  of  mankind 
meet  and  are  reflected.  It  is  the  expression  of  the  purest  and  directest 
truths  which  rise  in  the  depths  of  the  soul,  and  they  are  made  com- 
mon to  all  mankind  by  being  uttered  in  tlie  simplest  and  most  popu- 
lar form." 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

OPEN   CONFLICT. 

Jesus  had  now  been  some  months  in  Galilee,  and  the  season  of  the 
gi-eat  feasts  had  returned.  It  was  meet  that  Judea,  which  had  rejected 
Him  when  He  first  preached  in  it,  should  be  once  more  visited,  and 
the  news  of  the  Kingdom  once  more  sent  abroad  among  the  throngs 
of  pilgrims  from  every  part  of  the  world,  attracted  at  such  times  to 
Jerusalem. 

Leaving  the  north,  therefore,  for  a  time.  He  again  journeyed  south; 
perhaps  by  short  stages,  preaching  as  He  went;  perhaps  with  one  of 
the  bauds  of  pilgrims  which  gathered  from  eacli  neighbourhood  to  go 
up  to  "  the  House  of  the  Lord."  No  voice  would  join  with  so  rapt 
a  devotion  in  the  joyful  solemnities  of  such  a  journey, — in  the 
psalms  that  enlivened  the  w^ay, — or  the  formal  devotions  of  morning 
and  evening.  But  what  feast  it  was  He  thus  honoured  is  not  told, 
nor  are  there  means  for  deciding.  That  of  Purim,  a  month  before 
the  Passover,  the  Passover  itself,  Pentecost,  and  tlie  Feast  of  Taber- 
nacles, have  each  found  favour  on  plausible  {;-rounds,  but  where  there 
is  such  contrariety  of  opinion,  the  safest  course  is  to  leave  the  matter 
unsettled. 


446  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Of  the  visit  we  know  only  one  incident,  but  it  was  the  turning 
point  in  the  life  of  our  Lord. 

Jerusalem  in  those  days  was  a  contrast  in  its  water  supply,  as  in 
much  else,  to  the  fallen  glory  of  its  present  condition.  Several  natural 
springs  seemed  to  have  flowed  in  the  city  or  near  it,  in  ancient  times, 
but  they  have  long  been  choked  up,  with  the  exception  of  the  single 
"Fountain  of  the  Virgin,"  still  found  in  the  Kedron  valle3\  There 
is  now,  besides,  only  a  single  well — that  of  Joab,  at  the  junction  of 
the  Kedron  and  Iiinnom  valleys,  near  Siloam,  south-east  from  the 
town.  It  was  doubtless  used  in  Christ's  daj',  and  it  is  still  one  of  the 
principal  sources  of  summer  supply  for  Jerusalem,  though,  like  every- 
thing else,  under  the  withering  spell  of  Turkish  rule,  it  Is  in  such  dis- 
repair that  its  water,  drawn  from  a  depth  of  125  feet,  is  tainted  with 
sewage.  The  ancient  supply,  however,  seems  to  have  been  mainly 
obtained  by  collecting  the  rain  water  in  pools  and  cisterns,  and  by 
aqueducts  which  drained  distant  hills,  and  brought  abundance  into 
the  various  public  pools  and  reservoirs  of  the  city  and  Temple,  the 
space  beneath  which  was  honej'combed  by  immense  rock-hewn  cis- 
terns. Many  houses,  also,  had  cisterns,  hewn  in  the  rock,  in  the  shape 
of  an  inverted  funnel,  to  collect  the  rain,  but  it  was  from  the  numer- 
ous "pools"  that  the  public  supply  was  mainly  derived.  Eight  still 
remain,  in  greater  or  less  extreme  decay,  and  there  appear  to  have  been 
at  least  three  others,  in  ancient  times. 

One  of  the  most  famous  of  these,  in  Christ's  day,  was  known  as 
the  Pool  of  Eethcsda,  which  recent  explorations  appear  to  have  re- 
discovered at  the  north-west  corner  of  the  Temple  enclosure.  If  tho 
identification  be  valid,  the  pool  was  a  great  reservoir,  IGo  feet  in 
length,  hewn  in  the  limestone  rock  to  a  breadth  of  48  feet,  and  divided 
in  halves  by  a  pier  of  masonry  5  feet  thick,  built  across  it.  Water 
still  enters  it  from  the  norlh-west  corner,  and  is  probably  an  abundant 
spring,  though  now  so  mixed  with  drainage  as  to  be  unfit  for  drink- 
ing. JEusebius  speaks  of  the  Bethesda  of  his  day  as  "twin  pools, 
one  of  which  is  filled  by  the  rains  of  the  year,  but  the  other  has 
water  tinged  in  an  extraordinary  way  with  red. "  This  effect  was 
likely  produced  by  the  rapid  influx  of  water  through  underground 
channels,  after  heavy  rains.  It  is  said  by  St.  John  to  have  been  close 
to  the  "  Sheep  Gate  " — the  entrance,  doubtless,  of  the  numerous  flocks 
for  the  Temple  market. 

Bathing  in  mineral  waters  has,  in  all  ages,  been  regarded  as  one  of 
the  most  potent  aids  to  recovery  from  various  diseases,  and  in  the 
East,  where  water  is  everything,  this  belief  has  always  prevailed. 
The  Pool  of  Bethesda,  from  whatever  cause,  was  in  especial  favour 
for  its  curative  powers,  Avhich  were  supposed  to  be  most  effective 
when  the  waters  were  "troubled,"  either  by  the  discoloration  after 
heavy  rains,  or  by  periodical  flowing  after  intermission,  as  is  still  the 
case  with  the  Fountain  of  the  Virgin,  near  Siloam. 
^  Natural  explanations  of  ordinary  phenomena  were  unknown   in 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  447 

these  simple  times,  for  there  w.as  no  such  thing  as  science.  Among 
the  Jews,  as  among  other  races,  everything  was  attributed  to  the 
direct  action  of  supernatural  beings.  In  the  Book  of  Jubilees,  which 
shows  the  popular  ideas  of  Christ's  day,  there  are  angels  of  adora- 
tion, of  tire,  wind,  clouds,  hail,  lioar  frost,  valleys,  thunder,  lightning, 
winter,  spring,  summer,  and  autumn,  and  of  "  all  things  in  the  heavens 
and  earth,  and  in  all  valleys;  of  darkness,  of  light,  of  dawn,  and  of 
evening."  The  healing  powers  of  the  Bethesda  waters  were,  hence, 
ascribed  to  periodical  visits  of  an  angel,  who  "troubled  the  water." 
Popular  fancy  had,  indeed,  created  a  complicated  legend  to  accoimt 
for  the  wonder.  At  least  as  far  back  as  the  days  of  Nehemiah,  the 
ebbing  and  flowing  of  some  springs  liad  been  ascribed  to  a  great 
dragon  which  lived  at  the  source,  and  drank  up  the  waters  when  it 
Tvoke,  leaving  them  to  flow  only  while  it  was  asleep.  It  was  even  said 
that  a  good  angel  dwelt  beside  healing  springs,  and  each  morning 
gave  them  their  virtue  afresh,  and  a  Rabbi  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
report  that,  as  he  sat  by  a  fountain,  the  good  angel  Avho  dwelt  in  it 
appeared  to  him,  and  said  that  a  demon  was  trying  to  get  into  it,  to 
hurt  those  who  frequented  it.  He  was,  therefore,  to  go  and  tell  tho 
lownsfolks  to  come  with  hammers,  or  iron  rods  or  bars,  and  beat  the 
water  till  it  grew  red  with  thick  drops  of  blood — the  sign  that  the 
demon  was  conquered  and  slain. 

Some  such  fanciful  notions,  based,  A^ery  probably,  on  real  curative 
powers  in  the  water  at  certain  seasons,  attracted  daily  to  Bethesda  a 
multitude  of  unfortunates  who  hoped  to  be  healed  of  blindness, 
atrophy,  lameness,  and  other  infirmities,  by  bathing  at  the  right  mo- 
ment a  sufficient  number  of  times.  Charity  had  built  five  porches 
round  the  pool,  to  afford  the  crowd  a  shelter,  and  these,  and  the  great 
steps  leading  down  to  the  waters,  were  constantly  thronged,  like  the 
steps  of  a  sacred  bathing-place  to-day,  on  the  Ganges. 

Among  the  sufferers  was  one  who  had  been  helplessly  crippled  by 
rheumatism  or  paralysis  for  thirty-eight  jears,  but  still  clung  to  the 
hope  that  he  would,  one  day,  be  healed.  He  had,  apparently,  had 
himself  brought  from  a  distant  part,  for  he  had  no  friends  on  the  spot, 
and,  hence,  had  the  pain  of  many  times  seeing  others,  less  helpless, 
crowd  into  the  waters,  while  he  lay  on  his  mat  for  want  of  some 
pitying  aid. 

Jesus  had  every  motive,  at  this  time,  to  avoid  attracting  attention 
in  Jerusalem,  for  it  might  rouse  the  open  hostility  of  the  Church 
authorities,  which  alread}''  only  waited  an  opportunity.  The  pitiful 
plight  of  the  sufferer,  however,  awoke  His  compassion,  and  in  sym- 
pathy for  his  story,  though  without  committing  Himself  to  his 
notions,  he  healed  him  by  "a  word,  telling  him  to  "rise,  take  up  his 
sleeping-mat,  and  walk." 

The  common  feelings  of  humanity,  one  might  have  thought,  would 
have  followed  an  act  so  tender  and  beautiful,  with  admiration  and 
hearty  approval.     But  there  is  no  crime  that  may  not  be  done  by  fa- 


448  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

naticism  allied  to  religious  opinions;  no  deadness  to  true  religion  too 
profound  for  tlie  championship  of  fancied  orthodoxy.  Pity,  charity, 
recognition  of  Avorth,  or  nobleness  of  act  or  word,  give  place  to 
remorseless  hatred  and  bloodthirsty  vengeance  "svherc  tliere  is  relig- 
ious hatred.  Inquisitors  who  sent  thousands  to  the  stake  for  an 
abstract  proposition,  or  immured  them  in  dungeons,  and  feasted  ou 
their  torture  for  incapacity  to  repeat  some  wretched  Shibboleth, 
have  been  amiable  and  gentle  in  all  other  relations.  The  hierarchical 
party  in  Jerusalem  comprised  men  of  all  dispositions,  and  of  every 
shade  of  sincerity,  and  its  opposite.  But  it  had  been  touched  in  its 
tenderest  susceptibilities  by  the  preaching  of  the  Baptist;  for  it  had 
been  called  to  account,  and  had  had  its  shortcomings  held  up  before 
the  nation.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation,  and  the  conservatism 
of  a  priestly  and  legal  order,  were  instantly  roused,  and  assailed  the 
Reformer  with  the  cry  that  the  Law  and  the  Temple  were  in  danger. 
The  Baptist  had  already  fallen;  most  likely  by  their  help;  but  a  suc- 
cessor more  to  be  dreaded,  had  risen  in  Jesus.  They  had  watched  His 
course  in  Galilee  with  anxiety,  which  had  already  shown  itself  during 
His  first  short  visit  to  Jerusalem  at  tlie  Passover  before,  and  in  His 
subsequent  circuits  through  Judea.  Spies,  sent  from  Jerusalem, 
dogged  His  steps  and  noted  His  words  and  acts,  to  report  them  duly 
to  the  ecclesiastical  authorities,  who  had  seen  more  clearly,  day  by 
day,  that  a  mortal  struggle  was  inevitable  between  the  old  Theocracy 
and  the  Innovator.  Everything  was  in  their  favour.  They  were  in 
power,  and  could  at  any  moment  bring  Him  before  their  own  courts 
on  trial,  even  for  life.  But  they  dreaded  overt  hostility,  and  for  a 
time  preferred  to  undermine  Him  secretly,  by  mooting  suspicions 
among  the  people  of  Hi.-J  being  a  heretic,  or  affecting  to  think  Him 
a  mere  crazed  enthusiast.  "  His  most  innocent  sayings  were  perverted 
to  evil;  His  purest  aims  pin-posely  misconstrued.  Only  the  favour 
of  the  people,  and  His  own  moderation,  prudence,  and  wisdom, 
warded  off  open  violence. 

He  had  now,  however,  given  a  pretext  for  more  decided  action  than 
they  had  j'et  taken.  No  feature  of  the  Jewish  system  was  so  marked 
as  their  extraordinary  strictness  in  the  outward  observance  of  the 
Sabbath,  as  a  day  of  entire  rest.  The  Scribes  had  elaborated  from 
the  command  of  Closes,  a  vast  array  of  prohibitions  and  injunctions, 
covering  the  whole  of  social,  individual,  and  public  life,  and  carried 
it  to  the  extreme  of  ridiculous  caricature.  Lengthened  rules  were 
prescribed  as  to  the  kinds  of  knots  which  might  legally  be  tied  ou 
Sabbath.  The  camel  driver's  knot  and  the  sailor's  were  unlawfiil, 
and  it  was  equally  illegal  to  tie  or  to  loose  them.  A  knot  which 
could  be  untied  with  one  hand  might  be  undone.  A  shoe  or  sandal, 
a  woman's  cup,  a  wine  or  oil-skin,  or  a  flesh-pot  might  be  tied.  A 
pitcher  at  a  spring  might  be  tied  to  the  body-sash,  but  not  with  a 
cord. 

It  was  forbidden  to  write  two  letters,  either  with  the  right  hand  or 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  449 

the  left,  whether  of  the  same  size  or  of  different  sizes,  or  with  dif- 
ferent inks,  or  in  different  languages,  or  with  any  pigment ;  with 
ruddle,  gum,  vitriol,  or  anything  th;it  can  make  marks;  or  even  to 
write  two  letters,  one  on  each  side  of  a  corner  of  two  walls,  or  ou 
two  leaves  of  a  writing-tablet,  if  they  could  bs  real  together,  or  to 
write  them  on  the  body.  But  they  might  be  written  on  any  dark 
fluid,  on  the  sap  of  a  fruit-tree,  on  road-dust,  on  sand,  or  on  anything 
in  which  the  writing  did  not  remain.  If  they  were  written  with  the 
liand  turned  upside  down,  or  with  the  foot,  or  the  mouth,  or  the 
elbow,  or  if  one  letter  were  added  to  another  previously  made,  or 
other  letters  traced  over,  or  if  a  person  designed  to  write   the  letter 

and  only  wrote  two  ,  or  if  he  wrote  one  letter  on  the  ground  and 
one  on  the  wall,  or  on  two  walls,  or  on  two  pages  of  a  book,  so  that 
they  could  not  be  read  together,  it  was  not  illegal.  If  a  person, 
through  forgetfulness,  wrote  two  characters  at  different  times,  one 
in  the  morning,  the  other,  perhaps  towards  evening,  it  was  a  ciuestioa 
among  the  llabbis  whether  he  ha  1  or  had  not  broken  the  Sabbath. 

The  quantity  of  food  t'.iiit  might  be  carried  on  Sabbath  from  one 
place  to  another  was  duly  settled.  It  must  be  less  in  bulk  than  a 
dried  tig:  if  of  honey,  only  as  much  as  would  ancnnt  a  wound;  if 
water,  as  mucli  as  would  make  eye  salve;  if  paper,  aj  much  as  would 
be  put  in  a  phylactery ;  if  ink,  as  much  as  would  form  two  letters. 

To  kindle  or  extinguish  a  hre  on  the  Sabbath  was  a  great  desecra- 
tion of  the  day,  aor  was  even  sickness  allowed  to  violate  Rabbinical 
rules.  It  was  forbidden  to  give  an  emetic  on  Sabbath — to  set  a 
broken  bone,  or  put  back  a  dislocated  joint,  though  some  Rabbis, 
more  liberal,  held  that  whatever  endangered  life  made  the  Sabbath 
law  void,  "for  the  commands  were  given  to  Israel  only  that  they 
might  live  by  them."  Oiie  who  was  buried  under  ruins  on  Sabbath, 
might  be  dug  for  and  taken  out,  if  alive,  but,  if  dead,  he  was  to  be  left 
where  he  was,  till  tiie  Sabbath  was  over. 

The  holy  day  begm  with  sunset  on  Friday,  and  ended  with  the 
sunset  of  Saturdaj%  but  as  the  disappearance  of  the  sun  was  the  only 
mark  of  the  time,  its  commencement  was  different  on  a  hill-top  and 
in  a  valley.  If  it  were  cloudy,  the  hens  going  to  roost  was  the  signal. 
The  beginning  and  close  of  the  Sabbath  were  announced  by  a 
truinpet'from  the  Temple,  and  in  the  different  towns.  From  the 
decline  of  the  sun  on  Friday,  to  its  setting,  was  Sabbath-eve,  and  no 
work  which  would  continue  into  the  hours  of  Sabbath,  could  be 
done  in  this  interval.  All  food  must  be  prepared,  all  ves-sels  washed, 
and  all  lights  kindled,  before  sunset.  The  money  gridle  must  be 
taken  off,  and  all  tools  laid  aside.  "  On  Friday,  before  the  beginning 
of  the  Sabbath,"  said  one  law,  "  no  one  must  go  out  of  his  house 
with  a  needle  or  a  pen,  lest  he  forget  to  lay  them  aside  before  the  Sab- 
bath opens.  Every  one  must  also  search  his  pockets  at  that  time,  to 
Bee  that  there  is  nothing  left  in  them  with  which  it  is  forbidden  to  go 
out  ou  the  Sa^uoath."     The  refinements  of  Rabbinical  casuistry  were. 


450  THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST. 

indeed,  endless.  To  wear  one  kind  of  sandals  was  carrying  a  burden, 
while  to  wear  another  kind  was  not.  One  might  carry  a  burden  on 
bis  shoulder,  but  it  must  not  be  slung  between  two.  It  was  unlaw- 
ful to  go  out  with  wooden  sandals  or  shoes  which  had  nails  in  the 
soles,  or  with  a  shoe  and  a  slipper,  unless  one  foot  were  hurt.  It  was 
unlawful  for  any  one  to  carry  a  loaf  on  the  public  street,  but  if  two 
carried  it,  it  was  not  unlawful.  The  Sabbath  was  believed  to  prevail 
in  all  its  strictness,  from  eternity,  throughout  the  universe.  All  the 
Rabbinical  precepts  respecting  it  had  been  revealed  to  Jacob  from  the 
originals  on  the  tablets  of  heaven.  Even  in  hell  the  lost  had  rest 
from  their  torments  on  its  sacred  hours,  and  the  waters  of  Bethesda 
might  be  troubled  on  other  days,  but  were  still  and  unmoved  on 
this. 

In  an  insincere  age  such  excessive  strictness  led  to  constant  eva- 
sions by  Pharisees  and  Sadducees  alike.  To  escape  the  restrictions 
which  limited  a  journey  on  Sabbath  to  2,000  cubits  from  a  town  or 
city,  they  carried  food  on  Friday  evening  to  a  spot  that  distance  be- 
yoiid  the  walls,  and  assumed,  by  a  fiction,  that  tliis  made  that  spot 
also  their  dwelling.  They  could  thus  on  the  Sabbath  walk  the  full 
distance  to  it,  and  an  equal  distance  beyond  it,  this  journey  being  only 
the  legal  distance  from  the  fictitious  place  of  residence !  To  make  it 
lawful  to  eat  together  on  the  Sabbath  the  Rabbis  put  chains  across 
the  two  ends  of  a  street,  in  which  the  members  of  a  special  fraternity 
lived,  and  called  it  a  single  dwelling,  while  to  excuse  their  carrying 
the  materials  of  their  Sabbath  repast  to  the  common  hall,  they  each 
laid  some  food  in  it  on  Friday  evening,  to  create  the  fiction  of  its 
being  part  of  the  common  dwelling.  The  priestly  Sadducees,  on  the 
other  hand,  made  no  scruple  to  have  even  the  beasts  destined  for  tlieir 
kitchen  driven  to  their  shambles  on  the  Sabbath,  on  the  pretext  that 
their  common  meals  were  only  a  continuation  of  the  Temple  service, 
by  which  the  rest  of  the  Sabbath  Avas  not  legally  broken. 

Nor  were  such  equivocations  the  only  liberties  taken  with  the 
sacred  daj',  for,  however  uncompromising  with  others,  the  Fharisces 
were  disposed  to  violate  the  Sabbath  laws  when  occasion  demanded. 
They  had  one  maxim,  timidly  applied  it  is  true,  but  still  theiis: 
"The  Sabbath  is  for  you,  but  you  are  not  for  the  Sabbath;"  and 
another,  si  ill  bolder,  "  Make  a  common  day  of  your  Sabbath  rather 
than  go  to  your  neighbour  for  help." 

The  priests  and  Rabbis,  thus  secretly  indulgent  to  themselves,  but 
austerely  strict  before  the  Avorld,  found  an  opportunity  in  the  cure  at 
Bethesda  for  parading  their  Iiollow  puritanism,  and  at  the  same  time 
raising  a  charge  against  Jesus,  for  the  man  had  been  healed  on  the  , 
Sabbath,  and  had  been  told  to  carry  his  sleeping-mat  with  him  to  liis 
home.  This  was  enough.  Met  in  the  street,  carrying  his  pallet,  by 
one  of  these  purists,  he  had  been  reprimanded  for  doing  so  as  con- 
trary to  the  Law,  and  had  shielded  himself  by  the  command  of  Him 
who  had  miraculously  cured  him.     It  Avas  not  till  some  time  after, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  451 

■when  Jesus  had  come  upon  him  in  the  Temple,  that  he  knew  the 
name  of  his  benefactor,  for  Jesus  had  hurrieil  away  from  tlie  pool, 
after  curing  him,  to  avoid  exciting  the  multitude  round. 

It  seems  from  the  caution  given  him  at  tliis  second  meetin'T,  to 
"  sin  no  more,  lest  something  worse  sliould  befall  him,"  as  if  t'.ie  man 
had  brought  his  infirmity  on  himself  by  misconduct.  Xor  did  his 
after  conduct  do  him  much  credit.  He  had  no  sooner  discovered  the 
fact  than  he  went  to  the  officials  and  told  who  had  liealed  him.  From, 
that  moment  the  doom  of  Jesus  was  fixed.  Pharisee  and  Sadducce, 
Tiabbi  and  priest,  forgettina;  tlieir  mutual  hatreds,  caballed,  hence- 
fo;th,  to  fasten  such  accusations  upon  Him  as  would  secure  His  death, 
and  never  faltered  in  their  resolve  till  they  carried  it  out,  two  years 
later,  on  Calvary. 

Jesus  seems  forthwith  to  have  been  for  the  first  time  cited  before 
the  authorities,  on  the  formal  charge  of  Sabbath-breaking;  ])ut  His 
judges  were  little  prepared  for  the  tone  of  His  defence.  Left  to 
answer  for  Himself,  He  threw  the  assembh^  into  a  paroxysm  of  relig- 
ious fury  by  claiming  to  work  at  all  times  for  the  good  of  mon,  since 
It  was  only  what  God,  His  Father,  had  done,  notwithstanding  the 
Sabbath  Law,  from  the  beginning  As  His  Son,  He  was  as  little  to 
be  fettered  by  that  Law  or  subject  to  it,  and  was  Lord  of  the  Sabbath. 
The  assembly  saw  what  this  implied.  He  had  added  to  His  Sabbath 
desecration  the  higher  crime  of  blasphemously  "making  Himself 
equal  with  God,  by  calling  Him  specially  His  Father."  The  excite- 
ment must  have  been  great,  for  Orientals  give  free  vent  to  their  feel- 
ings, under  any  circumstances.  Some  years  after,  the  same  tribunal, 
with  the  crowd  of  spectators,  gnashed  their  teeth  at  the  martj-r  Stephen 
in  their  infuriated  bigotry,  and  cried  out  with  loud  voices,  and  stopped 
their  ears  at  his  words.  In  all  probability  a  similar  storm  rose  around 
Jesus  now.  But  He  remained  perfectly  calm,  and  when  silence  was 
in  a  measure  restored,  proceeded  with  His  defence  against  this  second 
charge. 

He  did  not  for  a  moment  denj'  that  they  were  right  in  the  meaning 
they  put  on  Ills  words,  but  stated  more  fully  T>'hy  He  used  them.  It 
was  impossible  for  Him  to  act  independently  of  His  Father;  lie  could 
only  do  so  if  He  were  not  His  Son.  There  was  absolute  oneness  in 
the' spirit  and  aim  of  the  works  of  lioth,  as  in  those  of  a  son  who  looks 
-R-ith  reverence  at  the  acts  of  a  father,  and  has  no  thought  but  to  re- 
produce them.  "jMy  Father,  God,  in  His  love  for  me,  the  Son,  lays 
ever  open  before  rac,  in  direct  self-disclosure,  all  that  He  Himself 
does,  that  I  may  do  the  same.  You  marvel  at  my  healing  the  lame' 
man,  but  the  Father  will  show  me  greater  works  than  this,  that  I  may 
repeat  them  here  on  earth,  and  that" you  may  wonder,  not  in  curiosity 
as  now,  but  in  shame  at  your  unbelief." 

"Let  me  tell  you,"  He  continuia.  "what  these  greater  works  are. 
In  your  Law  it  "is  the  S])ccial  prerogative  of  the  Father  to  awaken  and 
quickea  the  dead,  but  it  Ls  mine  also,  for  I,  the  Sou,  q.mckea  whom  I 


453  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■will.  And  as  to  judginii:  men  here  (as  to  their  spiritual  state),  it  is 
left  to  me  alone  by  my  Father,  that  all  men  may  honour  me  as  His 
representative,  as  they  honour  Him.  He  who  does  not  honour  me, 
the  Son,  does  not  honour  the  Father  "vvho  sent  me.  If  you  wish  to 
know  whom  I  spiritually  quicken,  they  are  those  who  hear  my  word, 
and  believe  Him  who  sent  me,  for  they  have  everlasting  life  even 
here,  and  are  not  under  condemnation,  but  have  passed  from  death 
to  life.  Yerily,  verily,  I  say  unto  you,  The  hour  is  coming,  and  now 
is,  when  the  (spiritually)  dead  will  hear  my  voice — the  voice  of  the 
'  Son  of  God,  and  they  that  hear  it  shall  live.  I  thus  wake  them  to 
life,  because  the  Father  has  made  me  the  divine  fountain  of  life,  as 
He  Himself,  the  living  G-od,  is.  He  has  also  given  me  authority  to 
judgs  men,  because  I  am  the  Son  of  man. 

"But  marvc;!  not  at  what  I  have  said  of  waking  and  judging  the 
fipiritually  dead,  for  I  will  do  yet  greater  works.  I  shall  one  day 
raise  the  actually  dead  from  their  graves,  and  will  judge  them  at  the 
great  day,  raising  those  that  did  good  in  this  world  to  the  resurrection 
of  life,  and  those  that  did  evil  to  a  resuri-ection  of  judgment.  Nor  is 
there  a  fear  of  error,  for  I  can  do  nothing  of  myself.  I  judge  as  I 
hear  from  God,  who,  in  His  abiding  communion  with  me,  makes 
known  His  divine  judgment,  which,  alone,  I  utter.  Hence  my  judg- 
ment cannot  err,  because  I  speak  only  that  of  God. 

"You  may  say  that  I  am  bearing  witness  respecting  myself,  and 
that,  therefore,  it  is  of  no  value,  but,  if  you  think  thus,  there  is  another 
that  bears  witness  to  me,  and  ye  knov/  that  His  testimony  is  true — I 
mean  God,  Himself.  You  sent  to  John,  and  he  bore  witness  to  the 
truth.  But  the  testimony  I  receive  is  not  that  of  man.  I  only  say 
these  things  that  you  may  be  saved,  by  taking  John's  testimony  to 
heart,  and  being  waked  by  it  to  faith  in  me,  and  a  share  in  the  salva- 
tion which,  as  the  ivlessiah,  I  offer  you.  What  a  wondrous  appearance 
John  was!  He  was  a  burning  and  shming  lamp,  and  you  wished  for 
a  time  to  rejoice  in  his  light,  but  when  you  found  that  he  called  you 
to  repentance  rather  than  to  national  glory  and  worldly  prosperity, 
you  forsook  him  and  became  his  enemies.  The  light  he  shed  was  not 
of  the  kind  you  desired. 

"But  I  have  a  witness  which  is  greater  than  that  of  John,  The 
work  which  the  Father  has  given  me  to  bring  to  completion — the 
work  of  founding  and  raising  the  new  kingdom  of  God,  as  His  Mes- 
siah,— this,  in  all  that  it  implies  of  outward  and  spiritual  wonders, 
bears  witness  that  the  Fatho-r  has  sent  me.  And  not  onlj^  does  God 
Himself  testify  of  me  indirectly,  by  my  work  as  His  Messiah  He 
does  so  directly,  in  your  Scriptures.  But  ye  have  not  recognized  the 
voice  of  this  testimony,  nor  realized  the  image  of  me  it  presents.  You 
are  spiritually  deaf  to  the  one,  and  blind  to  the  other.  Ye  have  not 
the  true  sern-e  of  God's  word  in  your  consciences,  for  you  do  not  be- 
lieve in  His  Messiah,  whom  He  has  sent,  and  of  Avhom  these  Scriptures 
testify.     They  witness  to  me  as  the  mediator  of  eternal  life,  and,  tiiere- 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  453 

fore,  every  one  -u-lio  humbly  studies  them  as  the  guide  to  that  life, 
will  be  poicfcd  by  them  to  me.  You  search  ihe  Scriptures  professing 
to  wish  to  find  life,  and  yet  refuse  to  accept  me'  How  self -contra- 
dictory and  sclf-condemninc:! 

"I  do  not  reproach  you  thus,  from  any  feeling  of  wounded  pride, 
for  I  care  nothing  for  the  applause  of  men.  I  do  it  because  I  know 
the  ground  of  your  disbelief— you  have  not  the  love  of  God  in  your 
hearts.  If  you  had,  you  would  recognize  and  receive  His  Son  whom 
He  has  sent.  I  have  come  in  my  Father's  name,  as  His  commissioned 
representative — the  true  Messiah — and  you  have  rejected  me  with  un-. 
believing  contempt,  but  when  a  false  Messiah  comes  in  his  own  name, 
j'Ou  will  receive  him!  It  is  no  wonder  you  have  rejected  me,  for  how 
is  it  possible  that  such  as  you  could  believe,  who  have  no  higher  crav' 
ing  than  to  give  and  accept  empty  earthly  honours,  and  are  indifferent 
to  tlie  only  true  honour  that  comes  from  being  acknowledged  and 
praised  of  God? 

"You  ti-ust  in  Moses,  who,  j'ou  think,  has  promised  you  favour 
witli  God,  here  and  hereafter.  Beware !  there  is  no  need  that  I  should 
accuse  j^ou  before  mj^  Father,  for  your  unbelief  in  me.  JSIoses,  him^ 
self,  in  the  books  in  which  j'ou  trust,  is  your  accuser,  for  if  ye  had 
believed  His  writings  ye  would  have  believed  me.  for  he  wrote  of  me. 
But  if  5'e  be  so  blinded  as  neither  to  see,  nor  to  believe  his  writings, 
how  will  ye  believe  my  words?" 

The  authorities  had  never  had  such  a  prisoner  before  them.  They 
knew  not  what  to  do  with  Him,  and,  in  their  confusion  and  utter 
defeat,  could  only  let  Him  depart  unharmed.  They  had  not  yet  sum- 
moned courage  to  proceed  to  open  violence. 

This  was  the  turning  point  in  tlie  life  of  Jesus.  Till  now.  He  had 
enjoyed  a  measure  of  toleration  and  even  of  acceptance,  but,  hence- 
forth, all  was  changed.  Jerusalem  was  no  longer  safe  for  Him,  and, 
even  in  Galilee,  He  was  dogged  by  determined  enmit^^  The  shadow 
of  the  Cross  darkened  His  whole  future  career. 

Free  from  His  enemies,  Jesus  appears  to  have  returned  at  once  to 
Galilee,  in  the  hope,  perhaps,  that  there,  far  from  Jerusalem,  with  ita 
0erce  religious  fanaticism  and  malevolent  hj'pocrisj',  He  could  breathe 
more  freely ,  in  the  still  and  clear  air  of  the  hills,  feut  religious  hatred 
is  beyond  all  others  intense  and  persistent.  There  were  Babbis  and 
priests  there,  as  well  as  in  the  south,  and  they  watched  His  every 
*tep. 

A  fresh  occasion  for  accusation  could  not  be  long  of  rising.  He 
Uad  left  Jerusalem  immediately  after  the  Passover,  and  on  the  Sabbath, 
filter  the  second  day  of  the  Feast — or,  it  may  be,  a  Sabbath  later — a 
new  cl^arge  was  brought  against  Him.  In  the  short  distance  which, 
it  was  lawful  to  walk  on  a  Sabbath — less  than  three-quarters  of  a 
mile — the  path  lay  through  ripening  fields  of  barleys — for  Nisan,  the 
Passover  month,  was  the  ancient  Abib,  or  month  of  earing,  and  the 
fcrst  early  slieaf  was  offered  ou  tke  secoud  day  of  the  Passover.    It 


454  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.     ^ 

was  by  the  Law,  and  by  Eastern  custom,  free  to  all  to  pluck  ears 
enough  in  a  corn-field,  or  grapes  enough  from  a  vine,  to  supply  hun- 
ger, and  the  disciples,  as  every  Oriental  still  does  in  the  same  circum- 
stances, availed  themselves  of  this  liberty,  plucking  some  ears  of  the 
barley,  and  rubbing  them  with  their  hands  as  they  went  on.  The 
field  must  have  been  near  some  town,  most  likely  Capernaum,  for  a 
number  of  people  were  about,  and  among  others,  some  spies.  It  was 
Ino  wonder  both  He  and  the  disciples  were  hungry,  for  no  Jew  could 
break  his  fast  till  after  the  morning  service  at  the  synagogue,  or  tako 
supper  till  after  the  evening  service,  but  He  had  sanctioned  two 
I  offences  against  the  Sabbath  laws.  The  plucking  the  ears  was  a  kind 
of  reaping,  and  the  rubbing  was  a  kind  of  grinding  or  threshing. 
Besides,  it  was  required  that  all  food  should  be  prepared  on  Friday, 
before  sunset,  and  the  rubbing  was  a  preparation.  On  any  other  day 
there  would  have  been  no  cause  of  blame,  but  to  break  the  Sabbath 
rather  than  suffer  hunger  for  a  few  hours,  was  guilt  worthy  of  stoning. 
Was  it  not  their  boast  that  Jews  Avere  known,  over  the  world,  by 
their  readiness  to  die  rather  than  break  the  holy  day?  Every  one 
had  stories  of  grand  fidelity  to  it.  The  Jewish  sailor  had  refused, 
even  Avhen  threatened  Avith  death,  to  touch  the  helm  a  moment  after 
the  sun  had  set  on  Friday,  though  a  storm  was  raging;  and  had  not 
thousands  let  themselves  be  butchered  rather  than  touch  a  weapon  in 
self-defence  on  the  Sabbath?  The  "ncAV  doctrine"  of  Jesus  would 
turn  the  Avorld  upside  down  if  not  stopped! 

The  spies  of  the  hierarchical  party,  who  had  seen  the  offence,  at 
once  accused  Him  for  allowing  it,  but  His  answer  only  made  matters 
worse.  He  reminded  them  how  David,  Avhen  pressed  by  hunger,  in 
his  fl.ight  from  Saul,  had  eaten  the  holy  bread  and  given  it  to  his  fol- 
loAvers,  though  it  Avas  not  laAvful  for  any  but  priests  to  eat  it.  Did 
that  not  show  that  the  claims  of  nature  overrode  those  of  a  cere- 
monial rule?  that  the  necessity  of  David  and  his  folloAvers  was  to  be 
considered  before  the  observance  of  a  tradition?  The  law  of  nature 
came  from  God,  the  theocratic  prohibition  Avas  of  man.  "And  haA'e 
you  not  read  in  the  Luav,"  added  He,  "  hoAv  the  priests  Avork  at  their 
duties  on  the  Sabbath,  and  yet  are  held  blameless,  though  they  are  in 
fact  breaking  the  holy  day,  if  your  traditions  and  rules  are  to  be  the 
unbending  standard?  What  is  lawful  for  the  serA'ants  of  the  Temple 
to  do  on  Sabbath  must  much  more  be  lawful  for  my  servants  to  do 
on  that  day,  for  I  am  greater  than  the  Temple.  You  condemn  my 
disciples  because  your  thoughts  are  so  fixed  on  outward  rites  that  you 
have  forgotten  how  God  thinks  less  of  them  than  of  acts  of  mercy. 
Does  He  not  say,  'I  Avill  have  mercy  and  not  sacrifice?'  It  is  in 
your  Avant  of  mercy  that  you  accuse  my  followers.  They  have, 
besides,  acted  under  my  authority.  The  Sabbath  Avas  made  for  man, 
not  man  for  the  Sabbath,  as  even  the  Pharisees  alloAv,  and  therefore, 
in  any  case,  its  laws  must  give  way  before  human  necessities.  But 
I,  the  Son  of  Man — the  representative  of  man  as  man — the  MessiaU 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  458 

>t/T  God — am  still  higher  than  any  individual  man  and  above  all  your 
Sabbath  laws." 

Such  a  retort  and  such  transcendent  claims  may  well  have  startled 
His  accusers,  but  they  only  deepened  their  hatred,  for  bigotry  is  blind 
and  deaf  to  any  reason.  Charge  was  being  added  to  charge,  accusa- 
tion to  accusation.  He  had  claimed  the  power  to  forgive  sins:  He 
had  associated  with  publicans  and  sinners;  He  had  shown  no  zeal  for 
washings  or  fasts,  and,  now,  He  had,  a  second  time,  openly  desecrated 
the  Sabbath. 

His  defence  had  only  made  His  position  towards  the  Pharisaic 
laws  more  antagonistic  than  ever,  for  it  had  denied  that  they  were 
unconditionally  binding.  Their  authority  dei^ended  on  circum- 
stances :  they  were  not  owned  as  directly  divine.  God  had  planted  a 
higher  law  in  the  human  breast,  and  the  system  of  the  Rabbis  must 
yield  before  it.  He  had  virtually  alleged  that  the  time  was  come  to 
free  Israel  from  the  yoke  of  traditional  observance,  and  to  raise  a  new 
spiritual  kingdom  on  the  imperishable  basis  of  truly  divine  law.  By 
their  system  man  was  subordinated  to  the  Sabbath,  not  the  Sabbath 
to  man.  Tliis  harshness  was  not  the  design  or  will  of  God.  The 
Sabbath  had  been  given  by  Him  for  the  good  of  man,  and  was  to  be 
a  day  of  refreshment,  peace,  and  joy,  not  of  pain,  sorrow,  and  terror. 
Jesus,  therefore,  proclaimed  expressly  that  man  is  gi-eater  than  the 
Sabbath,  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  Pharisaic  teaching,  wiiich 
made  the  Sal)bath  of  immeasurably  greater  worth  than  man.  Man, 
and  still  more  Himself,  as  the  representative  of  humanity,  in  its  abid- 
ing dignity  and  rights — the  Son  of  Man — is  the  Lord  of  the  Sabbath. 
It  was  a  proclamation  of  spiritual  freedom. 

The  lowering  schoolmen  of  the  day,  and  the  priestly  party,  felt 
themselves  thi-eatened  in  tlieir  most  cherished  hopes,  wishes,  and  in- 
terests. The  breach  between  them  and  Jesus  had  been  final,  since 
His  half-contemptuous  words  about  the  old  garment  and  the  old 
bottles.  They  had  marked  Him,  definitely,  as  opposed  to  traditional 
Rabbinism,  as  a  dangerous  agitator,  and  "an  enemy  of  the  venerated 
"Hedge  of  the  Law,"  the  glory  of  successive  generations  of  Rabbis. 
The  hierarchy  would  at  once 'have  indicted  Him  publicly,  but  for 
His  wide  popularity;  the  devotion  felt  for  Him  by  the  multitudes  He 
had  healed  or  comforted;  the  transparent  singleness  of  His  aims  and 
labours;  the  gentleness  and  dignity  of  His  character,  which  enforced 
reverence;  and  His  divine  humiiity  and  lowliness  of  heart, which 
made  Him  so  unassailable. 

The  synagogues  were,  as  yet,  open  to  Him,  and  He  still  frequented 
them,  for  tlie  facilities  they  offered  of  teaching  the  people.  Another 
violation  of  the  Pharisaic  laws  of  the  Sabbath  soon  followed,  in  one 
of  the  services.  He  had  gone  to  the  synagogue,  and  was  teaching  ia 
it,  when  He  noticed  a  man  whose  right  hand,  withered  by  long-stand- 
ing local  paralysis  and  its  consequent  atrophy,  hung  helpless  by  his 
aide.     Meanwhile,  the  Scribes  and  other  Pharisees,  now  constantly  o» 


456  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  watch  against  Him,  sat  with  keen  eyes  to  Fee  if  He  wonld  venture 
to  break  their  Sabbath  hiws  once  roore,  by  healing  tlie  sufferer,  wlio 
could  claim  no  help  till  the  sacred  day  was  over,  as  he  was  in  do  im- 
mediate danger  of  life.  Their  fine-spun  casuistry  had  elaboraicd 
endless  rules  for  the  treatment  of  all  maladies  on  the  sacred  day.  A 
person  in  health  was  not  to  take  medicine  on  the  Sabbath.  For  the 
toothache,  vinegar  might  be  put  in  the  mouth,  if  it  Avere  afterwards 
swallowed,  but  it  must  not  be  spat  out  again.  A  sore  throat  must 
not  be  gargled  with  oil,  but  the  oil  might  be  swallowed.  It  Avas  un- 
lawful to  rub  the  teeth  with  sweet  spice  for  a  cure,  but,  if  it  were 
done  to  sweeten  the  breath,  it  was  permitted.  No  fomentations,  &:c. , 
could  be  put  to  affected  parts  of  the  body.  One  prohibition  I  must 
give  in  Latin.  "Qui  pediculum  occidit  sabb.  idem  est  ac  si  occi- 
deret  camelum."  The  school  of  Schammai  held  it  unlawful  to  com- 
fort the  sick,  or  visit  the  mourner  on  the  Sabbath,  but  the  school  of 
Hillel  permitted  it. 

It  was  clear,  therefore,  that,  if  any  cure  of  the  withered  hand  were 
attempted,  tlierc  would  be  ground  for  another  formal  charge  of  Sab- 
bath-breaking, which  brought  with  it  deatli  by  stoning. 

But  Jesus  never  feared  to  do  right.  Ko  thought  of  self  ever  came 
between  Him  and  H  is  witness  to  the  truth.  Looking  over  at  His 
enemies,  as  they  sat  on  the  chief  seats,  lie  read  their  liearts,  and  felt 
that  tidelity  to  the  very  law  Vv'hich  His  expected  action  would  be  held 
to  have  broken,  demanded  that  that  act  be  done. 

His  whole  soul  was  kindled  with  righteous  anger  and  sorrow  at  the 
hardness  which  forced  conscience  to  l.e  silent,  rather  than  confess  the 
truth.  It  was  needful  that  such  hollowuess  and  wilful  perversity 
should  be  exposed.  As  the  Son  of  God— the  Me.s,siah — sent  to  found 
a  kingdom  of  pure  spiritual  religion.  He  felt  that  the  wisdom  of  the 
schools,  priestly  mediation,  sacrifices,  Temple  rites,  and  Sabbath  laws, 
were  only  a  glittering  veil,  which  shut  out  the  knowledge  of  eternal 
truth,  alike  towards  God  and  towards  man.  He  had  taught  and 
healed,  announced  the  kingdom  of  spirit  and  truth,  cheered  the  poor, 
reproved  sinners,  lifted  the  humble  from  the  dust,  and  gathered  the 
godly  round  Himself.  Dull,  mechanical  obedience  to  worthless 
forms;  or  love,  from  the  fulness  of  the  heart,  was  now  the  question, 
in  religion  and  morals.  Should  true  religion  be  spread,  or  error  con- 
firmed? Should  He  silently  let  blinded  men  fancy  their  blind 
leaders  right,  or  should  He  brave  all,  to  open  their  eyes  and  lead  them 
into  the  true  ways  of  His  Father?  Looking  at  the  paralyzed  man, 
He  bade  him  rise  from  the  floor,  on  which,  with  the  rest  of  the  con- 
gregation, he  had  been  sitting,  and  stand  forth  in  the  midst,  and,  on 
his  doing  so,  in  ready  obedience  to  one  so  famous,  turned  once  more 
to  the  scowling  Rabbis  on  the  dais.  "Is  it  lawful  on  the  Sabbath 
days,"  He  asked  them,  "to  do  good,  or  to  do  evil,  to  save  life,  or  to 
destroy  it?"  But  they  held  their  peace,  fearing  they  might  commit 
themselves  by  answering  without  careful  reflection.     "  It  is  aUowa- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  457 

ble,  is  it  not,"  lie  resumed,  "  to  lay  hold  on  a  slieep  -which  has  fallen 
Jnto  a  pit  on  the  Sabbath  day,  and"  help  it  out?  Hoav  much  then,  is 
a  maa  better  than  a  sheep?  AVherefore  it  is  lawful  to  do  -well  on  the 
Sabbath."  "  Stretch  forth  thy  hand,"  said  He,  continuing,  to  the  suf- 
ferer;— and  th3  hand  which,  till  then,  had  hung  wasted  and  lifeless 
at  his  side,  wa^  healthy  and  strong  as  the  other. 

Jesus  felt  the  signiiicancs  of  the  moment.  He  felt  that  the  silence 
of  His  accusars  was  not  from  conviction,  but  sullen  obstinacy,  which 
had  shut  its  ears  ag-iiust  the  truth.  He  felt  that,  between  Him  and 
the  leaders  of  the  nation,  there  was  henceforth  a  hopeless  separation. 
Tliey  had  finally  reiscteJ  Him,  and  could  henceforward  only  seek 
His  d33tru3tioj.  Their  fanaticism,  now  fairly  roused,  forgat  all 
miaor  ha^rjis,  and  united  tlie  hosiil  j  factions  of  the  nation  in  common 
7.mI  for  His  d33tru3tiDa.  No  pirtio',  could  be  more  opposed  than  the 
na'Joailist^  or  Paari333s,  a:\:\  tli3  Friends  of  Rome  gathered  round 
Hjr.)  1  Antipis  at  Tiberias,  bat  they  now  united  to  hunt  Jesus  to  the 
death  The  alliance  bod  3d  the  greatesi;  danger,  for  it  showed  that, 
in  addition  to  religious  fanaticism,  H3  had  now  to  encounter  the 
saspicion  of  de^^aiag  political  revolution.  Tin  Church  and  the 
StUe  had  banded  togatliir  to  put  "  the  deceiver  of  the  people"  out  of 
the  w  vy  as  soon  as  possible. 

It  had  been  inevitable  from  the  first  that  it  should  be  so.  The 
Jerusalem  party  expected  the  "  Salvatioa  of  Israel"  from  the  uncon- 
ditional restoration  of  the  th303rac3%  with  themselves  at  its  head,  and 
from  th3  strictest  enforeemnit  of  outward  leial  observances.  While 
the  contrast  between  Judaism  and  heathenism  was,  raeamvhile, 
intensiiicd  and  embittered  to  the  utmost,  they  hoped  before  long  to 
crus'i  R)m3,  or  perish  in  the  attempt.  They  would  have  greeted 
any  oa3  who  proved  able  to  impose  thsir  law,  in  all  its  strictness,  on 
mankind,— as  a  d3liv3rer,  a3th3  stem  from  the  root  of  David,  as  the 
Saviour  and  Messiah.  In  Jesus,  on  the  contrary,  there  appeared  one 
who,  while  constraining  their  wonder  at  His  lofty  morality  and 
spiritual  greatness,  was  the  very  opposite  of  all  they  wished  and 
hoped.  He  claimed  to  bs  the  Messiah,  but  Ilis  ideal  of  the  ]Messiah- 
ship  was  the  antithesis  of  that  of  the  Rabbis  and  priesthood.  He  had 
announced  Hiins3lf  as  the  founder  of  a  new  theocracy  more  spiritual 
and  m.ire  holy  thin  that  of  Mos33.  He  had  throwm  a  new  light  on 
the  Scriptures:  had  revealed  God  in  a  new  aspect— as  no  mero 
natio.ial  d.nty,  but  the  Father  of  all  mankind,  and  He  had  taught  the 
most  startling  novelties  as  to  the  freedom  of  the  individual  conscience. 
Tlie  Rabbis  had  enjoyed,  as  their  exclusive  prerogative,  the  exposition 
of  Scripture,  but  now  found  themselves  dethroned  by  the  religious 
freadom  Jesus  had  proclaimed,  and  He  had  «ven  spoken  of  them  aa 
A  huidrance  of  true  knowledge.  The  spirit  of  His  teaching  com- 
promised th3  wiiole  state  of  tlungs  in  the  religious  world.  He  pro- 
claimed a  new  future:  the  vested  rights  of  the  day  clung  to  the  past, 
with  which  their  interests  and  their  passions  were  identified. 


1S8  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  new  wine  was  thus  already  bursting  the  old  bottles,  and  the 
result  could  not  be  doubtful.  Conservatism  felt  itself  imperilled,  for 
it  had  been  weighed,  and  found  wanting.  The  priesthood  had 
become  a  dividing  wall  between  God  and  Israel.  The  religious  decay 
of  the  nation  found  in  it  its  expression.  The  sacrifices  were  mere 
outward  forms;  the  Temple,  notwithstanding  the  glory  with  which 
Herod's  love  of  magnificence  and  hypocritical  piety  had  adorned  it, 
was  a  symbol  of  exclusiveness,  intolerance,  and  hatred  of  humanity 
at  large;  the  high  officialism  of  the  day,  a  dam  against  every  reform, 
every  breath  of  fresh  religious  thought,  and  every  attempt  at  a  purer 
Bpiritual  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

GALILEE. 

The  opposition  of  the  Rabbis  and  priests,  however  malignant  and 
fixed,  was  as  yet  confined  to  secret  plottings.  With  the  people  at 
large,  Jesus  continued  even  increasingly  popular.  It  was  advisable, 
however,  to  avoid  any  pretext  for  overt  hostility,  and  hence  He 
withdrew  from  Capernaum  for  a  time,  on  another  mission  to  the 
towns  and  villages  on  the  edge  of  the  Lake,  till  the  storm,  in  a 
measure,  blew  over.  To  the  chagrin  of  His  enemies,  the  multitudes 
attracted  to  see  and  hear  Him  were  larger  than  ever  The  excitement 
was  evidently  spi-eading  through  all  Palestine,  for  numbers  still  con- 
tinued to  come  from  Jerusalem  and  Idumea  on  the  south;  from 
Perea  and  Decapolis  and  other  parts  on  the  east,  and  even  from  the 
heathen  district  round  Tyre  and  fcidon  on  the  north.  There  wero 
many  .Jews  settled  in  every  part  of  the  land,  and  the  concourse  was 
no  doubt  of  such  almost  exclusively.  It  was  even  found  necessary 
that  a  boat  should  attend  Him,  as  He  journeyed  along  the  shore,  that 
He  might  betake  Himself  to  it  when  the  throng  grew  oppressive. 
Miraculous  cases  in  great  number  increased  the  excitement,  many 
who  crowded  roimd  Him  finding  relief  by  touching  even  His  clothes, 
aud  unclean  spirits  falling  down  before  Him  in  involuntary  confession 
of  His  being  the  Son  of  God.  But  though  His  pity  would  not  refuse 
to  heal  any  who  came,  He  still  sought  to  avoid  the  offence  of  too 
great  notoriety,  by  requiring  secrecy.  His  gentle  and  unostentatious 
progress  was  in  such  vivid  contrast* to  the  noisy  and  disputatious  ways 
of  tbe  Rabbis,  that  St.  Matthew  saw  in  it  a  fulfilment  of  the  Messianic 
visions  of  Isaiah,  for  He  did  not  strive,  nor  cry  aloud,  nor  was  His 
voice  heard  in  the  streets,  and  in  His  tender  gentleness  He  woiild  not 
break  a  bruised  reed,  or  quench  even  the  smoking  flax. 

The  Gospels  do  not  enable  us  to  follow  any  chronological  sequence 
in  the  incidents  recorded  by  them,  of  these  months  of  our  Lord's 
ministry,  but  it  must  have  been  about  this  time,  perhaps  on  His  return 
to  Capernaum,  from  this  mission,  that  we  must  date  one  of  the  most 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  45» 

Interestins  of  their  narratives.  He  had  scarcely  reached  home,  after 
His  circuit,  when  a  deputation  of  "  tlie  elders  of  the  Jews"  waited  on 
Him.  Tlis_y  vvere  the  foremost  men  in  the  Capernaum  community — • 
the  governing  body  of  the  synagogue,  and,  as  such,  the  JcAvish  magis- 
trates of  the  town.  It  is  the  habit  in  the  East  to  send  such  embassies 
when  any  request  is  to  be  made  or  invitation  given  with  circumstances 
of  special  respect,  but  tliere  was  a  feature  in  this  case  that  made  it 
very  unusual.  The  members  of  the  deputation,  though  Jewish  eccle- 
siastical «i3icials,  came  as  the  representatives  of  a  heathen,  possibly  of 
a  Samaritan.  Lying  on  the  edge  of  his  territory,  Herod  Antipas  kept 
a  small  garrison  in  Capernaum,  and  this,  at  that  time,  was  under 
command  of  a  centurion,  who,  like  many  of  the  better  heathen  of  the 
day,  had  been  drawn  tov,rards  Judaism  by  its  favourable  contrast  with 
idolatry.  He  had  .shown  his  sympathy  with  the  nation,  and  his 
generous  spirit,  in  a  way  then  not  uncommon  among  the  wealthy,  by 
building  a  synagogue  in  the  town — perhaps  that  of  which  the  massive 
ruins  still  remain.  One  of  his  slaves  had  Ijeen  struck  with  a  paralytic 
affection,  and  was  fast  sinking;  and  with  a  tenderness  that  did  him 
infinite  honour  in  an  age,  when  a  slave,  with  many  masters,  and  even 
in  the  eye  of  the  Roman  law,  was  treated  as  a  mere  chattel,  he  prayed 
Jesus,  through  the  Jewish  elders,  to  heal  him.  Their  recjuest  was  at 
once  complied  with,  and  Jesus  forthwith  set  out  with  them  to  the 
centurion's  quarters. 

But  the  zeal  of  the  messengers  had  outrun  their  commission,  for,  as 
Jesus  approached  the  house,  a  second  deputation  met  Him,  to  depre- 
cate His  being  put  to  so  much  trouble,  and  to  apologize,  by  an  humble 
expression  of  tlie  centurion's  sense  of  his  imworthiness  of  the  honour 
of  such  an  One  coming  under  his  roof.  He,  himself,  appears  to  have 
followed,  as  if  it  had  bscn  too  great  a  liberty  to  approach  Jesus 
except  at  the  distance  of  two  mediations.  "  Lord,"  said  he,  "  trouble 
not  Thyself;  for  I  am  not  worthy  that  Thou  sliouldst  en!er  under  my 
roof.  "Wherefore,  neither  thought  I  myself  worthy  to  come  to  Thee; 
but  say  in  a  word,  and  my  servant  shall  be  healed.  For  I,  also,  am  a 
man  set  under  authority  (and  render  obedience  to  my  superiors),  and 
have  soldiers  under  me,  and  I  say  to  this  one.  Go,  and  he  goes;  to 
another,  Come,  and  he  comes;  and  to  my  servant.  Do  this,  and  he 
does  it.  If,  therefore,'  You  indicate  Your  pleasure  only  by  a  word, 
the  demons  who  cause  diseases  will  at  once  obey  You  and  leave  the 
sick  man,  for  they  are  under  Your  authority  as  my  servants  are  under 
mine. 

Faith  so  clear,  undoubting,  and  humble,  had  never  before  cheered 
the  heart  of  Jesus,  even  from  a  Jew,  and,  coming  as  it  did  from  the 
lips  of  a  heathen,  it  seemed  the  first-fruits  of  a  vast  harvest,  outside 
the  limits  of  the  Ancient  People.  He  had  found  a  welcome  in 
Samaria  Avhen  rejected  in  Judea;  and  now  it  was  from  a  heathen  He 
received  this  lowly  homage.  The  clouds  that  had  lain  over  the  world 
through  the  past  seemed  to  break  aAvay,  and  a  new  earth  spread  itself 


460  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

out  before  His  soiu.  The  kingdom  of  God,  rejected  by  Israel,  "would 
be  welcomed  by  the  despised  Gentile  nations.  "  Verilj',"  said  Kc, 
"I  tell  you,  I  have  not  found  so  great  faitli,  no,  not  in  Israel.  And 
I  say  unLo  you  that  many  sliall  come  from  the  east  and  the  west,  and 
lie  down  at  the  table  of  God  in  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  as 
honoured  guests,  with  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  while  the  Jew, 
wno  prided  himself  on  being,  by  birth,  the  child  of  the  heavenly 
kingdom,  and  despised  all  others,  as  doomed  to  sit  in  the  darkness 
outside  the  banquet  hall  of  the  Messiah,  will  have  to  change  places 
Avith  them!"  To  His  hearers  such  language  would  speak  with  a  force 
to  be  measured  only  by  their  fierce  pride  and  intolerance.  To  share 
a  grand  banquet  with  the  loatriarchs  in  tlic  Messianic  kingdom,  was 
a  favourite  mode  with  the  Jews  of  picturing  the  blessedness  that 
kingdom  would  bring.  "  In  the  future  world,"  they  made  God  say, 
in  one  of  their  Rabbinical  lessons,  "I  sbail  spread  for  you  Jcavs  a 
great  table,  which  the  Gentiles  will  see  and  be  ashamed."  Eut  now 
the  rejection  and  despair  are  to  be  theirs!  The  contrast  between  Jesus 
and  the  Rabbis  was  daily  becoming  more  m.arked,  for  noAv  He  adds  to 
all  else  a  grand  vision  of  a  universal  religion,  and  of  a  kingdcm  of 
the  Messiah,  no  longer  rational,  but  sending  a  welcome  to  all  hu- 
manity who  will  submit  to  its  laws. 

"Go  thy  way,"  added  He,  to  the  centurion,  "and  as  thou  hast 
believed,  so  be  it  done  to  thee."  And  his  slave  was  healed  in  that 
very  hour. 

He  had  apparently  left  Capernaum  the  same  day,  for  we  find  Him, 
the  next,  at  a  village  called  Nain.  twenty-five  miles  to  the  south-west, 
on  the  northern  slope  of  Little  Hermon,  a  clump  of  hills  at  the 
eastern  end  of  the  great  plain  of  Esdraelon.  It  was  still  the  early  and 
popular  time  of  His  ministry,  and  crowds  followed  Him  wherever  He 
appeared.  Nain,  which  is  now  a  poor  and  miserable  hamlet,  in- 
habited only  by  a  few  fanatical  Mahometans,  may  then  have  deserved 
its  name — the  beautiful.  The  only  antiquities  about  it  are  some 
tombs  liewn  in  the  hills,  seen  as  you  approach,  beside  the  road,  which 
winds  up,  to  the  village.  The  presence  of  the  Prince  of  Life,  with  a 
throng  of  disciples  and  followers,  might  well  have  banished  tlioughts 
of  sadness,  but  shadows  everywhere  lie  side  by  side  with  the  light. 
As  He  came  near,  another  procession  met  Him,  descending  from 
Nain,  the  dismal  sounds  rising  from  it,  even  at  a  distance,  telling  too 
plainly  what  it  was.  Death  had  been  busy  under  these  blue  summer 
skies,  and  its  prey  was  now  being  borne,  amidst  the. wail  of  the 
mourner,  to  its  last  resting-place.  A  colder  heart  than  that  of  Jesus 
would  have  been  touched,  for  it  was  a  case  so  sad  that  the  whole  town 
had  poured  forth  to  show  its  sympathy  with  the  broken  heart  that 
followed  next  the  bier.  It  was  the  funeralof  a  young  man,  the  only 
eon  of  a  widow,  now  left  in  that  saddest  of  all  positions  to  a  Jew — to 
mourn  alone  in  the  de-solated  home  in  which  he  had  died,  doubtless 
©nly  a  very  few  Lours  before.     Moved  with  the  pitj  at  all  times  aa 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  46t 

histinct  with  Him,  Jesus  could  not  let  the  train  sweep  on.  It  was  not 
meel  that  death  should  reap  its  triumph  in  His  presence.  Stepping 
towards  the  poor  mother,  He  dried  up  the  fountain  of  her  tears  lij^  a 
soft  appeal.  "  Weep  not,"  said  He,  and  then  moved  to  the  bier,  care- 
less of  the  defilement  which  would  have  made  a  Rabbi  pass  as  far  as 
he  could  from  the  dead.  Touching  it,  those  who  bore  the  bod}'  at 
once  stood  still.  It  was,  doubtless,  a  mere  open  frame,  lilce  that  still 
used  for  such  purposes  in  Palestine.  "Young  man,"  said  He,  "I 
say  unto  thee,  Arise."  It  was  enough.  "He  that  was  dead  sat  up 
and  began  to  speak.     And  He  delivered  him  to  his  mother." 

It  was  at  Shunem,  now  Solani,  a  village  on  the  other  side  of  the 
very  hill  on  which  Nain  stood,  that  Elisha  had  raised  the  only  son  of 
the  lady  who  had  hospitably  entertained  him ;  and  the  luxuriant  plain 
of  Jezreel,  stretching  out  beneath,  had  been  the  scene  of  the  greatest 
events  in  the  life  of  Elijah,  who  had  raised  to  life  tlie  son  of  the 
widow  in  the  Phenician  village  of  Sarepta,  on  the  far  northern  coast. 
No  prouder  sign  of  their  greatness  as  prophets  had  lingered  in  the 
mind  of  the  nation  than  such  triumphs  over  the  grave,  anci  in  no 
place  could  such  associations  have  been  more  rife  than  in  the  very 
scene  of  the  life  of  both.  At  the  sight  of  the  young  man  once  more 
alive,  the  memory  of  Elijah  and  Elisha  was  on  every  lip,  and  cries 
rose  on  all  sides  that  a  great  prophet  had  again  risen,  and  that  God 
had  visited  His  people.  Nor  did  the  report  confine  itself  to  these 
upland  regions.  It  flew  far  and  near  to  Judea  in  the  south,  and  even 
to  the  remote  Perca. 

For  now,  six  months;  it  may  be  for  more  tlian  a  year,  the  Baptist 
— the  one  man  hitherto  recognized,  in  these  daj's,  as  a  prophet,  had 
lain  a  prisoner  in  the  dungeons  of  Machaerus — doubtless,  in  hourly 
expectation  of  death — a  man,  young  in  years,  but  wasted  with  his 
own  fiery  zeal,  and  now  by  the  shadows  of  his  prison-house.  But 
Antipas  had  not  yet  determined  what  to  do  with  him.  Shielding  him 
from  the  fury  of  Herodias,  and  yet  dreading  to  let  him  go  free,  he 
still  suffered  him,  as  Felix  permitted  Paul  long  afterwards,  at  Caesarea, 
to  receive  visits  from  his  disciples,  as  if  almost  ashamed  to  confine 
one  so  blameless.  The  rumours  of  Christ's  doings  had  thus,  all  along, 
reached  the  lofty  castle  where  he  lay,  and,  doubtless,  were  the  one 
great  subject  of  his  thought  and  conversation.  As  a  Jew,  he  had 
clung  to  Jewish  ideas  of  the  Messiah,  expecting,  apparently,  a  national 
movement  which  would  establish  a  pure  theocracy,  under  Jesus. 
Why  had  He  left  him  to  languish  in  prison?  Why  had  He  not  used 
His  supernatural  powers  to  advance  the  kingdom  of  God? 

To  solve  such  questions,  which  could  not  be  repressed,  two  of  his 
disciples  were  deputed  to  visit  Jesus,  and  learn  from  Himself  whether 
He  was,  indeed,  the  ^Messiah,  or  whether  the  nation  should  still  look 
for  another?  From  first  to  last,  more  than  sixty  claimants  of  the  title 
were  to  rise.  John  might  well  wonder  if  the  past  were  not  a  dream, 
and  Jesua  only  a  herald  like  himself.     He  had  everything  to  depresg 


m^  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

him.  A  child  of  the  desert,  accustomed  to  its  -vdld  freedom,  he  waa 
now  en;' id  in  a  dismal  fortress,  with  no  outlook  except  black  lava- 
crags,  and  deep  gorges,  yawning  in  seemingly  bottomless  depths. 
Burning  with  zeal,  he  found  himself  set  aside  as  if  forgotten  of  God, 
or  of  no  use  in  His  kingdom.  Even  the  people  appeared  to  have  for- 
gotten him,  for  their  fickle  applause  had  begun  to  lessen,  even  before 
his  imprisonment.  His  work  seemed  to  have  been  without  results;  a 
momentary  excitement  which  liad  already  died  away.  He  could  not 
hope  for  visits  from  Jesus  which  could  only  have  given  a  second  pris- 
oner to  Machaerus — "  the  Black  Castle." 

The  reaction  from  the  sense  of  boundless  liberty  in  the  desert  to 
the  forced  inaction  and  close  walls  of  a  pri.son,  and  from  the  stir  and 
enthusiasm  of  the  great  assemblies  at  the  fords  of  the  Jordan,  affected 
even  the  strong  and  firm  soul  of  the  hero,  as  similar  influences  have 
affected  even  the  bravest  hearts  since  his  day.  Moses  and  Elijah  had 
had  their  times  of  profoimd  despondency,  and  it  was  no  wonder 
that  a  passing  cloud  tlirew  its  shadow  even  over  the  Baptist. 

The  answer  of  Jesus  was  full  of  calm  dignity.  Isaiah,  the  special 
favourite  of  John,  had  given  the  marks,  ages  before,  by  which  the 
Messiah  should  be  known,  and  these  Jesus  proceeded  at  once  to  dis- 
play to  the  disciples  sent  from  Machaerus.  Among  the  crowds  around 
Him,  there  were  always  many  who  had  been  attracted  by  the  hope 
of  a  miraculous  cure  of  their  diseases  or  infirmities,  and  these  He 
forthwith  summoned  to  His  presence,  and  healed.  John  would  un- 
derstand the  significance  of  such  an  answer,  and  it  left  undisturbed 
the  delicacy  which  shrank  from  verbal  self-assertion.  His  acts,  and, 
doubtless,  the  words  that  accompanied  them,  were  left  to  speak  for 
Him.  It  was  enough  that  He  should  refer  them  to  Isaiah,  and  to 
what  they  had  seen.  ' '  Go  your  Avay,  and  tell  John  what  you  have 
seen  and  heard.  The  blind  see,  the  lame  walk,  the  lepers  are  cleansed, 
the  deaf  hear,  the  dead  are  raised,  and  the  poor  have  the  Gospel 
preached  to  them."  "Tell  him,  moreover,  that  I  know  how  he  is 
tempted ;  but  let  him  comfort  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  who 
holds  fast  his  faith  in  spite  of  all  fiery  trials,  and  does  not  reject  the 
kingdom  of  God  because  of  its  small  beginnings,  and  still,  spiritual 
gentleness,  so  different  from  the  worldly  power  and  glory  expected, 
already  has  the  blessings  it  is  sent  to  bring." 

The  messengers  had  hardly  departed,  when  His  full  heart  broke 
out  into  a  eulogy  on  John,  tender,  lofty,  and  fervent.  "It  was  no 
weak  and  wavering  man,"  said  He,  "  bending  this  way  and  that,  like 
the  tall  Jordan  reeds,  that  ye  went  out  in  bands  to  the  desert  banks 
of  the  Jordan  to  see!  No  soft  and  silken  man,  tricked  out  in  splen- 
did dress,  and  living  on  dainty  fare,  like  the  glittering  courtiers  at 
Tiberias !  John  was  a  prophet  of  God — aye,  the  last  and  the  greatest 
of  prophets,  for  he  was  sent  as  the  herald  to  prepare  the  way  for  Me, 
the  Messiah !  I  tell  you,  among  all  that  have  been  born  of  women,  a 
greater  and  more  honoured  than  John  the  Baptist  has  not  risen!" 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  4C3 

Passing  from  this  tender  tribute,  which  He  had  already  paid  to 
His  great  forerunner,  even  before  the  autliorities  at  Jerusalem,  He 
proceeded,  as  was  meet,  to  point  out  the  greater  privileges  en- 
joyed by  His  hearers,  than  even  by  one  so  famous.  "  He  was  great 
indeed  in  the  surpassing  dignity  of  his  office,  as  the  herald  of  the 
Kingdom;  .yet  one  far  less,  but  still  a  member  of  that  Kingdom, 
which  is  now  set  up  among  you,  is  greater  in  the  honour  of  liis 
citizenship  than  he,  for  lie  stood  outside.  But  he  did  a  mighty  work ; 
he  roused  the  land  to  a  grand  earnestness  for  the  kingdom  of  the 
Messiali,  and  they  who  were  thus  stirred  by  him,  are  those  now  being 
received  into  it.  The  prophets  and  the  I  aw  only  prophesied  of  my 
coming:  John  announced  Me  as  having  come.  Believe  Me,  he  was 
the  Elias  who  was  to  appear." 

To  a  Jewish  audience,  no  honour  could  be  so  great  as  this,  for 
Elijah  was  the  greatest  of  all  the  prophets.  "Elijah  appeared,"  says 
the  SOP  of  Sirach,  "  a  prophet  like  lire,  and  his  words  burned  like  a 
torch.  He  brought  down  famine  on  Israel,  and  by  his  stormy  zeal, 
he  took  it  away.  Through  the  Word  of  the  Lord  he  shut  up  the 
heavens,  and  thrice  brought  down  fire  from  them.  O !  how  wert 
thou  magnified,  O  Elijah,  by  thy  mighty  deeds,  and  who  can  boast 
that  he  is  thine  equal!  He  raised  the  dead  to  life,  and  brought  them 
from  the  under  world  by  the  word  of  the  Highest.  He  cast  kings 
to  destruction,  and  the  noble  from  their  seats.  lie  received  power 
to  punish,  on  Sinai,  and  judgments  on  lloreb.  He  anointed  kings  to 
revenge  guilt,  and  prophets  to  be  his  successors.  He  was  carried  up 
in  a  tlaming  storm,  in  a  chariot  with  horses  of  fire;  he  is  appointed 
for  the  correction  of  times  to  come,  to  abate  God's  wrath  before 
judgment  be  let  loose,  to  turn  the  heart  of  the  father  to  the  sons, 
and  to  restore  the  tribes  of  Jacob.  It  is  well  for  those  who  shall 
behold  thee!"  All  the  majesty  of  the  prophetic  office  seemed  incor- 
porate in  the  Tishbite,  and  yet  this  did  not  seem  enough  to  Jesus  to 
express  the  dignity  of  John,  for  he  was  moi'c  than  a  prophet,  and 
no  greater  had  ever  risen  among  all  the  sons  of  men. 

The  message  from  John  was  only  the  expression  of  the  general 
feeling  which,  by  its  want  of  spiritual  elevation,  ciuestioned  the 
Messiahship  of  Jesus,  because  He  had  not  realized  the  national  idea 
of  a  Jewish  hero-king,  at  the  head  of  a  great  revolt  froni  Rome,  de- 
stroying the  heathen,  and  establishing  the  theocracy  by  wonders  like 
the  dividing  of  the  Red  Sea,  or  the  thunderimrs  of  Sinai.  It  struck 
home  to  the  heart  of  the  Saviour,  that  even  His  herald  should  have 
no  higher  or  worthier  conception  of  the  true  nature  of  the  kingdom 
of  God,— that  even  he,  so  near  the  light,— should  have  caught  so  little 
of  its  brightness.  No  wonder  the  people,  as  a  mass,  rejected  Hun. 
How  lonff  had  He  taught  in  the  towns  of  Gililee,  and  yet  how  dispro- 
portionately small  was  the  number  He  had  really  won,  in  spite  of  the 
throncfs  who  had  pressed  with  easrer  curiosity  and  wonder  round 
Him/and  the  respect  He  had  excited  by  His  teachings!    His  heart 


464  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■was  bowed  with  sorrow.  He  had  come  to  His  own,  and  His  own  did 
not  receive  Him.  Infinite  love  and  pity  for  them  filled  His  soul,  for 
He  was  Himself  a  son  of  Israel,  and  wonld  fain  have  led  His  brethren 
into  the  New  Kingdom,  as  the  first-fruits  of  tlie  nations.  But  they 
refused  to  let  themselves  be  delivered  from  the  spiritual  and  moral 
slavery  under  which  they  had  long  simk.  The  yoke  of  the  Romans 
was  not  tlieir  greatest  misfortune.  That  of  the  dead  letter,  and  of 
frozen  forms  and  formulae,  which  chilled  every  nobler  aspiration,  and 
shut  up  the  heart  against  true  repentance,  and  practical  holiness,  was 
a  far  greater  calamity.  Even  their  highest  ideal — the  conception  of 
the  Messiah — had  become  a  heated  fantastic  dream  of  universal 
dominion,  apart  from  religious  reform.  A  glimpse  of  other  fields, 
which  promised  a  richer  harvest,  had,  however,  lifted  His  spirit  to 
consoling  thoughts,  for  the  heathen  centurion  had  shown  the  faith 
which  was  wanting  in  Israel.  His  homage  had  been  like  the  wave- 
offering  before  God,  of  the  first  sheaf  of  the  Gentile  world!  Hea- 
thenism might  be  sunk  in  error  and  sin,  crime  and  lust,  and  all 
moral  confusion  might  reign  widely  in  it;  there  was  more  hope  of 
repentance  and  a  return  to  a  better  life,  from  heathen  indifference  or 
guilt,  than  from  Jewish  insane,  self-righteous  pride. 

The  crowd  of  despised  common  people  and  publicans,  to  whom 
Jesus  had  addressed  His  etdogy  of  John,  received  it  with  delight,  for 
they  had  themselves  been  baptized  by  the  now  imprisoned  prophet. 
There  were  not  wanting  others,  however,  whom  it  greatly  offended — • 
the  Pharisees  and  Scribes  present  for  no  friendly  purpose.  With  the 
instinct  of  monopoly,  they  condemned  at  once  whatever  had  not  come 
through  the  legitimate  channels  of  authorized  teaching.  They  had 
gone  out  to  John,  but  with  the  foregone  conclusion  to  hear,  criticize, 
and  reject  him  with  svipercilious  contempt,  as  only  fit  for  the  vulgar. 
Though  a  priest's  son,  he  was  virtually  a  layman,  for  he  had  not  been 
duly  ordained.  He  might  be  good  enough  in  his  way,  but  he  was 
not'a  Rabbi.  He  was  almost  guilty  of  schism,  like  Korah.  He  was 
not  licensed  by  the  authorities,  and  yet  preached,  as,  indeed,  for  that 
matter,  was  the  case  with  Jesus  Himself.  The  bitter  hostility  both 
John  and  He  had  met,  rose  the  more  in  the  Saviour's  mind  at  the 
sight  of  the  Rabbis  on  the  skirts  of  the  crowd,  and  the  sadness  and 
indignation  of  His  heart  broke  out  in  stern  denunciation.  "To 
what  shall  I  liken  the  men  of  this  generation?  They  are  like  children 
in  the  empty  market-places,  playing  at  marriages  and  mom-nings; 
some  making  music  on  the  flute  for  the  one;  some  acting  like  mourn- 
ers for  the  other;  but  neither  the  cheerful  piping,  nor  the  sad  beat- 
ing on  the  breast,  pleasing  the  companion  audience.  John  the 
Baptist  came  upholding  the  traditions  and  customs  of  you  Rabbis; 
for  he  fasted,  and  paid  attention  to  washinirs,  and  set  prayers,  and 
enjoined  these  on  his  disciples;  but  you  said  he  was  too  strict,  and 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  and  that  he  spoke  in  so  strange 
a  way  because  he  had  a  devil.     I  came  eating  and  drinking — neither 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  465 

a  Nazarite  like  John,  nor  requiring  fa<5ts  like  him;  nor  avoidino;  the 
table  of  all  but  tiie  corenionialiy  pure,  like  llie  Pharisees;  ar.<l  you 
say  I  am  too  fond  of  eatinii,-  and  ot  wine,  and  still  worse,  am  a  friend 
of  the  publicans  and  sinners  you  despise.  But  the  true  divine  wis- 
dom which  both  he  and  I  have  proclaimed  is  justified  by  ihose  wiio 
honour  and  follow  it,  for  they  know  its  surpassing  Morth,  though 
you  treat  it  as  folly!  The  divine  wisdom  of  both  his  and  my  coming 
as  we  have  come,  is  vindicated  by  iill  who  humbly  seek  to  be  wise, 
and  the  folly  of  men  is  seen  in  their  fancied  wisdom." 

He  would  fain  have  led  all  to  whom  He  had  preached  in  His  fre- 
quent journeys,  into  the  ways  of  peace.  But  tender  though  He  was. 
He  was  also  stern,  when  stolid  obduracy  shut  its  cyts  on  the  sacred 
light  He  had  brought  to  them.  Most  of  His  mighty  works  had  been 
done,  and  most  of  His  no  less  mightj^  words  had  been  spo:;en,  in 
Chorazin,  Bethsaida,  and  Capernaum,  the  district  which  He  had 
made  His  lio.nj.  BlU  they  had  led  to  no  general  penitence.  With 
a  voice  of  unspeakable  sadness,  mingled  with  holy  wrath,  He  de- 
nounced such  wilful  perversity.  "  Woe  unto  thee,  Chorazin,  woe 
unto  thee,  Bethsaida,  for  if  the  mighty  works  I  have  done  in  yoa  had 
been  done  even  in  Tyre  and  Sidon,  the  types  of  besotted  heathenism, 
they  would  have  repented  long  ago,  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  But  I 
say"  unto  you.  It  will  be  more  tolerable  for  Tyre  and  l^idon  in  the 
Day  of  Jud.!»nient  than  for  you.  And  thou,  Capernaum,  exalted  to 
heaven  by  my  dwelling  and  working  in  you,  shalt  be  thrust  down  to 
Hades,  at  the  Day  of  Judgment;  for  if  tne  migh'y  works  I  have  done 
in  thee  had  been  done  in  Sodom,  it  would  have  rem:uned  until  this 
day.  But  I  say  unto  you.  It  will  be  m.ore  tolerable  for  the  land  of 
Sodom,  in  the  Day  of  Judgment,  than  for  thee!" 

It  would  seem  as  if  at  this  point,  some  comnmnication  tliat  pleased 
Him  had  been  made  to  Jesus.  Perhaps  His  disciples  liad  told  Him 
of  some  success  obtained  among  the  simple  crowds  to  whom  they  had 
preached  the  New  Kingdom.  "Whatever  it  was,  He  broke  forth  on 
hearing  it  into  thanksgiving:."!  praise  Thee,  O  Father,  Lord  of 
heaven  and  earth,  that  Thou  hast  hid  the  things  of  Thy  Kingdom 
from  those  Avho  are  thought,  and  who  think  themselves  wise,  and 
qualified  to  judge — the  Kabbis,  and  Priests,  and  Pluuisces — and  ha-^t 
revealed  them  to  simpla  souls,  unskilled  in  thewistiomof  the  schools. 
I  thank  Thee  that  what  is  well-pleasing  to  Thee  has  happened  thus!" 
The  New  Kingdom  was  not  to  rest  on  the  theology  of  liie  schoolmen 
of  the  day,  or  "on  official  authority,  or  on  tie  sanction  of  a  corrupt 
Church,  or  on  the  support  of  privileged  classes,  but  upon  c'liid-like 
faith  and  luunble  love.  It  was  not  to  spread  downwards,  from  among 
the  powerful  and  influential,  but  to  rise  from  among  the  wealc  and 
ignoble,  the  poor  and  lowly,  who  would  receive  it  in  love  and  humility. 
It  was  to  spread  upwards  by  no  artificial  aids,  but  by  the  aUractious 
of  its  own  heavenly  worth  alone.  It  was  a  vital  condition  of  its 
nature  that  it  should,  for  it  can  only  be  received  in  sincerity,  where 
its  unaided  spiritual  beauty  wins  the  heart. 


466  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Among  the  "habes"were  doubtless  included  the  confessors  to  be 
•won  from  the  world  at  large,  and  not  from  Israel  alone,  for  the  law 
of  growth  from  below  upwards,  is  that  of  religious  movements  in  all 
ages  and  countries.  All  reformations  begin  with  the  laity,  and  with 
the  obscure.  Jesus  had  nothing  to  hope  but  everything  to  fear  from 
the  privileged  classes,  tlie  learned  guilds,  the  ecclesiastical  authorities, 
and  the  othcials  of  the  Church  generally.  It  sounds  startling  to  read 
of  His  thanking  God  that  these  all-powerful  classes  showed  neither 
sympathy  for  the  New  Kingdom  founded  by  Him,  nor  even  the  power 
of  comprehending  it,  and  that  it  was  left  to  the  simple  and  child-like 
minds  of  the  common  people,  in  their  freedom  from  prejudice,  to 
embrace  it  with  eagerness.  It  was  because  He  saw  in  the  fact,  the 
divine  law  of  all  moral  and  religious  progress.  New  epochs  in  the 
spiritual  history  of  the  world  always  spring  like  seeds,  in  darkness 
and  obscurity,  and  only  show  themselves  when  they  have  already 
struck  root  in  the  soil.  The  moral  and  religious  life,  firids  an  unnoticed 
welcome  in  the  mass  of  the  people,  when  the  higher  ranks  of  lay,  and 
even  of  ecclesiastical  society,  are  morally  and  spiritually  effete,  unlit  to 
introduce  a  reform,  and  bound  by  their  interests  to  things  as  they  are. 

The  overflowing  fulness  of  heart,  which  had  found  utterance  in 
prayer,  added  a  few  sentences  more,  of  imdyicg  interest  and  beauty. 
It  might  be  feared  that,  if  old  guides  were  forsaken,  those  wlio  took 
Him  for  their  leader  might  find  Him  unequal  to  direct«them  aright. 
To  dispel  any  such  ajiprehension  He  draws  aside  the  veil  from  some 
of  the  awful  mysteries  of  His  nature  and  His  relation  to  the  Eternal, 
in  words  which  must  have  strangely  comforted  the  simple  souls  who 
heard  them  first,  and  which  still  carry  with  them  a  spiritual  support, 
intensified  by  their  awful  sublimity  as  the  words  of  one,  in  outward 
seeming,  a  man  like  ourselves. 

"All  things  concerning  the  New  Kingdom  are  delivered  unto  me  of 
my  Father — its  founding,  its  establishment,  its  spread.  I  am,  there- 
fore, the  king  and  leader  of  the  new  people  of  God — the  head  of  the 
new  Theocracy,  divinely  commissioned  to  rule  over  it.  All  that  I 
teach  I  have  received  from  my  Father.  I  speak,  in  all  things,  the 
mind  of  God,  and  thus  you  are  for  ever  safe.  No  one  knows  fully 
what  I  am,  and  what  measure  of  gifts  I  have  received  as  Messiah,  but 
the  Father,  who  has  commissioned  and  sent  me  forth — Me,  His  Son. 
Nor  does  any  man  know  the  Father,  in  His  counsels  for  the  salvation 
of  man,  as  I  His  Son  do,  and  those  to  whom  I  make  Him  known.  I 
am  the  true  Light,  who  alone  can  lighten  men,  the  one  true  Teacher, 
who  cannot  mislead. 

"Come  unto  me,  therefore,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy-laden 
with  the  burden  of  rites  and  traditions  of  men,  which  your  teachers 
lay  on  you — you,  who  can  find  no  deliverance  from  the  nii-sery  of  your 
souls,  by  all  these  observances,  and  I  will  give  your  spirits  rest.  Cast 
off  their  heavy  yoke  and  take  mine,  and  learn  of  me,  for  I  am  not 
Lard  and  haughty  hke  your  Kabbis,  but  meek  and  lowly  in  heart,  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  467 

ye  shall  find  rest  for  your  souls.  For  the  yoke  I  lay  on  you — the  law 
I  require  you  to  honour — is  not  like  that  which  you  have  hitherto 
borne,  but  brings  health  to  the  spirit,  and  my  burden  is  light,  for  it 
is  the  Law  of  love. " 

Language  like  this,  briefly  expanded,  for  greater  clearness,  demands 
reverent  thought.  Who  does  not  feel  that  such  words  could  not  fall 
from  the  lips  of  a  sinful  man,  but  only  from  those  of  one  whose 
nature  and  life  lay  far  above  all  human  imperfection?  Who,  even  of 
the  highest,  or  wisest,  or  best,  of  human  teachers,  could  invite  all, 
without  exception,  to  come  to  Him,  with  the  promise  that  He  would 
give  them  true  rest  for  their  souls?  And  who.  in  doing  so,  could 
speak  of  it  as  a  thing  apparent  to  all  who  heard  Him,  that  He  was 
meek  and  lowly  in  heart?  Who  would  think  of  claiming  the  stately 
dignity  of  sole  representative  of  the  Unseen  God,  and  who  could 
speak  of  God  as  his  Father,  in  the  same  way  as  Jesus?  And  who 
■would  dare  to  link  Himself  with  the  Eternal  in  a  Communion  so  awful 
and  an  inter-revelation  so  absolute  ?  He  makes  us  feel  that  as  we  listen 
we  are  face  to  face  with  the  Incarnate  Divine. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

DARKEXESTG   SHADOWS. — LIFE   IN   GALILEE. 

The  rupture  with  the  hierarchical  party  was  not  as  yet  so  pronounced 
as  to  prevent  a  more  or  less  friendly  intercourse  between  Jesus  and 
some  of  its  members.  An  incident  connected  with  one  happened 
about  this  time. 

A  Pharisee  of  the  name  of  Simon,  who  seems  to  have  been  in  good 
social  position,  had  met  with  Jesus  in  some  of  the  Galil;T?an  towns, 
and  had  l)een  so  attracted  by  Him  that  he  invited  Him  to  his  house, 
to  eat  with  him.  This  was  a  mark  of  high  consideration  from  one  of 
a  party  so  strict,  for  a  Pharisee  was  as  careful  as  a  Brahmin  is,  Avith 
whom  he  ate.  Defilement  was  temporarj'  loss  of  caste,  and  neutral- 
ized long-continued  effort  to  attain  a  higher  grade  of  legal  purity,  and 
it  lurked,  in  a  thousand  forms,  behind  the  simplest  acts  of  daily  life 
and  intercourse.  To  invite  one  who  was  neither  a  Pharisee,  nor  a 
member  of  even  the  lowest  grade  of  legal  gujids,  was  amazing  liber- 
ality in  a  Jewish  precisian.  It  Avould  seem  as  if  the  courtesy  had 
already  excited  timid  fear  of  having  gone  too  far,  when  Jesus  ac- 
cepted the  invitation, — and  had  given  place  to  a  cold  patronizing  con- 
descension, Avliich  fancied  it  had  conferred,  rather  than  received,  an 
honour  by  His  presence. 

In  the  earlier  ages  of  the  nation  it  had  been  the  habit  to  sit  at  meals 
on  mats,  Avith  the  feet  crossed  beneath  the  body,  as  at  present  in  the 
East — round  a  low  table — now,  only  about  a  foot  in  height.  But  the 
foreign  custom  of  reclining  on  cushions,  long  in  use  among  the  Pet* 


468  THE  LIPE  OF  CHRIST. 

sians,  Greeks,  f\r\(\  Romans,  had  been  introduced  into  Palestine  appar- 
ently as  early  as  tlic  days  of  Amos,  and  had  become  trcncral  in  those 
of  Christ.  Raised  divans,  or  table  couches,  provided  with  cushions 
and  arranged  on  three  sides  of  a  square,  supplied  a  rest  for  guests, 
and  on  these  they  lay  on  their  left  arm,  with  their  foct  at  ease  behind 
them,  outside.  The  place  of  honour  was  at  the  upper  end  of  the  right 
side,  which  had  no  one  above  it,  while  all  below  could  easily  lean 
back  on  the  bosom  of  the  perron  immediately  beiiind.  Hospitality 
am.ong  the  poor  was  prefaced  by  various  courtesies  and  attentions 
to  the  guest,  more  or  less  peculiar  to  the  ration.  To  enter  a  house 
except  with  bare  feet  was  m.uch  the  Si.me  as  our  doing  so  without  re- 
moving the  hat,  and,  therefore,  all  shces  and  sandals  were  taken  off, 
and  left  at  the  threshold.  A  kiss  on  the  cheek,  frcm  the  master  of 
the  house,  with  the  invocation  "The  Lord  be  with  ycu,"  conveyed  a 
formal  welcome,  and  was  followed,  on  the  guest  taking  1  is  place  on 
the  couch,  by  a  servant  bringing  water  and  wai-hirg  the  feet,  to  cool 
and  refresh  them,  as  well  as  to  remove  the  dnst  of  ibe  rcr.d  and  give 
ceremonial  cleanness.  The  best  him.self,  or  ere  of  his  servants,  next 
anointed  the  head  and  beard  of  the  gi:ests  with  fragrant  oil,  attention 
to  the  hair  being  a  great  point  with  Orientals.  Before  eating,  water 
Tvas  again  brought  to  wash  tie  Lands,  as  the  requirements  of  legal 
purity  demanded,  and  from  the  fact  tl;at  (he  food  was  t;ikcn  by  dip- 
ping the  fingers,  or  a  piece  of  I  read,  into  a  ccmn.cn  dieh.  "To  wash 
the  hands  before  a  meal,"  says  the  Talmud,  "is  a  con.m.and;  to  do  so 
during  eating  is  left  matter  of  choice,  but,  to  wash  them  alter  it,  is  a 
duty. " 

With  all  Jews,  but  especially  with  scrupulous  formalists  like  the 
Pharisees,  religious  observances  form.ed  a  marked  feature  in  every 
entertain ment,"however  humble,  and,  as  thc^e  were  duh'  prescribed 
by  the  Rabbis,  we  ai'e  able  to  picture  a  meal  like  that  given  to  Jesus 
by  Simon. 

Houses  in  the  East  are  far  from  enjoying  the  privacy  we  prize  so 
highly.  Even  at  this  time,  strangers  pass  in  and  out  at  their  pleasure, 
to  see  the  guests,  and  join  in  conversation  with  them  and  with  the 
host.  AnVong  those  who  did  so,  in  Simon's  hou.se,  was  one  at  v.l  ose 
presence  in  his  dwelling,  under  any  circumstances,  he  must  have  been 
equally  astonished  and  disturbed.  Silently  gliding  into  the  cluimber, 
perhaps  to  the  seat  round  the  Avail,  came  a  woman,  though  women 
could  not  with  propriety  make  their  appearance  at  such  entertain- 
ments. She  was,  moreover,  unveiled,  which,  in  itself,  was  contrary 
to  recognized  rules.  In  the  little  toAvn  every  one  was  known,  and 
Simon  saw,  at  tlie  first  glance,  that  she  was  no  other  than  one  known 
to  the  commmiity  as  a  poor  fallen  woman.  She  was  evidently  in 
distress,  but  he  hud  no  eyes  or  heart  for  such  a  consideration.  She  had 
compromised  his  respectability,  and  his  frigid  seli-righteousness  could 
think  only  of  itself.  To  eat  with  publicans  or  sinners  was  tiie  sum 
©f  all  evils  to  a  Pharisee.     It  was  the  approach  of  one  under  inoral 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  4fi9 

fjnarantine,  whose  very  neighbourhood  was  disastrous,  and  yet,  here 
she  was,  in  his  own  house. 

A  tenderer  heart  tiiaii  liis,  however,  knew  the  deeper  aspects  of  her 
case,  and  welcomed  lier  approaeli.  She  had  listened  to  tlie  words  of 
Jesus,  perhaps  to  His  invitation  to  the  weary  and  lieavy-laden  to 
come  to  Him  for  rest,  and  was  bowed  down  with  penitent  shame  and 
contrition,  which  were  the  promise  of  a  new  and  purer  life.  Lost, 
till  now,  to  self-respect,  an  outcast  for  wliom  no  one  cared,  she  had 
found  in  Him  that  there  was  a  friend  of  siiuiers,  who  beckoned  even 
the  most  hopeless  to  take  sheltoi"  by  His  side.  In  Him  and  His  words 
hope  had  returned,  and  in  His  respect  for  her  womanhood,  thous;h 
fallen,  cpiickeninu:  self-respect  had  been  once  more  awakened  in  her 
bosom.  She  might  yet  be  saved  from  her  degradation;  might  yei 
retrace  her  steps  from  pollution  and  sorrow,  to  a  pure  life  and  peace 
of  mind.  What  could  she  do  but  seek  the  presence  of  One  who  had 
won  her  back  from  ruin?  What  could  she  do  but  express  her  lowly 
gratitude  for  the  sympathy  He  alone  had  shown:  the  belief  in  the 
possibility  of  her  restoration  that  had  itself  i^estored  her! 

The  object  of  her  visit  was  not,  however,  long  a  mystery.  Kneel- 
ing down  behind  Jesus,  she  proceeded  to  anoint  His  feet  with  fragrant 
ointment,  but  as  she  was  about  to  do  so,  her  tears  fell  on  them  so  fast 
that  she  was  fain  to  wipe  them  with  her  long  hair,  which,  in  her  dis- 
tress, had  escaped  its  fastenings.  To  anoint  the  head  was  the  usual 
course,  but  she  would  not  venture  on  such  an  honour,  and  would 
only  mike  bold  to  anoint  His  feet.  Unmindfnl  of  her  disorder, 
which  Simon  coldly  noted  as  an  additional  sliame,  she  could  think 
only  of  her  benefactor.  Weeping  antl  wiping  away  the  tears,  and 
covering  tlie  feet  with  kisses,  her  heart  gave  itself  vent  till  it  was 
calmed  enough  to  let  her  anoint  them,  and,  meanwhile,  Jesus  left  her 
to  her  lowly,  loving  will. 

The  Pharisee  was  horrified.  That  a  Rabbi  should  allow  such  a 
woman,  or.  indeed,  any  woman,  to  approach  him,  was  contrary  to  all 
the  traditions,  but  it  was  incredibly  worse  in  one  whom  the  people 
regarded  as  a  jirophet.  He  would  not  speak  aloud,  but  his  looks 
showed  his  thoughts.  "This  man,  if  He  were  a  prophet,  would  have 
known  what  kind  of  woman  this  is  that  touches  Him,  for  she  is  a 
smner." 

Jesus  saw  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  and  turning  to  him,  re- 
quested an  answer  to  a  cjuestion.  "  There  was  a  certain  creditor," 
said  He,  "who  had  two  debtors.  The  one  owed  him  live  hundred 
i;ence,  the  other  titty.  And  when  they  had  nothing  to  pay,  he  frankly 
forgave  tliem  both. '  Tell  me,  therefore,  which  of  them  will  love  him 
most?"  Utterly  unconscious  of  the  bearing  of  these  words  on  himself, 
the  Pharisee  readily  answered  that  he  supposed  he  to  whom  the  cred- 
itor forgave  most,  would  love  him  most.  "  Thou  hast  rightly  judged," 
replied  Jesus.  Then  like  Nathan  with  David,  He  proceeded  to  bring 
the  parable  home  to  his  conscience. 


470  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Turning  to  the  weeping,  penitent  woman  at  His  feet,  and  pointing 
to  her,  He  continued,  "Simon,  seest  thou  this  woman?  I  entered 
into  thine  house;  thou  gavest  me  no  water  for  my  feet,  as  even  cour- 
tesy demanded;  but  she  has  washed  my  feet  with  tears,  and  wiped 
them  with  her  liair.  Thou  gavest  me  no  Iciss;  but  this  woman,  since 
tlie  time  I  entered,  has  not  ceased  to  l^iss  my  feet  tenderly.  Tliou 
didst  not  anoint  my  head  witli  oil;  but  she  has  anointed  my  feet 
with  ointment.  I  say  unto  thee,  therefore,  her  sins,  which  are 
many,  are  forgiven,  for  she  loved  much,  but  one  to  whom  little  is 
forgiven,  loves  little."  Then  addressing  the  sobbing  woman  herself. 
He  told  her,  ' '  Thy  sins  are  forgiven.  Thy  faith  has  saved  thee :  go 
in  peace!" 

That  He  should  claim  to  forgive  sins  had  already  raised  a  charge 
of  blasphemy  against  Him,  and  it  did  not  pass  unnoticed  now.  But 
the  time  had  not  j^et  come  for  open  hostility,  and  His  words,  in  the 
meanwhile,  were  only  treasured  up  to  be  used  against  Him  hereafter. 

We  are  indebted  to  a  notice  in  St.  Luke  for  a  glimpse  of  the  mode 
of  life  of  Jesus  in  these  months.  He  seems  to  have  spent  them  in 
successive  circuits,  from  Capernaum  as  a  centre,  through  all  the  towns 
and  villages  of  Galilee,  very  much  as  the  Kabbis  were  accustomed  to 
do  over  the  country  at  large.  In  these  journeys  He  was  attended  by 
the  Twelve,  and  by  a  group  of  loving  women,  attracted  to  Him  by 
relationship,  or  by  His  having  healed  them  of  various  diseases;  wlio 
provided,  in  part,  at  least,  for  His  wants,  and  those  of  His  followers. 
That  He  was  not  absolutely  poor,  in  the  sense  of  suffering  from  want, 
is  implied  in  His  recognition  as  a  Rabbi,  and  even  as  a  prophet,  which, 
secured  Him  hospitality  and  welcome,  as  an  act  of  supreme  religious 
merit,  wherever  He  went.  To  entertain  a  Rabbi  was  to  secure  the 
favour  of  God,  and  it  was  coveted  as  a  si:)ecial  honour.  Thus,  though 
.  He  had  no  home  He  could  call  His  own.  He  would  never  want  ready 
welcome  in  the  homes  of  others  wherever  He  went,  so  long  as  popular 
prejudice  was  not  excited  against  Him.  The  cottage  of  Lazarus  at 
Bethany  was  only  one  of  many  that  opened  its  doors  to  Him,  and  He 
could  even  reckon  on  a  cheerful  reception  so  confidently,  as  to  invite 
Himself  to  houses  like  that  of  Zaccheus,  or  that  of  him  in  whose 
upper  room  He  instituted  the  Last  Supper.  Many  disciples,  or  per- 
sons favourably  inclined,  were  scattered  over  the  laud.  The  sim- 
plicity of  Eastern  life  favoured  such  liindly  relations,  and  hence  His 
personal  support  would  be  freely  supplied,  except  in  desert  parts,  or 
when  He  was  journeying  through  Samaria,  or  distant  places  on  the 
frontiers  of  Galilee.  The  willing  gifts  of  friends,  thrown  into  a 
common  fund,  supplied  so  fully  all  that  was  needed  in  such  cases, 
that  there  was  always  a  suqilus  from  whicli  even  to  give  to  the  poor. 

The  names  of  some  of  the  group  of  women  who  thus  attended 
Jesus  have  been  handed  down  as  a  litting  tribute  to  their  devotion, 
while  those  of  the  men  who  followed  Him,  with  the  exception  of  the 
twelve  apostles,  are  lost.   The  religious  enthusiasm  of  the  age,  always 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST  471 

•sen  mofit  in  the  gentler  sex,  had  ah-e-ady  spread  among  all  JeTrish 
■women,  for  the  Pharisees  found  them  their  most  earnest  supporters. 
It  was  only  natural,  therefore,  that  Jesus  should  attract  a  similar 
devotion.  His  purity  of  soul.  His  reverend  courtesy  to  the  sex,  lli3 
championship  of  their  eqaaJ  dignity  with  man,  before  God,  and  His 
demand  for  supreme  zeal  in  all,  in  the  spread  of  the  New  Kingdom, 
drew  them  after  Him.  But  so  accustomed  were  all  classes  to  such 
attendance  on  their  own  Rabbis,  that  even  tLe  enemies  of  Jesus  found 
no  ground  for  censure  in  their  ministratiooj. 

Of  these  earliest  mothers  of  the  Church,  five  are  named.  Mary,  or 
Miriam,  of  the  town  of  Magdala,  from  <whom  Jesus  had  cast  seven 
devils;  Johanna,  the  wife,  not  the  wid\jw,  of  Chuoza,  a  high  official 
in  the  palace  of  Herod  Antipas,  at  Tiberias;  Susanna,  of  whom  only 
the  name  is  known ;  Mary,  the  mother  of  James  the  Less  and  of 
Joses,  and  wife  of  Klopas;  and  Schelamith,  or  Salome,  mother  of 
James  and  John,  and  wife  of  Zebedee  or  Zabdai,  perhaps,  also,  the 
sister  of  Mary,  the  mother  of  Jesus,  an  ]Mary,  the  wife  of  Klopas,  is 
also  thought  by  many  to  have  been.  Of  the  other  three,  whom  Jesus 
had  cured  of  various  diseases,  a  sxirpassing  interest  attaches  to  Mary 
Magdalene,  from  her  unfounded  identification  ^^ith  the  fallen  penitent 
t\'ho  did  Jesus  honour  in  the  house  of  the  Pharisee  Simon.  There  is 
nothing  whatever  to  connect  her  with  that  narrative,  for  it  confounds 
what  the  New  Testament  distinguishes  by  the- clearest  language,  to 
think  of  her  having  led  a  sinful  life  from  the  fact  of  her  having  suf- 
fered from  demoniacal  possession.  Never,  perhaps,  has  a  figment  so 
utterly  l)aseless  obtained  so  wide  an  acceptance  as  that  which  we  con- 
nect with  her  name.  But  it  is  hopeless  to  try  to  explode  it,  for  the 
word  has  passed  into  the  vocabularies  of  Europe  as  a  synonym  of 
penitent  frailty. 

Mary  appears  to  have, belonged  to  the  village  of  Magdala,  or  Migdol 
— the  Tower — about  three  miles  north  of  Tiberias,  on  the  water's 
edge.  f,t  the  south-east  corner  of  the  plain  of  Gennes^irctli.  It  is  now 
represented  by  the  few  wretched  hovels  which  fonn""llic  Mohammedan 
village  of  El-Mejdel,  with  a  solitary  tliorn-bush  beside  it,  as  the  last 
trace  of  the  rich  groves  and  orchards,  amidst  which  it  was,  doubtless, 
embowered,  in  the  days  of  our  Lord.  -  A  high  limestone  rock,  full  of 
caves,  overhangs  it  on  the  south-west,  and  beneath  this,  out  of  a  deep 
ravine  at  the  back  of  the  plain,  a  clear  stream  rushes  past  to  the  sea, 
which  it  enters  through  a  tangled  thicket  of  thorn,  and  willows,  and 
oleanders,  covered  in  their  season  with  clouds  of  varied  blossoms. 
Who  Mary  was,  or  what,  no  one  can  tell,  bvrt  legend,  with  a  cruel 
injustice,  has  associated  her  name  for  ever  with  the  spot  now  sacred 
to  her,  as  the  lost  one  reclaimed  by  Jesus. 

The  circle  which  thus  attended  Him  on  Hi.?  journeys  was  peculiar, 
above  all  things,  in  an  age  of  intense  ritualism,  by  its  slight  care  for 
the  external  observances  and  mortifications,  which  formed  the  sum  of 
niiglon  with  so  many.    This  simplicity  was  made  the  great  aecH>- 

I.  cf  O— 16. 


#72  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

cation  against  Jesus,  as,  in  after  times,  the  absence  of  sacrifice*!  and 
temples  Ted  the  heathen  to  charge  Christianity  with  atheism.  Even 
the  initiatory  rite  of  baptism  had  fallen  into  abeyance,  and  fasting, 
and  the  established  rules  for  prayer  and  ceremonial  purifications  were 
BO  neglected,  as  to  cause  remark  and  animadversion.  There  is,  in- 
deed, great  reason  for  the  belief  of  some,  that  Jesus  and  His  followers 
differed,  alike  in  dress,  demeanour,  mode  of  life,  and  customs,  frcm 
the  teachers  of  the  day  and  their  followers.  The  simple  tunic  and 
upper  gaiment  may  have  had  the  Tallith  worn  by  all  other  Jews,  but 
we  may  be  certain  that  the  tassels  at  its  corners  were  in  contrast  to 
the  huge,  ostentatious  size  affected  by  the  Rabbis.  Nor  can  we 
imagine  that  either  Jesus,  or  the  Twelve,  sanctioned  by  their  use  the 
superstitious  leathern  phylacteries  which  others  bound,  with  long 
fillets,  on  their  left  arm  and  their  forthead,  at  prayers.  The  count- 
less niles,  then,  as  now,  in  force  for  the  length  of  the  straps,  for  the 
size  of  the  leather  cells  to  hold  the  prescribed  texts — for  their  shape, 
manufacture,  «&c.,  and  even  for  the  exact  mode  of  winding  the  straps 
round  the  arm,  or  tying  them  on  the  forehead— marked  too  strongly 
the  cold,  m.cchanical  conceptions  of  prayer  then  prevailing,  to  let  us 
imagine  that  our  Lord  or  the  disciples  wore  them.  There  was  no 
such  neglect  of  His  person  as  many  of  His  contemporaries  thought 
identical  with  holiness,  for  He  did  not  decline  the  anointing  of  His 
head  or  beard,  or  the  washing  of  His  feet,  at  each  resting-place.  Nor 
did  He  require  ascetic  restrictions  at  table,  for  we  find  Him  permit- 
ting the  use  of  wine,  bread,  and  honey,  and  of  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl. 
In  Peter's  house  He  invited  others  to  eat  with  Him,  and  He  readily 
accepted  invitations,  with  all  the  customary  refinements  of  the  kiss 
of  salutation,  and  foot-washing,  and  anointing  even  with  the  costliest 
perfume.  The  Pharisee  atoned  for  his  occasional  entertainments  by 
fasting  on  Mondays  and  Thursdays,  but  Jesus  exposed  Himself  to  the 
charge  of  indulgence,  because  He  never  practised  even  such  inter- 
mittent austerities.  Expense  was,  however,  the  exception  and  not 
the  rule,  for  He  praised  the  Baptist  for  having  nothing  costly  or 
effeminate  in  his  dress,  and  He  enjoined  the  strictest  moderation, 
both  in  dress  and  living,  on  His  disciples. 

It  is  the  great  characteristic  of  Jesus  that  He  elevated  the  common 
details  of  life  to  the  loftiest  uses,  and  ennobled  even  the  familiar  and 
simple.  In  His  company,  the  evening  meal,  when  not  forgotten  in 
the  press  of  overwhelming  labours,  was  an  opportunity  always  gladly 
embraced  for  informal  instruction,  not  only  to  the  Twelve,  but  to 
the  many  strangers  whom  the  easy  manners  of  the  East  permitted  to 
gather  in  the  apartment.  After  evening  devotions,  the  family  group 
invited  the  familiar  and  unconstrained  exchange  of  thought,  in  which 
Jesus  so  much  delighted.  As  the  Father  and  Head  of  the  circle.  He 
would,  doubtless,  use  the  form  of  thanks  and  of  blessing  hallowed  by 
the  custom  of  His  nation,  opening  the  meal  by  the  bread  and  wine 
passed  round  to  be  tasted  by  each,  after  acknowledgment  of  ilie 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  478 

bounty  of  God  and  His  gifts.  Then  would  follow  a  word  to  all,  in 
turn :  the  story  of  the  day,  and  each  one's  share  in  it,  would  be  re- 
viewed with  tender  blame,  or  praise,  or  counsel ;  and  the  faith,  and 
hope,  and  love  of  all  would  be  refreshed  by  their  very  meeting  round 
tlie  table.  How  dear  these  hours  of  quiet  home  life  were  to  Jesus 
Himself,  is  seen  in  the  tenderness  with  which  He  saw,  in  tlie  group 
they  brought  around  Him,  His  "children," — as  if  they  replaced  in 
His  heart  the  household  affections  of  the  family;  and  in  the  pain, 
and  almost  womanly  fondness,  with  which  He  hesitated  to  pronounce 
His  last  farewell  to  them.  To  the  disciples  themselves,  they  grew  to 
be  an  imperishable  memory,  which  they  were  fain,  in  .compliance 
with  their  Master's  wish,  to  prepetuate  daily,  in  their  breaking  of 
bread.  The  greatness  and  condescension,  the  loving  famiUarity  and 
fond  endearments  of  close  intercourse,  the  peace  and  quiet  after  the 
strife  of  the  day,  the  feeling  of  security  under  His  eye  and  care ,  made 
these  hours  a  recollection  that  grew  brighter  and  more  sacred  with 
the  lapse  of  years,  and  deepened  the  longing  for  His  return,  or  for 
their  departure  to  be  with  Him. 

In  this  delightful  family  life  there  was,  however,  nothing  like  com- 
munism, for  there  is  not  a  trace  of  the  property  of  each  being  thrown 
into  a  common  fund.  His  disciples  had,  indeed,  left  all;  but  they 
had  not  sold  it,  to  help  the  general  treasury.  Some  of  them  still  rC' 
tained  funds  of  tlieir  own,  and  the  women  who  accompanied  tliem 
still  kept  their  property.  When  Jesus  paid  the  Temple  tax  for  Him- 
self, He  did  not  think  of  doing  so  for  His  disciples  as  well.  It  was 
left  to  them  to  pay  for  themselves.  The  simple  wants  of  each  day 
were  provided  by  free  contributions,  when  not  proffered  by  hospi- 
tality, nor  did  He  receive  even  these  from  His  disciples,  though  Rabbis 
were  permitted  to  accept  a  honorarium  from  their  scholars.  "Ye 
have  received  for  nothing"  said  He,  ' '  give  for  nothing. "  He  took  no 
gifts  of  money  from  the  people,  nor  did  He  let  His  disciples  collect 
alms,  as  the  Rabbis  did  their  scholars.  The  only  bounty  He  accepted 
was  the  hospitality  and  shelter  always  ready  for  Him  in  friendly  Gali- 
lee. From  the  generous  women  who  folloAved  Him,  He,  indeed,  ac- 
cepted passing  support,  but,  in  contrast  to  the  greed  of  the  Rabbis,  He 
only  used  their  liberality  for  the  need  of  the  moment.  His  little 
circle  was  never  allowed  to  suffer  want,  but  was  always  able  to  dis- 
tribute charity,  and,  though  He  seems  to  have  carried  no  money,  Ha 
expressly  distinguishes  both  Himself  and  His  disciples  from  the 
poor. 

His  presence  among  His  disciples  was  seldom,  even  for  a  brief  in- 
terval, interrupted.  He  migiit  be  summoned  to  heal  some  sick  per- 
son, or  invited  to  some  meal ;  or  He  might  wish  to  be  alone,  for  a 
time,  in  His  chamber  or  among  the  hills,  while  He  prayed,  but  these 
were  only  absences  of  a  few  hours.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  kiss  of 
salutation  in  such  cases  greeted  His  return.  He  gave  the  word  for 
setting  out  on  a  journey,  or  for  going  by  boat,  and  the  disciplea  pr<K 


474  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

cured  what  was  needed  by  the  way,  if  by  land,  and  plied  the  oar,  if 
on  the  Lake. 

He  always  travelled  on  foot,  and  was  often  thankful  for  a  draught 
of  water,  as  He  toiled  along  the  hot  sides  of  the  white  hills,  or  for  a 
piece  of  bread,  procured  in  some  village  through  which  He  passed, 
bometimes  He  went  with  His  disciples,  sometimes  before  them;  leav- 
ing them  to  their  own  conversation,  but  noting  and  reproving,  at 
once,  their  misunderstandings,  or  momentary  misconceptions. 

When  a  resting-place  had  to  be  found  for  the  night,  He  was  wont 
to  send  on  some  of  His  disciples  before,  or  He  awaited  an  invitation 
on  His  arrival;  His  disciples  sharing  the  proffered  hospitality,  or  dis- 
tributing themselves  in  other  houses.  The  entertainment  must  have 
varied  in  different  dwellings,  from  the  simplicity  of  the  prophet's 
chamber  where  the  Shimamite  had  provided  a  bed,  a  table,  a  stool, 
and  a  lamp,  to  the  friendship,  and  busy  womanly  ministrations,  and 
homage  of  lowly  discipleship,  of  homes  like  the  cottage  of  Bethany. 
Where  He  was  welcomed.  He  entered  with  the  invocation,  "Peace 
be  to  this  house  " — but,  unlike  the  Pharisees — without  asking  any 
questions  as  to  the  levitical  cleanness  of  the  house,  or  its  tables,  or 
benches,  or  vessels.  It  was  very  rarely,  one  would  suppose,  that  He 
was  not  gladly  received,  but  when  at  any  time  He  met  inhospitality, 
He  only  went  on  to  the  next  village.  Sometimes  He  bore  His  rejec- 
tion silently,  but  at  others,  moved  at  their  hardness.  He  shook  the 
very  dust  of  the  town  from  His  feet  on  leaving  it,  as  a  protest.  When 
meekness  could  be  shown  He  showed  it,  but  where  the  circumstances 
demanded.  He  was  as  stem  as  commonly  He  was  gentle. 

It  is  not  easy  to  realize  the  daily  life  of  one  so  different  from  our- 
selves as  Jesus,  but  a  fine  poetical  mind  has  imagined  the  scene  of 
the  healing  of  Mary  Magdalene,  and  the  appearance  and  acts  of  Christ 
60  finely,  that  I  borrow  some  passages  from  his  pen. 

The  landing-place  at  Capernaum  was  at  the  south  side  of  the  town.: 
Thither  the  boats  came  tliat  brought  over  wood  from  the  forests  of, 
Gaulonitis,  and  thither  the  boat  steered  that  bore  Jesus,  His  four 
earliest  disciples  acting  as  boatmen.  He  had  been  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Lake,  and  had  returned  now,  in  the  evening.  The  sun  was 
just  setting,  but  a  few  beams  seemed  to  have  lingered  to  die  away 
on  His  face,  and  the  full  moon  rose,  as  if  to  see  Him  from  behind  the 
brown  hills  still  bathed  in  purple.  The  soft  evening  wind  had  risen 
to  cool  His  brow,  and  the  waters,  sparkling  in  the  moonlight,  rose  and 
fell  round  the  boat,  and  gently  rocked  it.  As  it  touched  the  shore 
there  were  few  people  about,  but  a  boat  from  Magdala  lay  near,  with 
a  sitk  person  in  it,  whom  it  had  taken  her  mother's  utmost  strength 
to  hold,  and  keep  from  uttering  loud  cries  of  distress.  She  had  been 
brought  in  the  hope  of  finding  Jesus,  that  He  might  cure  her. 

"  Master,"  said  Jobn,  "  there  is  work  yonder  for  you  already."  "I 
must  always  be  doing  the  work  of  Him  that  sent  me,"  replied  Jesus; 
"the  night  come th  when oao  man  can  work."    The  mother  of  ttia 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  478 

sick  "vroman  had  rerojnized  Him  at  the  first  glance,  for  no  one  could 
mistake  Him,  and  forthwith  cried  out  with  a  heart-rending  voice, 
"  O  Jesus,  our  lie'.per  and  teacher.  Thou  messenger  of  the  All- 
^lerciful,  help  my  poor  child, — for  the  Holy  One,  blessed  be  His 
aane,  has  heard  my  prayer  that  we  should  find  Thee,  and  Thou  us." 
l-'cter  forthwith,  with  the  help  of  the  other  two,  who  had  let  their 
oars  rest  idly  on  the  water,  turned  the  boat,  so  that  it  lay  alongside 
the  one  from  Magdala.  Jesus  now  rose;  the  mother  sank  on  her 
knees;  but  the  sick  woman  tried  with  all  her  might  to  break  away, 
and  to  throw  herself  into  the  water,  on  the  far  side  of  the  boat.  Tho 
boatman,  however,  and  John,  who  had  sprung  over,  held  her  by  the 
arms,  while  her  mother  buried  her  face  in  the  long  plaited  hair  of  her 
child.  Her  tears  had  ceased  to  flow;  she  was  lost  in  silent  praj'^er. 
"  Where  are  these  people  from?"  asked  Jesus  of  the  boatman,  and 
added,  to  His  disciples,  when  He  heard  that  she  came  from  Magdala, 
"  Woe  to  this  Magdala,  for  it  will  become  a  ruin  for  its  wickedness! 
The  rich  gifts  it  sends  to  Jerusalem  will  not  help  it,  for,  as  the  prophet 
says,  '  They  are  bought  with  the  wages  of  uncleanness,  and  to  that 
they  will  again  return.'  "  "  Turn  her  face  to  me  that  I  may  see  her," 
added  He.  It  was  not  easy  to  do  tliis,  for  the  sick  one  held  her  face, 
bent  over,  as  far  as  possible,  towards  the  water.  John  managed  it, 
however,  by  kind  words.  "Mary,"  said  he,  for  he  had  asked  her 
mother  her  name,  "do  you  wish  to  be  for  ever  under  the  power  of 
demons?  See,  the  conqueror  of  demons  is  before  thee,  look  on  Him, 
that  you  may  be  healed.  We  are  all  praying  for  you,  as  Moses,  peace 
be  to  him,  once  prayed  for  his  sister, — 'O  God,  heal  her.'  Do  not 
put  our  prayer  to  shame;  now  is  the  moment  when  j'ou  can  make 
yourself  and  your  mother  happy."  These  words  told;  and  no  longer 
oppssing  strength  to  strength,  she  let  them  raise  her  liead,  and  turn 
her  face  to  Jesus.  But  when  she  saw  Him,  her  whole  body  was  so 
violently  convulsed,  that  the  boat  ^vayed  to  and  fro,  and  she  shrieked 
out  the  most  piercing  wails,  which  sounded  far  over  the  Lake. 

Jesus,  however,  fixed  His  eyes  on  hers,  and  kept  them  from  turning 
away,  and  as  He  gazed,  His  look  seemed  to  enter  her  soul,  and  break 
the  sevenfold  chain  in  which  it  lay  bound.  The  poor  raving  creature 
now  became  quiet  and  did  not  need  to  be  held;  her  convulsions 
ceased,  the  contortions  of  her  features,  and  the  wildness  of  her  eyes, 
passed  off,  and  profuse  sweat  burst  from  her  brow,  and  mingled  with 
her  tears.  Her  mother  stepped  back,  and  the  healed  one  sank  down 
on  the  spot  where  her  mother  had  been  praying,  and  muttered,  with 
subdued  trembling  words,  to  Jesus, — "  O  Lord,  I  am  a  great  sinner; 
is  the  door  of  repentance  still  open  for  me?"  "Be  comforted,  my 
daughter,"  answered  He,  "God  has  no  plea.sure  in  the  death  of  the 
wicked;  thou  hast  been  a  habitation  of  evil  spirits,  become  now  a 
temple  of  the  living  God. "  The  mother,  imable  to  restrain  herself, 
broke  out — "Thanks  to  Thee,  Thou  Consolation  of  Israel,"  but  He 
Vdut  on, — "  Return  now,  quickly,  to  Magdala,  and  be  calm,  and  giv« 


476  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

thanks  to  God  in  silence."  John  stepped  back  into  the  boat  to  Jesns, 
and  the  other  boat  shot  out  into  the  Lake,  on  the  way  home.  The 
two  women  sat  on  the  middle  seat.  Mary  held  her  mother  in  her 
arms  in  grateful  thanks,  and  neither  spoke,  but  both  kept  their  eyes 
fixed  on  Jesus,  till  the  shore,  jutting  out  westwards,  hid  Him  from 
their  sight. 

When  the  boat  with  the  women  was  gone,  Peter  bound  his  to  the 
post  to  which  the  other  had  been  tied,  but  Jesus  sat  still  in  deep 
thought,  without  looking  round,  and  the  disciples  remained  motion- 
less beside  Him,  for  reverence  forbade  them  to  ask  Him  to  go  ashore. 
Meanwhile,  the  people  of  Capernaum,  men,  women,  and  children, 
streamed  down  in  bands;  some  soldiers  of  the  Eoman-Herodian  gar- 
rison, and  some  strange  faces  from  Perea,  Decapolis,  and  Syria, 
among  them. 

The  open  space  had  filled,  and  now  Peter  ventured  to  whisper,  in 
a  low  voice  which  concealed  his  impatience,  "  Maranu  we  Rabbinu — 
Our  Lord  and  Master — the  people  have  assembled  and  wait  for  Thee." 
On  this  Jesus  rose.  Peter  made  a  bridge  from  the  boat  to  the  shore 
with  a  plank,  hastening  across  to  make  it  secure,  and  to  open  the 
way;  for  the  crowd  was  very  dense  at  the  edge  of  the  water.  Christ 
now  left  the  boat,  followed  by  the  three  other  disciples,  and,  when 
He  had  stepped  ashore,  said  to  Peter, — "  Schim'on  Kgfii" — for  thus 
He  addressed  him  when  He  had  need  of  his  faithful  and  zealous 
service  in  the  things  of  the  kingdom  of  God — "I  shall  take  my 
stand  under  the  palm-tree  yonder."  It  was  hard,  however,  to  make 
way  throvigh  the  crowd,  for  those  who  had  set  themselves  nearest  the 
water  were  mostly  sick  people,  to  whom  the  others,  from  compassion, 
had  given  the  front  place.  Indeed,  Jesus  had  scarcely  landed,  before 
cries  for  help  rose,  in  different  dialects,  and  in  every  form  of  appeal. 
"Rabbi.  Rabboni,"  "  Holy  One  of  the  Most  High ! "  "Son  of  David!" 
"  Son.cf  God ! "  mingled  one  with  Ifce  other.  Jesus,  however,  waving 
them  "back  with  His  hand,  said,  "  Let  me  pass!  to-night  is  not  to  be 
for  the  healing  of  your  bodily  troubles,  but  that  you  may  hear  the 
word  of  life,  for  the  good  of  your  souls."  On  hearing  this  they 
pressed  towards  Him,  that  they  might  at  least  touch  Him.  AVhen,  at 
last,  with  the  help  of  His  disciples,  He  made  His  way  to  the  palm. 
He  motioned  to  the  people  to  sit  down  on  the  grass.  The  knoll  from 
which  the  palm  rose  was  only  a  slight  one,  but  when  the  crowd  had 
sat  down  in  rows,  it  sufficed  to  raise  Him  sufficiently  above  them. 
The  men  sat  on  the  ground,  leaving  any  better  spots  for  the  women 
and  children. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  think  of  .Jesus  standing  while  He  taught.  He 
stood  in  the  synagogue  at  Nazareth  while  the  Prophets  were  being 
read,  but  He  sat  down  to  teach.  He  sat  as  He  taught  in  the  Temple, 
and  when  He  addressed  the  multitude  whom  He  had  miraculously 
fed ;  and  when  He  spoke  from  Simon  Peter's  boat.  He  did  so  sitting. 

Under  the  palm  lay  a  large  stone,  on  which  many  had  sat  before. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  477 

to  enjoy  the  view  over  the  Lake,  or  the  shade  of  the  branches  abova. 
The  Kabbis  often  chose  such  open  air  spots  for  their  addresses.  There 
was  nothing  extraordinary,  therefore,  when  Jesus  sat  down  on  it,  and 
made  it  His  pulpit.  His  dress  was  clean  and  carefully  chosen,  but 
simple.  On  His  head,  held  in  its  place  by  a  cord,  He  wore  a  white 
sudar,  the  ends  of  wliich  hung  down  His  shoulders.  Over  His  tunic, 
which  reached  to  tlie  hands  and  feet,  was  a  blue  Tallith,  with  the 
prescribed  tassels  at  the  four  corners,  but  only  as  large  as  Moses 
required.  It  was  so  thrown  over  Him,  and  so  held  together,  that  the 
grey  red-striped  under -garment  was  little  seen,  and  His  feet,  which 
had  sandals,  not  shoes,  were  only  noticed  occasionally,  when  He 
moved.  Wiien  He  had  sat  down  and  looked  over  the  people,  they 
became  stiller  and  stiller,  till  nothing  was  heard  but  the  soft  plash  of 
the  ripple  on  the  beach. 

As  He  sat  on  the  stone,  Simon  and  Andrew,  the  sons  of  Jonas,  stood 
on  His  right  and  left  hand,  with  James  and  John,  the  sons  of  Zabdai. 
The  people  stood  around  the  slope,  for  as  yet  Rabbis  were  heard,  stand- 
ing. "Sickness  came  into  the  world,"  says  the  Talmud,  "when 
Rabban  Gamaliel  died,  and  it  became  the  rule  to  hear  the  Law  sitting." 
"  Sons  of  Israel,  Men  of  Galilee,"  He  began,  "  the  time  is  fulfilled, 
and  the  kingdom  of  God  has  come :  repent,  and  believe  the  Gospel. 
Moses,  your  teacher,  peace  be  to  him,  has  said — '  A  prophet  willt  he 
Lord  your  God  raise  unto  you  from  your  brethren,  like  unto  me.  Him 
shall  ye  hear.  But  he  who  will  not  hear  this  prophet  shall  die ! ' 
Amen,  I  say  unto  you:  He  who  believes  on  me  has  everlasting  life. 
No  man  knows  the  Father  but  the  Son,  and  no  man  knows  the  Son 
but  the  Father,  and  he  to  whom  the  Son  reveals  Him. "  Then,  with  a 
louder  voice,  He  continued,  "  Come  to  me,  all  j^e  that  labour  and  are 
heavy-laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Take  my  yoke  upon  you  and 
learn  of  me,  for  I  am  meek  and  lowly  in  lieart,  and  ye  shall  hnd  rest 
for  your  souls.  For  my  yoke  is  easy,  and  my  burden  is  light."  Then, 
drawing  to  a  close,  He  added,  "  Take  on  you  the  yoke  of  the  kingdom 
of  hca/en,  for  the  kingdom  of  heaven  is  the  fulfilling  of  the  Law 
and  tne  Prophets.  Give  up  that  which  is  worth  little,  that  you  may 
have  what  is  of  great  price.  Become  wise  changers  who  value  holy 
money  above  all  other,  and  the  pearl  of  price  above  all.  He  that  haa 
eai's  to  hear,  let  him  hear." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE   BtTRSTING  OP  THE   STORM. 

The  isjtmmer  passed  in  a  succession  of  excitements  and  an  unbroken 
recurrence  of  exhausting  toil.  Wherever  Jesus  appeared  He  was  sur- 
rounded by  crowds,  anxious  to  see  and  to  hear.  The  sick  everywhere 
Sressed  in  His  way,  and  friends  brought  the  bed-ridden  and  helpless  to 
[iin,  from  all  quarters.  From  early  morning  till  night,  day  by  day, 
without  respite,  there  was  a  strain  on  mind,  heart,  and  body,  alike. 
Even  the  retirement  of  the  house  in  which  He  might  be  resting, 
could  not  save  Him  from  intruding  crowds,  and  time  or  free  space 
for  meals  was  hardly  to  be  had.  Such  tension  of  His  whole  nature 
must  have  told  on  Him,  and  must  have  affected  His  whole  ner- 
vous and  physical  system.  To  be  continually  surrounded  by  mis- 
ery, in  every  form,  is  itself  distressing;  but,  in  addition  to  this,  to  be 
kept  on  the  strain  by  the  higher  spiritual  excitement  of  a  great  relig- 
ious crisis,  and  to  be  overtaxed  in  mere  physical  demands,  could  not 
fail  to  show  results,  in  careworn  features,  feverishness  of  the  brain, 
and  the  need  of  temporary  quiet  and  rest.  Yet  sympathy  was  felt 
for  Him  only  by  a  few.  The  thoughtless  crowds  did  not  realize  that 
they  were  consuming  in  the  fires  of  its  own  devotion  the  nature  they 
intended  to  honour,  and  His  enemies,  seeing  everything  only  through 
the  disturbing  light  of  their  hatred,  invented  a  theory  for  it  all  that 
was  sinister  enough. 

The  continued  and  increasing  support  Jesus  received  from  the  people, 
was  a  daily  growing  evil  in  the  eyes  of  the  ecclesiastical  authorities. 
They  were  in  danger  of  losing  their  authority,  which  they  identified 
with  the  interests  of  orthodoxy,  and  national  favour  with  God.  They 
had  let  Him  choose  four  or  five  disciples,  without  feeling  alarmed,  for 
a  movement  as  yet  so  insignificant  was  almost  beneath  their  notice. 
The  choice  of  a  publican  as  one  of  this  handful  had,  indeed,  apparently 
neutralized  any  possible  danger,  by  the  shock  it  gave  to  public  feel- 
ing. The  further  choice  of  the  Twelve  was,  however,  more  serious. 
ii  seemed  like  consolidation,  and  progress  towards  open  schism  There 
were,  already,  parties  in  Judaism,  but  there  were  no  sects,  for  all  were 
alike  fanatically  loyal  to  the  Law,  the  Temple,  and  the  Scribes,  and 
ready  to  unite  against  any  one  who  was  not  as  much  so  as  themselves, 
in  their  own  sense.  Criticism  was  utterly  proscribed :  blind  worship 
of  things  as  they  were  was  imperatively  required,  and,  hence,  Jesus, 
with  His  free  examination  of  received  opinions,  provoked  the  bitterest 
hostility.  As  long,  however,  as  He  had  no  following  He  was  little 
dreaded,  but  signs  of  organization  and  permanence,  such  as  the  choice 
of  the  Twelve,  and  the  growing  enthusiasm  of  the  people  towards 
Him,  determined  the  auQiorities  on  vigorous  action.     Infonoation 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  47J 

■was  laid  against  Him  at  Jerusalem,  wliere  He  had  already  been  chal- 
lenged, and  Riibbis  were  sent  down  to  investigate  the  whole  question. 

Every  movement  which  did  not  rise  in  the  Rabbinical  schools  waa 
suspected  by  the  Rabbis  and  their  disciples,  and  there  were  circum- 
stances in  tliat  of  Jesus,  which  were  especially  formidable.  The 
superhuman  powers  He  displayed  could  not  be  questioned,  and  tha 
Rabbis  could  boast  of  nothing  as  imposing.  They  were  falling  into 
the  shade.  Respect  was  growing  for  Jesus  among  the  people,  in  spita 
of  them.  His  claims  were  daily  urged  more  frankly,  and  the  masses 
were  disposed  to  assent  to  them.  On  His  return  to  Capernaum  H« 
had  cured  a  man  who  was  blind,  dumb,  and  mad,  and  possessed  be- 
sides  with  a  devil;  and  so  astounding  a  miracle  had  raised  the  ques- 
tion, far  and  wide,  whether,  in  spite  of  their  former  ideas.  He  were 
not  the  Son  of  David — the  Messiah,  after  all.  Men  had,  indeed,  ex- 
pected an  outward  political  kingdom,  with  a  blaze  of  miracle  wrought 
on  behalf  of  the  nation  at  large,  but  they  began  to  ask  each  other, 
"When  the  Christ  cometh  will  He  do  more  miracles  than  this  man 
has  done?"  It  could  not  be  endured.  Tlie  movement  of  .John  had 
just  been  crushed,  and,  now,  in  restless  Galilee,  one  far  more  danger- 
ous to  the  Jerusalem  authorities  was  rapidly  taking  shape  and  con- 
sistence.    It  must  be  put  down  at  any  cost. 

The  Rabbis  from  the  capital,  reverend  and  grey,  did  not  know 
whether  to  be  more  bitter  at  the  discredit  thrown  on  their  own  claims 
to  supernatural  powers,  or  at  the  popular  favour  shown  to  Jesus. 
He  cast  out  devils,  indeed,  but  so  did  they,  and  their  disciples,  the 
exorcists.  It  was  enough  for  Him,  however,  to  speak,  and  the  suf- 
ferer was  cured  of  all  ailments  alike,  while  they  used  adjurations, 
spells,  and  magic  formulae  which  were  dangerously  like  the  supersti- 
tions of  the  despised  heathens.  They  laid  stress  on  their  knowledge 
of  the  secret  names  of  God  and  the  angels.  To  utter  the  cipher 
which  stood  for  these,  was,  in  their  belief,  to  set  in  motion  the  divine 
and  angelic  powers  themselves,  and  a  whole  science  of  the  black  art 
had  been  invented,  defining  how  and  for  what  ends  they  could  be 
pressed  into  the  service  of  their  invoker,  like  the  genii  of  the  Arabian 
Nights  into  that  of  a  magician. 

The  calm  dignity  and  simplicity  of  Jesxis,  contrasted  with  their 
doubtful  rites,  was,  indeed,  humiliating  to  them.  The  mightiest  of 
all  agencies  at  their  command  was  the  unutterable  name  of  ".Jeho- 
vah"— called  in  the  Book  of  Enoch,  in  the  jargon  of  the  Rabbinical 
exorcists — the  oath  Akal  and  "the  number  of  Ivesbeel."  By  this 
number,  or  oath,  it  was  held,  all  that  is  has  its  being.  It  had  also  a 
secret  magical  power.  It  was  made  known  to  men  by  the  wicked 
angels — "the  sons  of  God" — who  allied  themselves  with  women,  and 
brought  on  the  flood.  "It  was  revealed  by  the  Head  of  the  Oath  to 
the  iioly  ones  who  dwell  above  in  majest}':  and  his  name  is  Beqa. 
And  he  said  to  the  holy  Michael  that  he  should  reveal  to  them  that 
secret  name,  that  they  might  see  it,  and  that  they  might  use  it  for  an 


480  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

oath.,  that  they  who  reveal  to  the  sons  of  men  all  that  is  hidden,  may 
Blirink  away  before  that  name  and  that  oath.  And  this  is  the  power 
of  that  oath,  and  these  are  its  secret  works,  and  these  things  were 
established  by  the  swearing  of  it.  The  heaven  was  hung  up  for  ever 
and  ever  (by  it),  before  the  world  was  created.  By  it  the  earth  was 
founded  above  the  water,  and  the  fair  streams  come  by  it  for  the  use 
of  the  living,  from  the  hidden  places  of  the  hills,  from  the  foundation 
of  the  earth,  for  ever.  And  by  that  oath  was  the  sea  made,  and  un- 
derneath it  He  spread  the  sand,  to  restrain  it  in  the  time  of  its  rage, 
and  it  dare  not  overstep  this  bound  from  the  creation  of  the  world  to 
eternity.  And  through  that  oath  the  abysses  are  confirmed,  and 
stand,  and  move  not  from  their  place,  from  eternity  to  eternity. 
And  through  that  oath  the  sun  and  the  moon  fulfil  their  course,  and 
turn  not  aside  from  the  path  assigned  them,  for  ever  and  ever.  And 
through  that  oath  the  stars  fulfil  their  course,  and  He  calls  their 
names,  and  they  answer,  from  eternity  to  eternity.  And  even  so  the 
spirits  of  the  waters,  of  the  winds,  of  all  airs,  and  their  ways,  accord- 
ing to  all  the  combinations  of  the  spirits.  And  by  that  oath  are  the 
treasuries  of  the  voice  of  the  thunder  and  of  the  brightness  of  the 
lightning  maintained,  and  the  treasuries  of  the  rain,  and  of  the  hoar 
frost,  and  of  the  clouds,  and  of  the  rain,  and  of  the  dew.  And  over 
them  all  this  oath  is  mighty." 

Possessing  spells  so  mighty  as  they  believed  the  secret  names  of 
the  higher  powers  thus  to  be,  the  Rabbis  had  created  a  vast  science  of 
magic,  as  fantastic  as  that  of  mediaeval  superstition,  to  bring  these 
awful  powers  to  bear  on  the  mysteries  of  the  future,  and  the  diseases 
and  troubles  of  the  present.  Combinations  of  numbers  of  lines,  or  of 
letters  based  on  them,  were  believed  to  put  them  at  the  service  of  the 
seer,  or  the  exorcist.  Resistless  talismans,  protecting  amulets,  fright 
ful  curses,  by  which  miracles  could  be  wrought,  the  sick  healed,  and 
demons  put  to  flight,  were  formed  in  this  way.  Armed  with  a  mystic 
text  from  the  opening  of  Genesis,  or  the  visions  of  Ezekiel,  or  the 
secret  name  of  God,  or  of  some  of  the  angels,  or  with  secret  myste- 
rious unions  of  letters,  the  Rabbis  who  dealt  in  the  dark  arts  had  the 
power  to  draw  the  moon  from  heaven,  or  to  open  the  abysses  of  the 
earth!  The  uninitiated  saw  only  unmeaning  signs  in  their  most  awful 
formulse,  but  he  who  could  reckon  their  mystic  value  aright  was 
master  of  angelic  or  even  divine  attributes. 

The  appearance  of  Jes\is  as  a  miracle-worker  so  different  from 
themselves,  must  have  excited  the  Rabbinical  schools  greatly.  They 
made  no  little  gain  from  their  exorcisms,  and  now  they  were  in  dan- 
ger of  being  wholly  discredited.  At  a  loss  what  to  do,  they  deter- 
mined to  slander  what  they  could  not  deny,  and  attribute  the  miracles 
of  Jesus  to  a  league  with  the  devil.  They  had,  indeed,  for  some  time 
back  been  whispering  this  insinuation  about,  to  poison  the  minds  of 
the  people  against  Him,  as  an  emissary  of  Satan,  and  thus,  necessarily, 
a  disguised  euemy  of  Israel,  and  of  man.     It  would  raisa  superstitioua 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  481 

terror,  if  they  could  brand  Him  as  a  mere  instrument  of  the  kingdom 
of  darkness. 

Tlie  cure  of  a  man,  blind,  dumb,  and  possessed,  was  so  astounding, 
that  the  Rabbis  ventured  to  spread  tlieir  malignant  slanders  more 
widely  than  heretofore.  Jesus  had  retired  to  Peter's  house,  wearied 
and  faint,  after  the  miracle,  but  the  multitude  were  so  greatly  excited 
that  they  crowded  into  the  room,  so  that  He  could  not  even  eat,  and 
among  them  the  Jerusalem  Scribes,  who  were  so  bitter  against  Him, 
took  care  to  find  themselves.  He  read  their  faces,  and  knew  their 
words.  ' '  This  fellow,  unauthorized  and  imeducated  as  He  is,  casts 
out  devils,  under  Beelzebub,  as  their  prince."  They  believed  that 
the  world  of  evil  spirits,  like  that  of  the  angels,  formed  a  great  army, 
in  various  divisions,  each  with  its  head  and  subordinates,  its  rank  and 
file;  the  whole  under  the  command  of  Satan.  Bc'clzebub — the  "fifth 
god," — was  the  name  givea  by  Jewish  wit  and  contempt  to  Beelzebul, 
— "  tlie  lord  of  the  (royal)  habitation" — a  god  of  the  Phenicians.  To 
him  was  assigned  the  control  of  that  division  which  inflicted  disease 
of  all  kinds  on  man,  and  Jesus,  they  hinted,  was  plajing  a  part  under 
him,  in  pretending  to  drive  out  devils  from  the  sick,  that  He  might 
win  the  people  to  listen  to  His  pestiferous  teaching.  They  would 
not  admit  tiiat  His  power  was  divine,  and  the  ideas  of  the  times 
necessarily  assumed  that  it  must  be  the  opposite.  It  was  of  no  avail 
that  light  streamed  in  on  them ;  for  bigotry,  like  the  pupil  of  the  eye, 
contracts  in  proportion  to  the  outward  brightness.  He  was,  with 
tliem,  an  emissary  and  champion  of  the  kingdom  of  the  devil,  and  an 
enemy  of  God. 

They  even  went  farther.  Not  only  was  He  in  league  with  the 
devil;  He  Himself  was  possessed  with  an  unclean  spirit,  and  the 
demon  in  Him  had  turned  His  brain:  "He  had  a  devil,  and  was 
mad. "  They  had  spread  this  far  and  wide,  and  yet,  ventured,  now, 
into  His  presence. 

Jesus  at  once  challenged  them  for  their  slanders,  and  brought 
them,  in  the  presence  of  the  multitude,  to  an  account.  "His  whole 
life  was  before  the  world.  The  aim  and  spirit  of  it  were  transparent. 
Was  it  not  expressly  to  fight  against  the  evil  and  confused  spirit 
of  the  day;  to  overthrow  all  wickedness  and  all  evil;  to  restore 
moral  and  spiritual  soundness  in  the  people;  did  He  not  strive 
after  all  this,  with  the  fulness  of  His  power?  Who  could  deny  that 
lie  only  sought  good,  and  spent  all  His  energy  to  advance  it?  And 
could  He  league  Himself  with  the  prince  of  darkness  to  do  good? 
What  a  ridiculous,  self-contradictory  charge!  To  think  of  Him  over- 
coming evil  by  evil;  fighting  against  the  kingdom  of  darkness,  with 
the  weapons  of  darkness,  was  almost  too  foolish  to  repeat!  No  king- 
dom is  in  couriiet  with  itself,  or  if  there  be  division  in  it,  it  is  already 
in  process  of  dissolution,  for  it  needs  nothing  more  to  bring  it  quickly 
to  ruin."  There  was  no  answering  such  an  argument.  But  Jesiu 
Kibd  stm  more  to  say. 


48S  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"If  I,"  said  He,  "cast  out  devils  by  the  power  of  Beelzebub,  by 
whom  do  your  disciples  cast  them  out?  You  do  not  attribute  their 
works  to  the  prince  of  devils,  why  do  you  do  so  with  mine?  But  if  I 
do  these  things  by  the  power  of  God,  I  prove  myself  to  be  sent  from 
Ilim,  and  to  be  His  Messiah,  and  where  the  Me.'-siah  is,  there  also  is 
His  Kingdom.  Do  you  still  hesitate  to  draw  this  conclusion?  Ask 
yourselves,  then,  how  I  can  invade  the  kingdom  of  Satan,  and  take 
from  him  his  servants,  instruments,  and  victims,  the  sick,  and  the 
possessed,  without  having  first  overcome  himself?  The  strong  man's 
palace  can  only  be  spoiled  when  he,  himself,  is  first  bound.  It  is  no 
light  matter  to  put  yourselves  in  the  position  you  take  towards  me. 
He  who  is  not  with  me,  is,  as  may  be  seen  in  your  case,  my  enemy. 
No  neutrality  between  the  Messiah  and  the  devil  is  possible.  If  you 
do  not  help,  with  me,  to  gather  in  the  harvest,  you  scatter  it,  and 
hinder  its  being  gathered!" 

The  arguments  of  Jesus  were  so  irresistible  that  the  Rabbis,  taken 
in  the  snares  they  had  set  for  Him,  could  say  nothing,  and,  now, 
Tvdiile  they  were  silenced  before  the  people  they  had  striven  to  pervert, 
He  advanced  from  defence  to  attack.  They  claimed  to  be  the  right- 
eous of  the  land,  but  had  no  idea  of  what  true  righteousness  meant. 
Jesxis  had  come  to  offer  forgiveness  to  sinners,  not  to  judge  them. 
He  desired  rather  to  deliver  them  from  their  guilt.  But  He  saw  that 
His  enemies,  the  theologians  and  clergy  of  the  day,  and  the  privileged 
classes  generally,  had  determined  to  reject  Him,  whatever  proofs  of 
His  divine  mission  He  might  advance.  Their  prejudices  and  self- 
interest  had  blinded  them  till  their  religious  faculty  was  destroyed. 
They  had  deliberately  refused  to  be  convinced,  and  conscience  grows 
dead  if  its  convictions  are  slighted.  The  heart  gets  nicapable  of  see- 
ing the  truth  against  which  it  has  closed  itself.  They  dared  to  speak 
of  the  Holy  Spirit  of  God  who  inspired  the  New  Kingdom,  and  in 
whose  fulness  Jesuswrestled  against  selfishness  and  ambition,  soothed 
the  woes  of  the  people,  opened  a  pure  and  heavenly  future,  and 
sought  to  win  men  to  eternal  life,  as  a  spirit  of  evil.  Light  was  to 
them  darkness,  and  darkness  light.  They  even  sought  to  quench  the 
light  in  its  source  by  plotting  against  His  life.  This,  He  told  them, 
was  blasphemy  against  the  Divine  Spirit.  They  had  wilfully  rejected 
the  clear  revelation  of  His  presence  and  power,  and  had  shown 
deliberate  and  conscious  enmity  against  Him.  "This  awful  sin," 
said  He,  ' '  cannot  be  forgiven,  because,  when  it  occurs,  the  religious 
faculty  has  been  volimtarily  destroyed,  and  wilful,  declared  opposition 
to  heavenly  truth  has  possessed  the  soul  as  with  a  devil. "  "To  speak 
against  me  as  a  man,"  He  continued,  "and  not  recognize  me  as  the 
Messiah,  is  not  a  hopeless  sin,  for  better  knowledge,  a  change  of 
heart,  and  faith,  may  come,  and  I  may  be  acknowledged.  But  it  is 
different  when  the  truth  itself  is  blasphemed ;  when  the  Holy  Spiiit, 
by  whom  alone  the  heart  can  be  changed,  is  contemned  as  evil.  The 
soul  has  then  shut  out  the  light,  and  has  chosen  darkness  as  its  portion. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  483 

' '  I  warn  jou  to  beware  of  speaking  thus  any  longer.  Either  decide 
that,  the  tree  is  good  and  its  fruit  consequently  good,  or  that  it  is  bad 
and  its  fruit  bad,  but  do  not  act  so  foolishly  as  you  have  done  in  your 
judgment  on  me,  by  calling  the  tree  bad — that  is,  calling  me  a  tool  of 
the  devil,  and  yet  ascribing  good  fruit  to  me — such,  1  mean,  as  the 
casting  out  devils.  Do  not  think  what  you  sny  is  mere  words,  for 
words  rise  from  the  heart,  as  if  from  the  root  of  the  man:  as  the  tree 
and  the  stem,  such  is  the  fruit.  See  that  you  do  your  duty  by  your- 
selves, that  the  tree  of  your  own  spiritual  being  be  good  and  bear 
good  fruit.  The  tree  is  known  by  its  fruits.  It  is  no  wonder  you 
blaspheme  as  you  have  done ;  a  generation  of  vipers,  your  hearts  are 
evil,  and  j'ou  are  morally  incapable  of  acknowledging  the  truth,  for 
the  lips  speak  as  the  heart  feels.  Witness  to  the  truth  flows  from  the 
lips  of  the  good;*such  language  as  yours,  from  tlie  lips  of  the  evil. 
But,  beware,  for  I  tell  j'ou  that,  as  such  words  are  the  utterance  of 
the  heart,  and  show  how  you  are  affected  towards  God  and  His 
Spirit,  you  will  have  to  give  account  of  them  when  I  come  as  the 
Messiah,  to  judgnient.  Your  words  respeoting  me  and  my  Kingdom 
will  then  justify  or  condemn  you." 

At  this  point,  as  was  common  in  the  most  solemn  Jewish  assem- 
blies. He  was  interrupted  by  some  of  tlie  Rabbis  present.  They 
demanded  in  strange  contradiction  to  the  theory  that  He  was  a  secret 
agent  of  Beelzebub,  some  astounding  miracle,  as  a  sign  from  heaven 
in  support  of  His  claims  as  the  Messiah:  as  hereafter  they  did,  in 
every  part  of  the  world,  from  the  Apostles.  The  masses,  and  even 
their  leaders,  expected  the  repetition  of  all  the  great  deeds  of  Closes 
and  Joshua,  to  inaugurate  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  other 
claimants  did  not  venture  to  resist  the  demand.  Under  the  Procurator 
Fadus,  a  certain  Theudas  drew  out  the  people  to  the  Jordan  to  see 
Israel  walk  through,  once  more,  on  dry  ground.  Under  Felix,  a 
prophet  promised  to  throw  down  the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  as  Joshua 
did  those  of  Jericho,  and  gathered  thirty  thousand  men  on  the  ]\I()unt 
of  Olives  to  see  them  fall.  Others  invited  the  nation  to  follow  them 
into  the  wilderness,  where  they  promised  to  show  them  stupendous 
signs  of  the  kingdom  of  God  having  come.  It  might  have  seemed  a 
temptation  to  One  possessing  supernatural  power,  to  silence  all  cavil, 
by  a  mii'acle  of  irresistible  grandeur.  But  outward  acknowledgment 
of  His  claims  was  of  no  worth  in  a  kingdom  like  that  of  Christ's, 
resting  on  love,  and  homage  to  holiness.  He  cared  nothing  for  popu- 
larity or  fame,  and  lived  in  unbroken  self-restraint,  using  His  mighty 
power  only  to  further  spiritual  ends.  It  was  easy,  therefore,  to  repel 
the  seduction,  which  He  had  already  overcome  in  His  first  great 
wilderness  struggle.  "An  evil  and  adulterous  generation,"  .said  He 
— "  unfaithful  "to  God,  who  chose  Israel  for  His  bride— iisfe  for  a 
eign,  grand  beyond  all  I  have  given,  that  I  am  the  Messiah."  Then, 
predicting  His  violent  death.  He  went  on— "There  shall  be  no  sign 
given  it,  but  Uiat  of  the  prophet  Jonah.     For,  as  he  was  three  da-ys 


484  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

and  three  nights  in  the  belly  of  the  fish,  so  shall  the  Son  of  Man  he 
three  daj'^s  and  three  nights  in  the  kingdom  of  the  dead."  The 
spiritual  miracle  of  His  life  and  words  were  the  only  signs  He  could 
vouchsafe  while  He  lived,  for  at  no  time  did  He  lay  stress  on  miracles 
alone  as  a  means  of  gaining  disciples,  but  subordinated  them  to  His 
proclamation  of  the  Truth.  His  preaching  would  itself  be  a  sign  like 
tiiat  of  the  preaching  of  Jonah  to  the  Ninevites.  "The  men  of  that 
city,"  said  He,  "  would  rise  in  the  judgment  day,  to  witness  against 
this  generation,  for  they  repented  at  the  preaching  of  Jonah,  and  He . 
was  greater  than  that  prophet.  The  Queen  of  the  South,  who  came 
from  Sheba  to  hear  the  wisdom  of  Solomon,  would  then  condemn 
them,  for  she  came  from  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  and  great 
as  they  thought  the  glory  of  Solomon,  they  had  one  greater  than  he 
before  them,  in  Himself.  Vast  multitudes  had  gone  out  to  hear  John, 
and  had  professed  repentance;  vast  multitudes  had  followed  Himself, 
and,  yet,  the  result  had  been  only  temporary  and  superficial.  It 
would  prove  with  this  generation  as  with  a  man  from  whom  an 
unclean  spirit  has  for  a  time  gone  out.  Meeting  no  suiting  rest  else- 
where, it  returns,  and  finding  its  former  dwelling  in  the  man's  soul 
ready  for  it,  it  allies  itself  with  seven  demons  still  worse  than  itself, 
and  with  their  help  enters  the  man  once  more.  The  Reformation 
under  John,  and  under  Himself,  was  only  temporary;  the  nation 
would  fall  back  again  to  its  old  sinful  ways,  and  become  worse  than 
ever."    He  foresaw  His  rejection,  and  thus  foretold  it. 

He  had  silenced  the  Rabbis,  and  no  doubt  by  doing  so  had  inten- 
sified their  liatred,  but  a  new  trial  awaited  Him.  The  insinuation 
that  His  brain  was  aft'ected  had  reached  His  family,  who  still  lived 
at  Nazareth-  The  effects  of  the  exhausting  toil,  and  constant  excite- 
ment of  these  months,  had,  apparently,  led  even  His  friends  to  fear 
that  He  would  give  way  under  such  tension,  and,  now,  the  hints  of 
the  Rabbis  that  He  was  possessed,  and  spoke  and  acted  as  He  did, 
\mder  demoniacal  influence,  raised  the  fear  that  judicial  action  would 
be  begun  against  Him,  on  the  part  of  the  Jerusalem  authorities.  Very 
possibly  the  simple  household  at  Isazareth,  who,  like  other  Jews, 
must  have  looked  on  the  Rabbis  with  superstitious  reverence,  and 
have  shrunk  from  questioning  anything  they  said,  had  innocently 
accepted  the  insinuation,  that  He  was  really  out  of  His  mind,  as  a 
result  of  being  possessed.  Prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  common  Idea 
of  the  Messiah  as  a  national  hero,  at  the  head  of  Jewish  armies,  they 
had  not  risen  to  any  higher  conception,  and  felt  impelled  by  every 
motive  to  interfere,  and,  if  possible,  put  a  stop  to  what  seemed  to 
them  an  unaccountable  course  of  action  on  His  part.  It  was  only 
about  ten  hours'  distance  from  Nazareth  to  Capernaum,  over  tho 
hills;  th«y  would  go  and  see  for  themselves;  and  so,  Mary,  and  the 
brothers  and  sisters  of  Jesus — the  whole  household,  for  Joseph  was 
dead — set  out  for  Peter's  house. 

They  arrived  while  the  crowd,  excited  by  the  miracle  thef  had 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  485 

just  seen,  and  half  believing  that  Jesus  must  be  the  expected  Messiah, 
still  filled  the  house  and  thronged  the  courtyard,  so  that  the  Rabbis, 
overawed,  could  do  nothing  against  Him.  Anxious  to  withdraw 
Him  from  His  dangerous  course,  and  imable  as  yet  to  understand 
Him,  they  had  come  to  the  conclusion,  perhaps  at  the  instigation  of 
«  the  Rabbis,  that  the  best  pla*-  would  be  to  lay  hold  on  Him,  and  take 
Him  home  by  force,  as  one  jeside  Himself.  If  they  could  keep  Him 
for  a  time  at  Nazareth;  if  necessary,  under  restraint;  the  quiet,  they 
hoped,  would  calm  His  mind  and  free  Him  from  His  hallucinations. 
It  is  wonderful  that  th3y  could  argue  with  themselves  in  such  a  way 
— especially  that  Mary  could  have  fancied  it  madness  that  He  acted 
as  He  did  and  called  Himself  the  Messiah;  but  vision,  in  spiritual 
things  as  in  nature,  depends,  not  on  the  flood  of  light  around  us,  but 
on  the  eye  on  which  it  falls. 

On  coming  near,  however,  they  found  they  could  not  make  their 
way  through  the  crowd,  and  had  to  request  those  near  to  let  Him 
know  their  presence,  and  that  they  wished  to  speak  with  Him.  At 
any  moment  when  busy  with  the  work  of  the  Kingdom,  all  lower 
relations,  bonds,  and  cares,  of  His  earlier  life,  ceased  to  engage  Him, 
but  much  more  was  it  so  at  a  time  like  this,  when  engrossed  with  its 
supreme  interests,  and  with  the  victory  over  its  enemies  which  He 
had  hardly  as  yet  Completed.  The  most  sacred  of  earthly  ties  lost 
its  greatness  before  the  grandeur  of  spiritual  kinship  in  the  new 
deathless  communion  He  was  founding.  "  AVho  is  my  mother?" 
asked  He,  "  and  who  are  my  brethren?"  Then,  stretching  His  hands 
towards  those  around  Him — "  Behold,"  said  He,  "  my  mother  and 
my  brethren!  For  whosoever  shall  do  the  will  of  my  Father  in 
Heaven,  the  same  is  my  brother,  and  sister,  and  mother."  It  was  the 
same  answer,  in  effect,  as  He  had,  perhaps  before  this,  given,  wlien 
a  woman  in  the  crowd,  unable  to  restrain  herself,  had  expressed 
aloud  her  sense  of  the  surpassing  honour  of  her  who  had  borne  and 
nursed  Him.  ' '  Yea, "  replied  He,  ' '  rather,  blessed  are  they  that 
hear  the  Word  of  God  and  keep  it." 

It  was  from  no  want  of  tenderness  Jesus  thus  spoke.  A  holy  duty 
to  Himself,  His  honour,  and  His  calling,  demanded  His  acting  as  He 
did.  It  was  imperative  that  He  should  keep  Himself  from  the  hands 
even  of  His  nearest  friends,  to  prevent  their  unconsciously  carrying 
out  the  plans  of  His  enemies,  by  violently  restraining  Him.  He  had, 
moreover,  founded  a  new  family  of  which  He  was  the  Spiritual 
Head,  and  this,  henceforth,  as  it  spread  among  men,  was  to  be  His 
supreme  earthly  relationship.  The  ready  faitli  of  the  Samaritans, 
and  the  surpassing  example  of  the  heathen  centurion,  had  fore- 
shadowed the  extension  of  the  New  Kingdom,  beyond  Israel,  to  all 
nations.  To  do  the  will  of  mere  men,  whether  priests,  or  Rabbis, 
was  no  longer  the  condition  of  heavenly  favour.  Henceforth,  over 
the  earth,  to  do  the  will  of  God  waa  the  one  conditioa  required  to 
open  thd  gat«s  of  the  way  of  Ufe. 


486  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

Foiled  in  their  attempt  to  brand  Jesus  publicly  as  in  league  with 
the  devil,  the  Pharisees  resolved  to  try  the  subtler  plan  of  pretending 
friendliness,  and  inviting  Him  to  partake  of  their  hospitality,  that 
they  might  watch  what  He  said,  and,  if  possible,  provoke  Him  to 
commit  Himself  in  some  way  that  would  bring  Him  within  the  reach 
of  the  Law.  It  was  yet  early,  and  one  of  them  asked  Him,  with  this 
treacherous  object,  to  join  the  light  morning  meal,  then  lately  intro- 
duced into  Palestine  by  the  Romans.  He  accepted  the  invitation, 
•with  a  full  knowledge  of  the  spirit  in  which  it  had  been  given.  It 
had  been  expected,  perhaps,  that  the  honour  of  entertainment  in  a 
.  circle  of  Rabbis,  would  awe  a  layman  of  humble  standing  like  Jesus, 
but  He  took  care  to  show  His  true  bearing  towards  them  from  the 
moment  He  reclined  at  table.  Washing  the  hands  before  eating  was, 
in  all  cases,  a  vital  requirement  of  Pharisaic  duty.  A  Rabbi  would 
rather  have  suffered  death  than  eat  before  he  had  done  so.  "It  is 
better,"  said  Rabbi  Akiba,  "  in  a  time  of  persecution,  to  die  of  thirst 
than  to  break  the  commandment,  and  thus  die  eternally,"  and  pro- 
ceeded to  wash  his  hands  before  touching  food,  with  the  allowance 
of  drinking  water  brought  him  by  his  jailor.  But  observance  of 
Pharisaic  rules  required  much  more.  Christ  had  just  come  from 
among  a  crowd,  and  had,  besides,  cast  out  a  devil,  and,  thus  doubly 
defiled,  ought  to  iiave  purified  Himself  bj^  a  baflb,  before  coming  to 
table  with  those  who  were  Levitically  clean.  A  Pharisee  always 
bathed  himself  before  eating,  on  coming  from  the  market-place,  to 
wash  away  the  defilement  of  contact  with  the  unclean  multitude,  and 
it  was  to  have  been  expected  that  Jesus  would  have  been  equally 
scrupulous.  He  had  committed  Himself,  however,  to  uncompromis- 
ing opposition  to  a  system  which  substituted  forms  for  true  spiritual 
religion,  and  took  His  place  on  the  couch  without  any  ceremonial 
purification.  The  host  and  his  giiests  were  astonished,  and  betrayed, 
at  least  in  their  looks,  their  real  feelings  towards  Him;  bitter  enough 
before,  but  now  fiercer  than  ever,  at  this  defiant  affront  to  their 
cherished  usages. 

Roused  by  their  uncourteous  hostility.  He  instantly  took  His  posi- 
tion of  calm  independence  and  superiority,  for  He  feared  no  human 
face,  nor  any  combination  of  human  violence.  Knowing  perfectly 
that  He  was  alone  against  the  world.  He  felt  that  the  Truth  required 
Him  to  witness  for  it,  come  what  might  to  Himself. 

"  I  see,"  said  He,  "  what  you  are  thinking.  You  Pharisees  clean 
the  outside  of  the  cup  and  the  platter,  but  you  fill  both,  within,  with 
the  gains  of  hypocritical  robbery  and  wickedness;  you  cleanse  the 
outside  of  a  cup,  and  think  nothing  of  j^our  own  souls  being  full  of 
all  evil.  Fools!  did  not  He  who  made  the  outside  of  a  cup  make  the 
inside  as  well?  As  He  made  all  outward  and  visible  things,  has  He 
not  also  made  all  inward  and  spiritual?  How  absurd  to  take  so  much. 
c«xe  of  the  one,  and  to  neglect  the  other!  Let  me  tell  you  how  you 
Kuy  attain  true  puriflcaUon,    Give  with  -wiUing,  loving  hearts,  ■what 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  487 

you  have  in  your  cups  and  platters,  as  alms,  and  this  will  make  all 
5'our  ceremonial  washini^s  of  the  outside  superfluous,  and  cleanse 
both  the  vessels  and  .your  hearts.  The  Rabhis  have  told  you  that 
'charity  is  wortli  all  other  virtues  together,'  but  your  covetousness  is 
a  proverb,  for  you  devour  widows'  houses,  and  have  invented  excuses 
for  a  son  robbing  even  his  father  for  yoiu"  good.  But  woe  to  you, 
Pharisees!  for  it  is  vain  to  expect  this  of  yo\i,  who  know  nothing  of 
true  love.  You  lay  stress  on  external  trifles,  and  neglect  the  i)rin- 
ciples  and  duties  of  the  inner  life — you  tithe  petty  garden  herbs,  like 
mint,  and  rue,  and  all  kinds  besides,  and  arc  indifferent  to  right  and 
wrong,  and  to  the  love  of  Grod.  If  you  wish  to  tithe  the  garden 
herbs,  it  is  well  to  do  so,  but  you  should  be  as  zealous  for  what  is 
much  more  important.  Your  vanity  is  as  great  as  your  grasping 
hypocrisy!  Woe  unto  you,  Pliarisees!  for  ye  love  the  chief  seats  in 
the  synagogues,  and  to  be  flattered  by  men  rising  up  as  you  pass 
in  tlie  crowded  market-place,  and  greeting  you  with  reverend  salu- 
tations of  Rabbi,  Rabbi,  your  feverence,  your  reverence.  Woe  unto 
you!  you  are  like  gi'aves  sunk  in  the  earth,  over  which  men  walk, 
tiiinldng  the  ground  clean,  and  are  defiied  when  they  least  suspect  it. 
Men  think  themselves  with  saints  if  iv.  your  company,  but  to  be  near 
you  is  to  be  near  pollution !" 

A  Rabbi  among  tlie  guesti  bore  interrupted  Him.  "Teacher," 
said  he,  "you  are  condemnln.f^  not  only  the  common  lay  Pharisees, 
but  us,  the  Riibbis."  The  inVjrruption  only  directed  Jesus  against  the 
"lawyers"  specially.  "Wf^e  to  you,  lawyers,  also!"  said  He,  "for 
ye  burden  men  with  buraou3"  grievous  to  be  borne,  while  ye,  your- 
selves, touch  not  these  bvvviens  witii  one  of  your  fingers  to  help  the 
shoulders  to  bear  them.  Ye  sit  in  your  chaml)er  s  and  schools,  and 
create  legal  rules,  endlfi/*s,  harassing,  intoleral>le,  for  the  people,  but 
not  affecting  yourselves, — shut  out  as  yon  are  from  busy  life.  Woe 
unto  you!  for  ye  build  the  tombs  of  the  prophets,  but  your  fathers, 
in  whose  acts  you  glory,  killed  them.  Shame  for  their  having  done 
so  might  make  you  wish  those  .sacred  tom!)s  forgotten ;  but  you  have 
no  shame,  and  rebuild  these  tombs  to  win  favour  with  the  people, 
while  in  your  hearts  you  are  ready  to  repeat  to  the  prophets  of  to-day 
the  deeds  of  your  fathers  towards  those  of  old !  Your  pretended 
reverence  for  these  martyrs,  shown  in  restoring  their  sepulchres,  while 
you  are  ready  to  repeat  the  wickedness  of  their  murderers,  makes 
these  tombs  a  witness  agaii.st  you.  The  Holy  Spirit  bad  this  in  view, 
when  He  said  by  Me,  sometime  since,  '  I  will  send  them  prophets  and 
apostles,  and  some  of  tliem  they  will  persecute  and  kill:  that  the 
blood  of  all  tlie  prophets,  .shed  from  the  foiuidation  of  tlie  world, 
may  be  required  of  this  generation — from  the  lilood  of  Abel  to  that 
of  Ziichariah,  who  perished  between  the  altar  and  the  Temple. '  Yes, 
I  say  unto  you,  it  will  be  required  of  this  generation.  Under  the 
guidance  of  you  lawyers  it  was,  that  the  people  treated  them  as  they 
did!    Woe  to  you!  you  have  taken  away  from  the  nation  the  key  to 


188  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  temple  of  heavenly  knowledge — have  made  them  incapable  of 
recognizing  the  truth, — by  your  teaching.  You,  yourselves,  have 
no£  entered,  and  you  have  hindered  those  from  entering  who  were  on 
the  point  of  doing  so!" 

The  die  was  finally  cast.  Henceforth  Jesus  stood  consciously 
alone,  the  rejected  of  the  leaders  of  His  nation.  There  was  before 
Him  only  a  weary  path  of  persecution,  and,  at  its  end,  the  Cross. 
An  incident,  recorded  by  St.  Luke,  seems  to  belong  to  this  period. 
The  multitudes  thronging  to  hear  the  new  teaching  were  daily 
greater,  in  spite  of  the  hostility  of  the  Eabbis,  for  their  calumnies 
and  insinuations  had  not  yet  abated  the  general  excitement.  "An 
innumerable  multitude"  waited  for  the  reappearance  of  Jesus,  and 
hung  on  His  lips  to  catch  every  word.  He  might  be  attacked  and 
slandered  in  the  house  of  the  Pharisee,  but,  as  j'et,  the  crowd  looked 
on  Him  with  astonishment  and  respect.  Opinions  differed  only  as 
t©  the  scope  of  His  action :  that  He  was  a  great  Eabbi,  was  felt  by  all. 

It  was  the  custom  to  refer  questions  of  all  kinds  to  the  Rabbis  for 
their  counsel  and  decision,  which  carried  great  weight,  though  it 
might  be  informal  and  extra-judicial.  Their  words  were  virtually 
law,  for  to  dispute  or  oppose  them  was  well-nigh  criminal.  To  get 
the  support  of  one  so  great  as  Jesus,  therefore,  in  any  matter, 
would,  as  it  seemed,  decide  a  point  at  once  in  his  favour  whom  He 
supported. 

One  of  the  crowd,  reasoning  thus,  chose  an  opportunity  to  solicit 
His  weighty  interference  in  a  question  of  inheritance,  in  which  there 
was  a  strife  with  a  brother.  "Teacher,"  said  he,  "speak  to  my 
brother,  that  he  divide  the  inheritance  with  me."  But  he  had  utterly 
misconceived  Christ's  spirit  and  sphere.  In  the  briefest  and  most 
direct  words,  the  idea  that  He  had  anything  to  do  with  "judging" 
or  "dividing"  in  worldly  affairs  was  repudiated.  It  was  not  His 
province. 

The  question,  however,  gave  an  occasion  for  solemn  warning 
against  the  unworthy  greed  and  selfishness  which  lie  at  the  root  <  f 
all  such  strife,  on  one  side  or  the  other.  Addressing  the  crowd,  Avho 
had  heard  the  request.  He  gave  them  a  caution  against  all  forms  of 
covetousness,  or  excessive  desire  of  worldly  possessions,  in  the  follow- 
ing parable. 

"Watch,"  said  He,  "and  keep  yourselves  from  all  covetousness. 
For,  though  a  man  may  abound  in  riches,  his  life  does  not  depend  ou 
his  wealth,  but  on  the  will  of  God,  who  can  lengthen  or  shorten  his 
existence,  and  make  it  happy  or  sad,  at  His  pleasure.  Let  me  show 
you  what  I  mean. 

"The  ground  of  a  certain  rich  man  brought  forth  plentifully. 
And  he  reasoned  within  himself,  saying,  '  What  shall  I  do,  because  I 
have  no  room  to  stow  away  my  crops?'  And  he  said,  'This  will  I 
do.  I  wiU  pull  down  my  barns  and  build  gieater,  and  I  will  gather 
together  into  them  all  my  crops  and  my  property,  and  will  say  to 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  489 

my  soul,  Soul,  thou  hast  much  property  laid  up  for  many  years;  take 
thine  ease,  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry.' 

"  But  God  said  unto  him,  'Fool,  this  night  thy  soul  is  required  of 
thee,  and  whose  will  those  things  be  which  thou" hast  prepared? '  " 

"So,"  added  Jesus,  "is  he  who  heaps  up  treasures  for  himself, 
and  is  not  rich  towards  God.  Death,  coming  unexpectedly,  and,  at 
latest,  soon  strips  him  of  all,  if  he  has  only  thought  of  himself  and  of 
this  world.  The  true  wisdom  is  to  use  what  we  have  so  as  to  lay  up 
treasures,  by  its  right  employment,  in  heaven,  that  God  may  give  U3 
these,  after  death,  m  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah. " 


CHAPTER    XLIL 

AFTER    THE     STORM, 

The  meal  in  the  house  of  the  Pharisee  was  a  turning  point  in  the 
life  of  Jesus.  The  fierceness  of  His  enemies  had  broken  out  into 
open  rage,  so  that,  as  He  left.  He  was  followed  by  the  infuriated 
Rabbis,  gesticulating,  as  they  pressed  round  Him,  and  provoking 
Him  to  commit  Himself  by  words  of  which  they  might  lay  hold.  A 
vast  crowd  had  meanwhile  gathered,  partly  on  His  side,  partly  turned 
against  Him  by  the  arts  of  His  accusers.  The  excitement  had  reach- 
ed its  highest. 

With  such  a  multitude  before  Him,  it  was  certain  that  He  would 
not  let  the  opportunity  pass  of  proclaiming  afresh  the  New  Kingdom 
of  God.  It  had  been  called  a  kingdom  of  the  devil,  and  it  was  meet 
that  He  should  turn  aside  the  calumny.  His  past  mode  of  teaching 
did  not,  however,  seem  suited  for  the  new  circumstances.  It  had 
left  but  small  permanent  results;  and  a  new  and  still  simpler  style  of 
instruction,  specially  adapted  to  their  dulness  and  untrained  minds 
and  hearts,  would  at  least  arrest  their  attention  more  surely,  and 
force  them  to  a  measure  of  reflection.  Pressing  through  the  vast 
throng,  to  the  shore  of  the  Lake,  He  entered  a  tishing-boat,  and,  sit- 
ting down  at  its  prow,  the  highest  part  of  it,  began,  from  this  con- 
venient pulpit,  as  it  lightly  rocked  on  the  waters,  the  first  of  those 
wondrous  parables,  in  which  He  henceforth  so  frequently  embodied 
His  teachings. 

The  Parable  or  Mashal  was  a  mode  of  instruction  already  familiar 
to  Israel  since  the  daj's  of  the  Judges,  and  was  in  familiar  and  con- 
st;int  use  among  the  Rabbis.  Its  characteristic  is  the  presentation  of 
moral  and  religious  truth  in  a  more  vivid  form  than  is  possible  by 
mere  precept,  or  abstract  statement,  use  being  made  for  this  end  of 
some  incident  drawn  from  life  or  nature,  by  which  the  lesson  sought 
to  be  given  is  pictured  to  the  eye,  and  thus  imprinted  on  the  memory, 
and  made  more  emphatic.  Analogies  hitherto  unsuspected  between 
familiar  aatural   facts  and   spiritual  pheuomeaa;   le^DA   of  duty 


49d  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

enforced  by  some  simple  imaginary  narrative  or  incident;  striking 
parallels  and  comparisons,  which  made  the  homeliest  trifles  symbols 
of  the  highest  truths,  abound  in  all  the  discourses  of  Jesus,  but  are 
still  more  frequent  from  this  time.  Nothing  was  henceforth  left  un- 
used. The  light,  the  darkness,  the  houses  aroimd,  the  games  of 
childhood,  the  sightless  wayside  beggar,  the  foxes  of  the  hills,  the 
leathern  bottles  hung  up  from  every  rafter,  the  patched  or  new  gar- 
ment, and  even  the  noisy  hen  amidst  her  chickens,  served,  in  turn, 
to  illustrate  some  lofty  truth.  The  sower  on  the  hill-side  at  hand, 
the  flaming  weeds  among  the  corn,  the  common  mustard  plant,  the 
leaven  in  the  woman's  dough,  the  treasure  disclosed  by  the  passing 
ploughshare,  the  pearl  brought  by  the  travelling  merchant  from  dis- 
tant lands  for  sale  at  Bethsaida  or  Tiberias, — at  Philip's  court  or  that 
of  Antipas, — the  draw-net  seen  daily  on  the  Lake,  the  pitiless  servant, 
the  labourers  in  the  vineyards  around — any  detail  of  every-day  life — 
was  elevated,  as  occasion  demanded,  to  be  the  vehicle  of  the  sub- 
limest  lessons.  Others  have  uttered  parables ;  but  Jesus  so  far  tran- 
scends them,  that  lie  may  justly  be  called  the  creator  of  this  mode  of 
instruction. 

The  first  of  the  wondrous  series  was,  fitly,  that  of  the  Sower,  for 
the  planting  of  the  New  Kingdom  must  needs  be  the  first  stage 
towards  further  truths  respecting  it.  In  a  country  like  Galilee  no 
illustration  could  be  more  easily  intelligible,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that 
Jesus  often  uses  it.  As  He  sat  in  the  boat,  with  the  multitude  stand- 
ing on  the  shore,  each  feature  of  the  parable  would  be  before  Him, — 
the  sower  going  out  from  the  neighbouring  town  or  village  to  sow 
his  patch  on  the  unenclosed  hill-side,  with  its  varied  soil ;  here  warm 
and  deep;  there  a  mere  skin  over  the  limestone  rock;  invaded  at 
some  spots  by  thorns,  then,  as  now,  so  plentiful  in  Palestine,  and 
crossed  by  the  bridle  path,  along  which  men  and  beasts  were  passing 
constantly.  The  seed  was  good,  and  the  sower  faithfully  did  his 
work,  but  it  depended  on  the  soil  itself,  what  would  be  the  result, 
for  the  rain,  and  the  light,  and  the  heat,  came  equally  on  all.  Part 
fell  on  the  trodden  path,  — which,  itself,  though  now  beaten  hard,  was 
once  as  soft  and  yielding  as  any  part  of  the  field, — and  was  crushed 
under  foot,  or  picked  up  by  the  birds  hovering  near.  Some  fell  on 
spots  in  which  the  springing  thistles  had  already  taken  root,  and 
were  about  to  shoot  up  in  rank  vigour ;  some  on  the  shallow  skin  of 
earth  over  the  rock,  where  the  hot  sun  hastened  the  growth,  while 
the  hard  rock  hindered  the  root  from  striking  down ;  and  only  a  part 
fell  on  good  soil,  and  yielded  a  return  for  the  sower's  toil. 

This  parable,  apparently  so  self-illustrative,  only  troubled  the 
minds  of  the  Twelve,  and  of  the  wider  circle  in  His  hearers  who  had 
any  interest  in  His  words.  The  mode  of  teaching  was  new  to  them 
from  Jesus,  and  the  conceptions  embodied  in  what  they  had  heard 
were  directly  opposite  to  all  they  had  been  accustomed,  as  Jews,  to 
associate  with  the  Messianic  kingdom.      The  caxsless  multitvuie, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  491 

drawn  together  only  by  curiosity,  had  scattered  when  Jesus  had  fin- 
ished His  address,  and  He  had  returned  to  Peters  house.  Thither, 
however,  a  number  of  graver  spirits  followed,  with  the  Twelve,  to 
seek  the  explanation  they  felt  assured  would  be  vouchsafed.  It  was, 
indeed,  precisely  what  Jesus  desired,  for  it  afforded  an  opportunity 
for  the  fuller  instruction  of  all  whose  state  of  heart  fitted  them  to 
receive  it,  and  it  drew  them  into  closer  personal  intercourse  with 
Him.  He  received  them  Avith  frank  delight.  "  Unto  you,  who  thus 
show  your  interest  in  the  mysteries  of  the  kingdom  of  God,"  said  He, 
"it  is" given  to  know  them,  but  to  the  indifferent  outside  multitude, 
they  are  designedly  left  veiled  in  parable."  To  understand  spiritual 
truth,  the  heart  must  be  in  sympathy  with  it;  otherwise,  to  try  to  ex- 
plain it,  would  be  as  idle  as  to  speak  of  colours  to  the  blind,  or  of 
music  to  the  deaf.  When  the  religious  faculty  was  dead  or  dormant, 
religious  truth  was  necessarily  incomprehensible  and  undesired.  ' '  He 
came  to  be  a  Light  to  men,  and  to  reveal  the  truth,  not  to  hide  it,  but 
men  must  have  willing  ears,  and  take  heed  to  what  J:hey  hear,  pon- 
dering over  it  in  their  hearts.  To  listen  only  with  the  outward  ear, 
like  the  careless  multitude,  is  to  draw  down  the  punishment  of  God. 
In  natures  thus  wilfully  indifferent,  hardness  only  grows  the  worse 
the  more  they  hear.  To  such,  the  very  Avord  of  life  becomes  a  word 
of  death.  Rejecting  me,  the  Light,  they  are  given  up  by  God  to  the 
darkness  they  have  chosen,  and  lose,  erelong,  even  the  superficial 
interest  in  higher  things  they  may  have  had." 

"  Ye,  on  the  other  hand,"  He  continued,  "  who  really  have  received 
the  truth  into  a  willing  heart,  have  thereby  proved  your  fitness  for 
higher  disclosures,  and  shall  have  them.  The  honest  interest  you 
show  determines  the  measure  of  knowledge  you  are  able  to  receive, 
and  it  will  be  given  you.  He  who  has  opened  his  soul  to  Me  will 
receive  continually  richer  insight  into  the  truth.  Alas  for  those  who 
shut  their  eyes  and  stop  their  ears!  But  blessed  are  your  eyes,  into 
which  you  have  let  the  truth  enter,  and  blessed  are  your  ears,  into 
which  you  have  let  it  sink.  Amen !  I  .say  to  you,  many  prophets 
and  righteous  men  longed  to  see  those  things  which  ye  see,  and  did 
not  see  them ;  and  to  hear  those  things  which  ye  hear,  and  did  not 
hear  them." 

Such,  in  brief  explanatory  paraphrase,  was  the  welcome  to  those 
really  anxious  to  understand  the  parable,  which  Jesus  forthwith  ex- 
pounded to  them,  disclosing,  as  He  did  so,  conceptions  and  principles 
which  required  a  complete  revolution  in  their  minds  to  understand 
and  appropriate.  He  announced  that  the  ancient  kingdom  of  God 
wtis,  henceforth,  spiritualized,  so  that  the  only  relation  of  man  to  it, 
from  this  time,  was  a  moral  one ;  not,  a.s  heretofore,  in  part,  a  political. 
So  entirely,  indeed,  was  this  the  ^ase,  that  He  did  not  even  speak  of 
the  external  agencies  or  organization  by  which  men  should  be  out- 
wardly received  as  its  citizens,  but  assumed  that  acceptance  depended 
on  the  man  himself;  on  his  wU  aad  hi£  sj'mpathy  with  what  the 


492  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

New  Kingdom  offered.  "The  Word  is  the  only  Seed  of  the  Gospel. 
As  the  embodiment  of  all  truth,  it  is  by  following  it  that  the  Will  of 
God  is  realized  by  men,  and  the  one  grand  law  of  the  kingdom  thus 
obeyed.  It  is  given  to  men,  as  the  seed  to  the  ground,  and  they  can 
hear  and  understand  it  if  they  choose,  but  all  depends  on  their  doing 
so.  As  the  strewn  seed  neither  springs  nor  bears  fruit  on  much  of 
the  ground,  and  fails  except  where  it  sinks  into  good  soil,  so  the  rela- 
tions of  men  to  the  Word  of  God  are  very  various.  Few,  it  may  be, 
receive  it  aright,  but  it  is  always  the  fault  of  men  themselves  if  it  be 
not  living  seed  in  their  hearts.  Worldly  indifference  may  have  made 
the  soil  impenetrable  as  the  trodden  path,  or  have  left  only  a  skin  of 
sentiment  over  hidden  callousness;  or  worldly  cares  or  pleasures  may 
■be  let  spring  up,  and  choke  the  better  growth ;  in  all  cases  it  is  the 
man,  not  the  seed,  or  the  sower,  on  whom  the  result  turns.  Before 
all  things,  this  is  to  be  felt,  so  that  no  one  may  imagine  that  entrance 
into  the  New  Kingdom  depends  on  any  but  moral  conditions.  Every 
merely  outwawi  claim  to  citizenship  must  be  laid  aside ;  it  is  a  matter 
strictly  between  God  and  the  soul.  The  more  completely  this  is  done, 
the  greater  the  titness  for  entrance.  He  must  be  willing  simply  to 
receive,  without  a  thought  of  merit,  or  right,  what  God  is  pleased  to 
give,  of  His  free  bounty.  The  New  Kingdom  is,  in  truth,  altogether 
spiritual.  It  works  directly  on  the  soul,  by  spiritual  truth.  It  ad- 
vances in  the  individual  and  the  world,  not  by  outward  power,  or 
political  glory,  or  by  miracles,  but  by  the  Word  sown  in  the  heart, 
and  its  aim,  like  its  nature,  is  spiritual;  to  make  the  heart  and  life 
visibly  fruitful  in  all  heavenly  grace. " 

As  the  parable  of  the  Sower  described  the  planting  of  the  New 
Kingdom  in  the  heart,  others  set  forth  the  secret  invisible  energy  of 
the  Word,  by  the  indestructible  vigour  of  which  the  New  Kingdom 
unfolds  itself  in  the  individual  and  in  the  world.  It  was  compared 
to  the  silent  and  mysterious  growth  of  seed,  which  springs  up  by  un- 
perceived  development,  first  into  the  blade,  then  into  the  ear,  and, 
finally,  into  the  ripened  corn.  The  triumphant  future  'found  an 
analogy  in  the  growth  of  a  grain  of  mustard-seed — which,  though 
among  the  smallest,  grows  to  be  the  greatest  amongst  herbs,  shooting 
out  wide  branches,  and  becoming  a  tree,  in  the  shade  of  which  the 
birds  of  the  air  come  and  lodge.  It  found  another  in  the  silent  leav- 
ening of  three  measures  of  meal  by  a  .spot  of  yeast,  hidden  in  them. 
As  surely  as  the  seed  will  spring,  or  the  musTard-seed  become  a  tree, 
or  the  yeast  spread  through  all  the  three  measures  of  meal, — as  cer- 
tainly as  the  spark  spreads  to  a  flame, — the  New  Kingdom  will  grow 
and  expand  to  world-wide  glory.  It  needs  no  battles  to  be  won,  as 
tlie  hearers  fancied  it  did;  no  violent  revolutions.  Jesus  knew  that 
the  living  force  of  truth  in  each  single  heart  must  spread,  and  that, 
as  soul  after  soul  was  won,  it  would  silently  revolutionize  the  world, 
and  leaven  all  humanity. 

That  there  should  be  hindrances  was  only  natural,  aad  these  He  akid-^ 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  498 

owed  out  in  the  parable  of  the  Tares  secretly  sown  by  an  enemy  in  a 
nian's  lield,  and  undistinguishable  from  the  grain  till  both  had  come  to 
fruit.  For  the  sake  of  the  wheat  both  were  left,  by  the  householder, 
till  the  harvest,  but,  in  the  end,  the  tares  would  be  gathered  for  burning, 
and  the  wheat  for  the  barn.  The  full  meaning  of  this  parable  was  given 
afterwards  by  Jesus  Himself.  The  visible  Church  would  include  in 
it,  till  the  last  day,  many  who  were  not  true  members.  To  separate 
them  is  not  the  part  of  man,  but  of  the  Judge.  But  this  is,  and  could 
be,  meant  only  in  a  general  sense,  for  the  whole  spirit  of  the  Gospels 
implies  the  rejection  of  the  openly  unworthy,  and  their  reception 
again  on  their  repentance.  "Those  who  to-day  are  thorns,"  says 
Augustine,  "may  be  wheat  to-morrow." 

"So,"  said  He,  also,  "  my  kingdom  may  be  likened  to  a  net  cast 
into  the  lake ;  which  gathers  in  it  good  fish  and  bad,  and,  when  full, 
is  drawn  to  shore,  and  the  good  gathered  into  vessels  while  the  bad 
are  cast  away." 

♦  The  supreme  worth  of  citizenship  in  His  kingdom  He  set  forth  in 
separate  parables.  It  was  like  a  treasure  hidden  in  a  field,  which, 
when  found,  so  filled  the  heart  of  the  discoverer,  that,  for  joj%  he 
went  away,  and  sold  all  he  had,  and  bought  the  field,  that  the  treasure 
might  be  his.  Or,  it  was  like  a  priceless  pearl  met  with  by  a  mer- 
chant seeking  such  a  treasure,  and  secured  by  him  at  the  cost  of  all 
he  had.  The  kingdom  might  be  found  by  some  without  their  seeking 
it,  as  the  treasure  by  the  peasant  in  the  field ;  or  it  might  be  met  by 
one  in  earnest  search  for  it,  like  him  who  found  the  costly  pearl.  la 
either  case,  it  could  only  be  obtained  by  joj^ful  self-sacrifice  of  all 
things  else  for  its  sake,  and  by  the  realization  of  the  worthlessness  of 
all  human  possessions  in  comparison  with  it. 

It  is  not  certain  that  all  these  parables  were  spdpn  the  same  day, 
though  there  is  nothing  improbable  in  the  sup^sition  that  Jesus 
should  have  given  such  a  free  utterance  to  the  wealth  of  imagery  and 
illustration  which  flowed  from  His  lips  with  no  mental  effort.  But 
the  evening  came  at  last,  and  found  Him  wearied  out  with  the  work 
and  agitations  of  such  an  eventful  day.  Capernaum  could,  however, 
no  longer  be  the  quiet  home  for  Him  which  it  had  been.  The  fierce 
rage  of  the  priests  and  schoolmen  in  the  morning,  and  their  intrigue 
with  the  household  of  Nazareth  to  lay  hold  on  Him  as  a  madman, 
possessed  with  a  devil,  showed  that  they  would  stop  at  no  wickedness 
to  get  Him  into  their  power.  The  controversy  respecting  Him 
had  penetrated  every  humble  cottage,  and  quiet  work  was  no  longer 
possible.  Moreover,  it  was  necessary  to  introduce  His  disciples  to  a 
wider  sphere  of  life  and  work  than  Capernaum  and  the  little  districts 
round  it,  in  preparation  for  their  independent  action,  and  to  form  and 
strengthen  their  character  and  power  of  self-reliance  by  putting  it  to 
the  proof,  and  revealing  to  them  the  weaknesses  yet  to  be  overcome. 

The  wall  of  lonely  hills  on  the  east  side  of  the  Lake,  seamed  by 
deep  gorges  through  which  the  patli  led  to  the  vast  upland  plains  of 


404  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  eastern  Jordan — a  region  little  known  to  the  busy  population  of 
Galilee,  and  in  bad  reputation  with  most,  as  more  heathen  than  Jewish 
— offered  Him  a  secure  retreat.  Instead  of  returning  to  Peter's  house, 
where  new  troubles  might  have  awaited  Him,  He  ordered  His  dis- 
ciples to  carry  Him  to  the  opposite  shore,  that  He  might  escape  from 
all  painful  scenes,  and  enjoy  peace  and  rest  for  a  time.  His  enemies 
would  not  be  likely  to  seek  a  Rabbi  like  Him  in  such  an  unclean  dis- 
trict ;  least  of  all,  in  the  neighbourhood  He  tirst  visited — that  of  the 
heathen  city,  Gadara. 

But  the  incidents  of  the  day  were  not  yet  over.  The  streets  on  the 
way  to  the  boat  were  full  with  the  evening  gossips,  glad  to  talk  with 
their  neighbours  in  the  gathering  twilight,  now  their  day's  work  was 
done ;  and,  with  others  lingering  about,  in  the  hope  of  seeing  the  great 
Rabbi.  A  number  of  these  soon  gathered  round  Christ  and  His  dis- 
ciples as  they  made  towards  the  shore,  and  at  last  the  silence  was 
broken  by  one  of  them,  strange  to  say,  himself  a  Rabbi,  offering  to 
follow  Him  as  His  scholar.  "  Teacher,"  said  he,  "I  will  follow  Thee 
wherever  you  go."  It  might  have  seemed  a  great  thing  for  one  in  the 
position  of  Jesus  to  have  a  Rabbi  among  His  disciples,  but  He  never 
courted  human  aid,  or  acted  on  mere  expediency.  The  highest,  no 
less  than  the  humblest,  could  only  be  received  on  the  condition  of 
absolute  self-sacritice  and  sincerity.  Is  or  did  He  readily  accept  those 
who  offered  themselves,  but  chose  rather  to  summon  such  as  He 
wished,  to  His  immediate  circle.  "  Ye  have  not  chosen  me,"  said 
He,  on  a  future  occasion,  "but  I  have  chosen  you."  He  returned, 
therefore,  only  an  answer  which  should  test  the  applicant's  motives 
to  the  uttermost.  "  The  foxes  have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air 
nests,  but  the  Son  of  Man  hath  not  where  to  lay  His  head."  Yirtually 
driven  from  the  (me  dwelling  at  Capernaum  He  could  regard  as  His 
home,  and  rejecter  from  Nazareth,  He  was,  henceforth,  a  wanderer, 
with  no  fixed  dwelling.  From  this  time  He  was  almost  a  fugitive 
from  His  enemies,  never  remaining  long  in  any  one  place, — a  home- 
less and  houseless  man. 

To  a  second  applicant,  who  professed  himself  willing  to  follow  Him 
as  soon  as  he  had  discharged  the  pious  duty  of  burying  his  father,  the 
startling  answer  was  returned,  "Let  the  (spiritually)  dead  bury  their 
dead,  but  go  thou  and  preach  the  kingdom  of  God."  Under  other 
circumstances  Christ  would  have  commended  such  filial  love;  but  it 
was  necessary  now,  to  show,  by  a  supreme  example,  that  those  who 
sought  to  follow  Him  must  deny  natural  ftielings,  otherwise  entirely 
sacred,  when  the  interests  of  the  kingdom  of  God  required  it.  He 
had  in  mind,  doubtless,  the  thirty  days'  mourning  that  were  virtually 
implied,  and  knew  the  results  of  indecision  in  a  matter  so  paramount. 
It  was,  moreover,  a  requirement  of  the  Rabbis,  in  similar  cases,  that  if 
n-ny  one  who  wished  to  be  a  scholar  of  the  Law,  had  to  choose  be- 
tv/een  burying  even  his  nearest  relation — his  parent,  or  his  brother,  or 
sister — and  devoting  himself  at  once  to  his  sacred  duties,  he  should 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  495 

•leave  the  burial  to  others,  as  the  less  irnportnnt  duty,  and  pive,  him- 
self up  on  the  moment,  undividecUy  to  the  other.  Tlie  words  of  Jesus 
were  the  famihar  and  ■well-known  expression  of  this  recofrnized  con- 
dition of  even  Rabbinical  discipleship.  The  api)licnnt  would  have 
had  to  act  thus  had  he  chosen  to  follow  a  Rabbi,  and  less  devotion  and 
sincerity  could  not  be  demanded  in  the  service  of  the  New  Kingdom. 

A  third,  who  asked  leave  before  tinally  foUowinaj  Christ,  to  go  home 
and  bid  his  family  circle  farewell,  received  a  similar  answer — "  No 
one  having  put  his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the 
kingdom  of  God;  he  who  gives  himself  up  to  the  kingdom  of  God, 
must  do  so  with  an  undivided  heart,  suffering  no  earthly  cares  to  dis- 
tract him." 

He  had  set  out  for  the  Lake  side  as  soon  as  the  multitudes  had 
scattered  sufficiently  to  open  the  way;  and  now,  having  reached  it. 
He  went  into  a  fishing-boat,  just  as  He  was,  and  they  pushed  off  ia 
company  with  some  other  boats.  It  was  already  late  for  Orientals  to 
be  abroad,  and  the  rest  in  the  open  air,  after  such  continuous  mental 
and  bodily  excitement,  soon  brought  the  sweet  relief  of  deep  refresh- 
ing sleep.  We  never  hear  of  Jesus  being  ill;  and,  indeed,  such  a  life 
as  His,  utterly  free  from  all  disturbing  causes  which  might  induce 
disease,  may  well  have  been  exceptionally  health}\  The  coarse  leather 
boss  of  the  steersman's  seat,  at  the  end  of  the  boat,  sufficed  for  a  pil- 
low, and  presently  He  forgot  in  deep  slumber  the  cares  and  labours 
of  the  day. 

The  sail  across,  however,  though  usually  so  refreshing  and  delight- 
ful, was  destined  to  be  rudely  disturbed.  The  Lake  lies  in  its  deep 
bed  among  the  hills,  ordinarily,  smooth  as  a  mirror,  but  sudden  storms 
at  times  rush  down  every  wady  on  the  north-east  and  east,  and  lash 
the  waters  into  furious  roughness.  The  winds  sw^eeping  over  the  vast 
bare  table-land  of  Gaulonitis  and  the  Hauran,  and  the  boundless  desert 
beyond,  pour  down  the  deep  ravines  and  gorges,  cut  in  the  course  of 
ages  by  streams  and  torrents,  on  their  w^ay  to  the  Lake,  and  lash  it  in- 
to incredible  commotion.  Its  position,  about  six  hundred  feet  below 
the  Mediterranean,  induces  such  sudden  hurricanes,  by  heating  the  air 
over  it  till  the  colder  atmosphere  of  the  hills  rushes  down  to  fill  the 
vacuum  caused  by  the  rarefaction. 

Such  a  storm  now  burst  on  the  calm  bosom  of  the  waters,  and 
presently  raised  the  waves  to  such  a  height,  that  the  improtected  boat 
was  all  but  swamped.  In  the  wild  roaring  of  the  wind;  amidst  blind- 
ing torrents  of  rain,  and  the  thick  darkness  of  the  hurricane  cloud, 
which  blotted  out  the  stars;  and  the  dashing  of  the  sea,  which  broke 
over  them  each  moment;  even  bronzed  sailors  like  the  Twelve  lost 
their  presence  of  mind,  and  were  filled  with  dismay.  Driven  before 
the  wind,  they  were  fast  filling,  and,  as  it  .seemed,  must  presently  go 
down.  Through  all  the  wild  tumult  of  wind,  darkness,  rain,  and  sea, 
however,  Jesus  lay  peacefully  asleep,  so  profoundly  had  He  been  ex- 
hausted.    It  seemed  as  if  He  were  indifferent  to  tlieir  fate.    In  their 


496  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  ' 

natural  reverence  they  long  hesitated  to  rouse  Him,  but  at  last  did  so, 
and  appealed  to  Him  to  save  them.  Amidst  the  terror  aroimd,  He 
was  entirely  self-possessed.  Eising,  He  gently  rebuked  the  fear  tliat 
had  so  unnerved  them,  and  then,  with  an  awful  sublimity,  rebuked 
the  wind  as  if  it  had  been  a  living  power,  and  bade  the  angry  sea  be 
still;  and  both  wind  and  sea  at  once  obeyed  Him.  A  great  calm 
spread  over  the  Lake.  "Why  are  ye  fearful,"  said  He,  "  O  ye  of 
little  faith?"  They  had  seen  Him  control  disease,  cast  out  devils,  and 
even  raise  the  dead;  could  they  not  have  felt  assured  that  neither 
winds  nor  waves  could  harm  them  when  He  was  there?  "  What 
manner  of  man  is  this?"  muttered  the  awe-struck  apostles,  "  for  He 
commandeth  even  the  winds  and  water,  and  they  obey  Him !" 

The  boat  had  been  driven  to  the  southern  end  of  the  Lake,  and 
Christ  consequently  landed  in  the  territory  of  the  city  of  Gadara,  a 
half-heathen  town  on  the  table-land,  twelve  hundred  feet  above  the 
shore,  and  at  some  distance  from  it.  It  was  then  in  its  glory,  and  lay 
round  the  top  of  the  hill,  looking  far  over  the  country.  Long  avenues 
of  marble  pillars  lined  its  streets;  fine  buildings  of  squared  stones 
abounded.  Two  great  amphitheatres  of  black  basalt  adorned  the 
west  and  north  sides,  and  there  was  a  third  theatre  near  its  slpeedid 
public  baths.  It  was  the  proud  home  of  a  great  trading  community, 
to  whom  life  was  bright  and  warm  when  Jesus  landed  that  morning, 
on  the  shore  beneath,  and  looked  up  towards  its  walls. 

The  hill  on  which  Gadara  stands  is  of  soft  limestone,  full,  like  the 
limestone  of  Palestine  genei'ally,  of  larger  and  smaller  caves,  many 
of  which  had  been  enlarged  by  the  poorer  classes  and  turned  into 
dwelling-places,  for  which  they  are  used  even  yet,  while  others  had 
been  converted  into  tombs,  with  massy  stone  doors.  The  roadside 
is  still  strewn  with  a  number  of  sarcophagi  of  basalt,  sculptured  with 
low  reliefs  of  genii,  garlands,  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  human  faces, 
in  good  preservation,  though  long  emptied  of  their  dead. 

Madness  in  every  form  has,  in  all  ages,  been  treated  by  the  rude 
therapeutics  of  the  East  as  a  supernatural  visitation,  with  which  it 
is  unsafe  to  interfere  more  than  is  needed,  and,  hence,  even  at  this 
day.  furious  and  dangerous  maniacs  may,  from  time  to  time,  be  seen 
in  the  towns  of  Palestine,  in  some  cases,  absolutely  naked.  Others, 
equally  furious,  often  betake  themselves  to  the  mountains,  and  sleep 
in  tombs  and  caves.  In  their  paroxysms  they  become  terribly  dan- 
gerous, for  the  mental  excitement  gives  them  prodigious  strength, 
and,  hence,  one  is  sometimes  a  terror  to  a  whole  neighbourhood. 

Two  such  madmen,  it  seems,  had  taken  up  their  abode  in  the  caves 
and  tombs,  by  the  side  of  the  road  from  the  Lake  to  Gadai'a,  and  had 
made  it  almost  impassable,  from  tlieir  fierceness.  Jesus  had  hardly 
set  His  foot  on  shore  before  they  sallied  out  .towards  Him,  shrieking 
amidst  the  wild  howls  of  their  frenzy,  as  they  approached;  in  depre- 
cation of  His  interference  with  them.  From  some  reason,  now 
unknown,  St.  Mark  and  St.  Luke  speak  only  of  one  of  tliese  two 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  497 

Buflferers,  and  as  their  account  is  the  fuller,  it  is  better  to  keep  to  it. 
Both  were  more  than  merely  insane:  they  were  possessed  with  devils, 
and  conscious  that  they  were  so.  As  in  similar  cases,  tlie  demoniac 
presence  controlled  the  human  will,  and  spoke  in  its  own  name. 
Both  had  already  shown  their  terror  at  the  coming  of  one  whom  they 
recognized  as  the  Son  of  God,  and  adjured  Ilim  not  to  torment  theiii 
before  the  time.  But  now  the  one  of  whom  especially  St.  Mark  and 
St.  Luke  speak,  ran  and  fell  down  before  Jesus,  in  the  manner  of 
Easteru  reverence.  He  had  been  a  terror  to  the  whole  country  side, 
for  he  would  wear  no  clothes,  but  roamed  the  hills  naked,  and  would 
live  only  in  the  tombs.  Efforts  had  been  made  to  put  him  in  restraint, 
but  neither  ropes,  nor  the  chains  used,  had  sufficed  to  hold  him. 
Night  and  day  he  wandered  the  mountains,  driven  hither  and  thither 
by  the  mysterious  possession  that  had  him  in  its  pov.er,  filling  the  air 
with  his  howls  and  shrieks,  and  cutting  himself  with  sharp  stones  in 
his  frenzy.  But  a  greater  than  the  strong  man  by  whom  he  was 
enslaved  was  now  here.  Though  dreading  His  presence,  the  demon 
could  not  keep  away  from  it.  It  may  be  that,  in  the  confused  human 
consciousness,  there  was  yet  a  glimmer  of  reason  and  moral  health 
which  drove  him  to  the  Saviour,  but,  if  so,  the  spirit  took  the  word 
from  him,  and  spoke  in  his  stead.  "  What  is  thy  name?"  said  Jesus 
to  the  demon, — and  the  mysterious  answer  was,  "  Legion,  for  we  are 
many."  Forthwith  came  the  command  to  come  out  of  the  man.  But, 
true  to  diabolical  instinct,  the  spirits  would  fain  injure,  even  in  leav- 
ing. On  the  slopes  of  the  hill,  a  great  herd  of  swine,  the  unclean  and 
hateful  abomination  of  the  Jew,  were  feeding.  They  were,  doubtless, 
owned  by  some  of  the  heathen  citizens  of  Gadara,  for  swine  were  in 
great  demand  as  sacrifices  and  food  among  the  foreign  population. 
"  Send  us  into  the  swine,"  cried  the  devils,  "and  do  not  drive  us  into 
the  abyss,"  and  the  request  was  granted,  to  the  destruction  of  the 
whole  herd,  which  ran  violently  down  the  slope  into  the  Lake  and 
were  drowned.  Jesus,  as  Son  of  God,  was  free  to  act  at  His  will 
with  all  things,  for  they  were  all  His  by  the  supreme  right  of  crea- 
tion, and  this  right  is  continually  used  in  tlie  moral  government  of 
the  world.  There  is  no  ground  for  a  moment's  discussion  respecting 
an  act  of  One  to  whom  all  things  were  committed,  as  Head  of  the 
New  Kingdom,  by  the  Father. 

It  is  idle,  in  our  utter  ignorance  of  the  spirit  world,  to  raise  diffi- 
culties, as  some  have  done,  at  this  incident.  It  is  recorded  in  three 
of  the  four  Gospels,  and  cannot  be  explained  away  e.xcept  by  doing 
violence  to  the  concurrent  language  of  the  throe  evangelists.  How- 
ever mysterious,  it  is  no  more  so  than  many  facts  in  the  life  of  Jesus, 
and  must  be  taken  si.nply  as  it  stands. 

The  terror  of  the  Apostles  in  the  storm  had  shown  how  little  Jesus 
could  rely  on  them  in  the  far  worse  trials  of  future  years,  but  the 
mighty  power  He  had  shown  in  stilling  the  tumult  of  the  elements, 
had  beea  a  lesson  of  coulidence  in  Him,  which  they  could  hardly 


498  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

forget.  It  was  a  further  step  in  their  training  to  tnist  in  Him,  •when 
they  now  saw  Him  perform  the  still  more  wonderful  miracle  of  still- 
ing the  inward  tempest  of  a  human  soul.  In  neitlier  case  could  they 
say  a  word.  They  stood  silent  and  ashamed.  They  were  far,  as  yet, 
from  having  grown  to  the  spiritual  manhood  of  their  great  office. 

The  new  teaching  of  Jesus  had  excited,  for  a  time,  a  wide  popu- 
larity that  had  even  besieged  His  dwelling  and  thronged  His  person. 
The  people  had  given  Him  their  unhesitating  confidence.  But  His 
collisions  with  the  priests  and  Rabbis,  and  His  disturbed  relations  to 
His  family — with  the  whisperings  of  calumny  on  all  sides — had 
chilled  the  enthusiasm  of  many,  Distrusit  and  suspicion  had  been 
sown  in  hitherto  trustful  minds,  and  these  reports  bad  penetrated 
even  to  the  east  of  the  Jordan.  Their  first  open  results  were  seen 
at  Gadara,  for  it  was  here  He  first  met  with  open  want  of  sym- 
pathy with  His  person  and  work.  The  incident  of  the  destruction 
of  the  swine,  infuriating  the  owners,  was  enough,  with  what  vbey  had 
before  heard,  to  turn  the  people  against  Him.  The  insinuation  that 
He  cast  out  devils  by  a  league  with  their  chief,  filled  weali  mindb 
with  terror.  He  had  hardly  landed,  and  was  in  sore  need  of  rest, 
but  was  at  once  forced  to  leave.  For  the  first  time,  the  disciples  had 
an  example  of  that  invincible  unbelief  they  were,  hereafter,  to  meet 
so  often.  But,  if  Jesus  were  hindered  from  preaching  in  Decapolis, 
He  had  the  satisfaction  of  leaving  behind  Him  the  former  maniac, 
now  clothed  and  in  his  right  mind,  to  spread  the  fact  of  his  de 
liverance.  The  poor  man  would  fain  have  followed  his  Benefactor, 
but  Jesus  had  other  work  for  him.  Contrary  to  His  rule  hitherto, 
He  dismissed  him,  with  directions  to  go  home  to  his  friends,  and 
tell  them  the  great  things  the  Lord  had  done  for  him,  and  how 
He  had  had  compassion  on  him.  His  preaching,  however  simple, 
was  a  seed  of  future  good  in  these  regions. 

Forced  to  return  to  Capernaum,  Jesus  had  scarcely  land<"d,  when 
a  demand  was  made  on  His  sympathy  which  He  could  not  resist. 
One  of  the  rulers,  or  chief  men  of  the  Synagogue,  a  local  dig- 
nitary, named  Jairus,  had  an  only  daughter,  a  rising  girl  of  about 
twelve,  at  the  point  of  death.  After  all  that  had  passed  between 
Jesus  and  the  Rabbis  in  the  town,  it  must  have  been  a  great  effort 
for  one  in  the  position,  and  with  the  inevitable  prejudices  of  Jairus, 
to  seek  His  aid;  but  distress  humbles  pride,  and  often  quickens  faith 
Pressing  towards  Him,  and  regardless  of  a  crowd  around,  he  fell  as 
His  feet,  as  inferiors  then  did,  and  still  do,  in  the  East,  before  those 
greatly  above  them,  and  besought  Him  to  come  and  lay  His  hand 
on  his  child,  and  restore  her  to  health.  A  heart  that  sympathized 
with  all  sorrow  could  not  resist  such  an  appeal,  and,  forthwith. 
He  set  out,  through  the  throng  that  attended  all  His  appearances, 
to  the  ruler's  house.  Before  arriving  there,  however,  a  message 
came  that  the  sufferer  was  dead,  and  that  there  was  no  need  of 
further  trouble.     They  little  knew  who  was  on  His  way  to  them. 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  499 

"  Be  not  afraid,"  said  He  to  the  rulier,  "only  believe."  The  crowd 
of  relatives  and  friends  that  always  thron<T  the  chamber  of  death  in 
Palestine,  had  already  begun  the  pitiful  wails  and  cries  of  Eastern 
lamentations,  and  the  dirge-flu te^  had  already  begun  to  add  their  sad 
burden  to  the  tumult.  Jesus  had  likely  been  delayed  before  starting, 
and,  as  preparations  for  burial  commence  as  soon  as  breath  leaves  the 
body,  the  corpse  had  likely  been  washed,  and  laid  out  in  the  cus- 
tomary way  for  the  grave,  before  He  came. 

The  noise  and  confusion  were  not  in  keeping  with  the  work  Jesus 
intended.  "Why  make  ye  this  ado  and  weep?"  said  He,  as  He  en- 
tered, "  The  damsel  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth."  He  used  the  word, 
doubtless,  just  as  He  afterwards  did  in  the  case  of  Lazarus,  but  they 
mocked  at  His  pretended  knowledge,  which  seemed  to  impute  error 
to  themselves,  for  they  knew  that  she  was  dead.  He  was  the  Prince 
of  Peace,  and  would  have  no  such  disturbing  excitement,  and  there- 
fore caused  the  crowd  to  leave  the  chamber  of  death.  Only  the  father 
and  the  mother  of  the  girl,  and  the  three  disciples,  Peter,  James,  and 
John,  were  allowed  to  see  His  triumph  over  the  King  of  Terrors. 
Taking  the  damsel  by  the  hand,  and  usir^g  words  of  the  language  of 
His  people, — Talitha  cumi — Damsel,  I  say  unto  thee,  arise — the  spirit 
returned  to  the  pale  form,  and  she  rose  and  walked.  But  in  Caper- 
naum, at  a  time  when  His  enemies  were  so  keenly  afoot,  cautious 
obscurity  was  needed,  and  He  therefore  enjoined  silence  as  to  the 
miracle. 

On  the  way  a  touching  incident  had  happened.  A  woman, 
troubled  for  many  years  with  an  internal  ailment,  after  "having 
suifered  many  things  of  many  physicians,  and  having  spent  her  all," 
in  the  vain  hope  of  cure,  resolved  to  seek  help  from  Jesus.  It  is  no 
wonder  that  she  had  given  up  the  faculty  of  the  day,  for  theii 
practice  was  in  keeping  with  the  scientific  ignorance  of  the  times. 
Lightfoot  quotes  from  the  Talmud  the  Jewish  medical  treatment  of 
such  a  complaint.  It  was  as  follows:  "Take  of  the  gum  of 
Alexandria  the  weight  of  a  zuzee  (a  fractional  silver  coin);  of  alum 
the  same;  of  crocus  the  same.  Let  them  be  bruised  together,  and 
given  in  wine  to  the  woman  that  has  an  issue  of  blood.  lif  this  does 
not  benefit,  take  of  Persian  onions  three  logs  (pints);  boil  them  in 
wine  and  give  her  to  drink,  and  say,  '  Arise  from  thy  flux.'  If  tliia 
does  not  cure  her,  set  her  in  a  place  where  two  ways  meet,  and  let 
her  hold  a  cup  of  wine  in  her  right  hand,  and  let  some  one  conio 
behind  and  frighten  her,  and  say,  'Arise  from  thy  flux.'  But  i| 
that  do  no  good,  take  a  handful  of  cummin  (a  kind  of  fennel),  a 
liandful  of  crocus,  and  a  handful  of  fenegreek  (another  kind  of 
fennel).  Let  these  be  boiled  in  wine,  and  give  them  her  to  drink, 
and  say,  'Arise  from  thy  flux.'"  If  these  do  no  good,  other  doses, 
over  ten  in  number,  are  prescribed;  among  them,  this — "Let  them 
dig  seven  ditches,  in  which  let  them  burn  some  cuttings  of  vines, 
not  yet  four  years  old.     Let  her  take  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  wine. 


500  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

and  let  them  lead  her  away  from  this  ditch,  and  make  her  sit 
down  over  that.  And  let  them  remove  her  from  that,  and  make 
her  sit  down  over  another,  saying  to  her  at  each  remove, — '  Arise 
from  thy  flux.'" 

But  these  were  only  a  few  of  the  more  harmless  prescriptions 
in  vogue.  The  condition  of  medical  science  in  the  East  may  be 
judged  from  its  character  at  the  centre  of  civilization  and  progress 
in  the  West.  Pliny's  Natural  History  gives  us  some  curious 
glimpses  of  this.  Ashes  of  burnt  wolf's  skull,  stags'  horns,  the 
heads  of  mice,  the  eyes  of  crabs,  owls'  brains,  the  livers  of  frogs, 
vipers'  fat,  grasshoppers,  bats,  &c. ,  supplied  the  alkalis  which  were 
prescribed.  Physicians  were  wont  to  order  doses  of  the  gall  of 
wild  swine,  of  horses'  foam,  of  woman's  milk;  the  laying  a  piece 
of  serpent's  skin  on  an  affected  part,  mixtures  of  the  urine  of 
cows  that  had  not  been  sucked,  the  fat  of  bears,  the  juice  of 
boiled  bucks'  horns,  and  other  similar  abominations.  For  colic, 
they  prescribed  the  dung  of  swine  or  hares,  for  dysentery 
powdered  horses'  teeth,  for  affections  of  the  bladder,  the  urine  of 
wild  swine,  or  asses'  kidnej^s,  or  plasters  of  mice-dung.  It  was  a 
great  assistance  in  child-birth  if  the  mother,  or  any  of  her  circle, 
ate  wolf's  flesh.  Cold  in  the  head  was  cured  by  kissing  a  mule's 
nose.  Sore  throat  was  removed  by  embrocations  of  snails'  slime, 
and  the  inhalation  of  the  fumes  of  snails  slowly  burnt.  Quinsy 
was  cured  with  the  brain  of  the  marsh  owl ;  diseases  of  the  lungs, 
with  mouse-flesh,  disorders  of  the  stomach  with  boiled  snails,  of 
which,  however,  only  an  odd  number  must  be  taken;  weakness  of 
the  bowels,  with  powdered  bats;  miscarriages  were  prevented  by 
carrying  about  M'ith  one  a  living  amphisbsena,  a  small  snake  which 
was  believed  to  be  able  to  go  either  backwards  or  forwards;  frogs' 
eyes  were  useful  for  contusions,  if  the  eyes  were  taken  out  at  the 
conjunction  of  the  moon,  and  kept  in  an  egg-shell.  Frogs  boiled  in 
vinegar  were  sovereign  for  toothache;  for  cough,  the  slime  of  frogs 
which  had  been  hung  up  by  the  feet;  for  rupture,  sea  hedgehogs — 
the  echinus — dissolved  in  asses'  milk;  for  diseases  of  the  glands, 
scorpions  boiled  in  wine ;  for  ague  or  intermittent  fever,  the  stone 
from  the  head  of  sea-eels,  but  it'must  be  taken  out  at  the  full  moon. 

The  poor  woman  who  now  determined  to  seek  help  from  Jesus 
had  endured  all  the  tortures  of  such  medical  treatment  for  twelve 
years,  and,  of  course,  was  hurt  rather  than  healed.  She  could  not, 
however,  venture  to  speak  to  Jesus;  perhaps  womanly  shame  to  tell 
her  disease  in  public  kept  her  back ;  perhaps  reverence  for  one  so 
mysteriously  above  other  men.  Besides,  she  was  unclean,  and  had 
to  stand  aloof  from  society.  Joining  the  crowd  following  Him  to 
the  house  of  Jairus,  she  could  only  dare  to  touch  the  zizith,  or  tassel, 
tha,t  hung  on  the  corner  of  His  outer  garment,  as  on  those  of  all 
other  Jews.  The  touch  at  once  healed  her,  but  it  did  not  pass 
unnoticed.     To  have  let  it  pass,  might  have  seemed  to  give  coun- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CTTRIST.  601 

tenance  to  a  superstitious  fancy  that  His  clothes  had  virtue  in  them* 
selves.  Turning  round,  He  at  once  asked  who  touched  Him.  Shs 
could  no  longer  hide  her  act,  and,  alarmed  lest  her  boldness  should 
be  punished  by  the  renewal  of  the  trouble  she  now  felt  to  have  beefl 
healed,  fell  down  before  Him,  and  told  Him  all  the  truth.  It  wa» 
enough.  "Daughter,"  said  He,  "thy  faith  hath  made  thee  whole, 
go  in  peace,  and  be  whole  of  thy  plague." 


CHAPTER   XLIIL 

DARK    AND    BRIGHT. 

Amoi^g  the  crowd  that  had  gathered  round  the  house  of  Jairus, 
the  supernatural  powers  of  Jesus  found  renewed  exercise.  No 
sooner  had  He  reappeared  than  two  blind  men  followed  Him  to 
Peter's  house,  appealing  to  Him  as  the  long-expected  Messiah — 
"  Have  mercy  upon  us,  Son  of  David."  It  was  an  invariable  con- 
dition of  His  granting  His  miraculous  aid  that  those  who  sought  it 
should  come  with  sincere  and  trustful  hearts,  for  to  such  only  could 
any  higher  good  be  gained  by  mere  outward  relief.  The  poor  men 
eagerly  assured  Him  that  they  believed  He  could  do  what  they 
asked,  and  with  a  touch  of  His  hand  their  eyes  were  opened. 
"  According  to  your  faith,"  said  He,  "  be  it  unto  you."  The  prudent 
charge  not  to  speak  of  their  restored  sight,  so  necessary  after  all  that 
had  lately  passed,  was  heard  only  to  be  forgotten,  for,  in  their  joy, 
tliey  could  not  refrain  from  publishing  it  wherever  they  went. 
Another  miracle  of  these  days  is  recorded — the  casting  out  a  devil 
from  one  who  was  dumb,  so  that  the  sufferer,  henceforth,  spoke 
freely.  The  multitudes  were  greatly  moved  by  such  repeated  de- 
monstrations of  transcendent  power,  w^hich  seemed  to  surpass  all 
that  had  ever  been  seen  in  Israel,  but  this  popularity  only  the  more 
embittered  His  enemies.  Repeating  their  old  blasphemy,  they  could 
only  mutter,  ' '  He  casts  out  devils  by  being  in  league  with  their 
prince. "  That  He  should  thus  recognize  classes  whom  they  repre- 
sented as  accursed,  and  from  Avhom  they  withdrew  themselves  as 
unclean,  seemed  a  reflection  on  their  teaching  and  conduct.  The 
blind,  the  leper,  the  poor,  and  the  childless,  were  alike  accounted 
stricken  of  God,  and  "  dead,"  by  the  hard  Judaism  of  the  day,  and 
yet  He  associated  freely  with  all  who  sought  Him.  Either  He  or 
ih'jy  must  be  vitally  wrong. 

It  was  now  late  in  the  year,  and  the  Twelve  had  not  yet  gone  out 
on  any  independent  mission.  He  had  taken  them  with  Him  on  His 
circuits  round  Capernaum,  to  train  them  for  wider  fields.  They  had 
seen  Him  scattering  the  first  seed,  and  caring  for  it  in  its  growth, 
preserving  what  had  been  won ;  strengthening  the  weak,  and  calling 
the  careless  to  repentance.     On  a  narrow  theatre  they  had  had  a 


502  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

Tvidely  varied  experience.  More  lately  they  had  had  examplai  of 
unbelief  in  the  Gadarenes,  of  weak  faith  in  themselves,  and  of  strong 
in  the  woman  who  had  touched  Jesus,  and  even  in  the  two  blind 
men.  Another  lesson,  however,  was  needed — that  of  fierce  opposi- 
tion, which  they  were  destined  to  meet  so  often  hereafter. 

Jesus  had  never  visited  Nazareth  since  His  leaving  it,  and  His 
heart,  doubtless,  yearned  to  proclaim  the  New  Kingdom  to  the  popu- 
lation among  whom  He  had  lived  so  long.  The  visit  of  Mary,  and 
of  His  sisters  and  brothers,  to  Capernaum,  to  take  Him  away  with 
them,  however  mistaken,  had,  doubtless,  been  prompted  by  the  ten- 
derest  motives.  Simple  country  people,  they  had  heard  from  their 
holy  Rabbis  that  He  whom  they  so  loved  had  overstrained  His  mind 
and  body  till  His  reason  had  failed,  and  that  there  was  ground  to  fear 
that  the  Evil  One  had  secretly  taken  advantage  of  His  enthusiasnl  to 
work  miracles  by  His  hands.  What  could  it  be,  indeed,  but  serving 
the  Prince  of  Darkness,  to  slight  the  sacred  traditions  by  acts  like 
mixing  with  the  common  people  without  bathing  afterwards,  or 
breaking  the  Sabbath  by  healing  on  it,  or  by  letting  the  disciples 
pluck  corn  and  rub  it  in  their  hands  on  the  holy  day,  or  letting  a 
leper  come  near  Him,  or  eating  with  unclean  publicans  and  sinners? 
He  was  a  revolutionist:  He  was  turning  the  world  upside  down: 
He  was  questioning  the  wisdom  and  authority  of  the  Rabbis,  and  who 
but  the  devil  or  his  emissary  could  do  that? 

It  was  a  grave  matter,  however,  to  revisit  Nazareth.  If  His  nearest 
relatives  had  given  way  to  such  fears  respecting  Him,  what  could  He 
expect  from  the  multitude,  who  had  known  Him  only  in  His  humble 
obscvirity?  He  must  seem  to  them,  at  the  least,  a  dangerous  disturber 
of  the  religion  of  the  land;  a  fanatic  who  was  stirring  up  confusion 
in  Israel.  But,  where  duty  called,  He  never  knew  fear.  In  company 
with  His  disciples  He  set  out  from  Capernaum,  taking  the  road  along 
the  hills  by  the  Lake,  to  Magdala,  turning  westward  from  it,  through 
the  valley  of  doves,  by  Arbela,  with  its  high  cliffs  and  robber  caves, 
and  the  Horns  of  Hattin,  past  Tabor,  south-westerly  to  Nazareth.^  It 
was  only  a  journey  of  seven  hours,  and  could  easily  be  made  in  a 
day.  He  stayed  in  Nazareth  several  days,  no  doubt  in  His  mother's 
house. 

The  sword  had  already  begun  to  pierce  the  Virgin's  heart  Tender, 
humble,  patient,  and  loving,  she  had  trials  we  cannot  realize  Know- 
ing that  her  Son  was  the  Messiah,  her  faith  was  sorely  perplexed  by 
His  past  course,  for  her  ideas  were  those  of  her  nation,  and  His  were 
wholly  the  opposite.  Her  intimate  knowledge  of  the  sacred  oracles 
of  His  people  had  shown  itself  in  the  Magnificat:  her  simple  trust  in 
God,  her  happy  thankfulness  of  soul,  her  musing  thoughtf ulness,  her 
modest  humility,  her  strength  of  mind  and  energy  of  purpose,  had 
all  been  seen  in  earlier  days,  and,  no  doubt,  as  she  grew  older,  the 
light  of  a  higher  world  was  reflected  with  ever-increasing  glory  from 
her  eoxil.     But  she  was,  and  must  hare  been,  in  sore  trouble  at  th« 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  508 

position  of  her  Son.     His  first  interview  with  her  has  been  conceived 
th'is : — 

"Refreshment  over,  and  thanks  returned  with  covered  head  by 
Jesus,  we  may  fancy  how  ^[arv  followed  Him  to  His  own  chamber 
When,  at  last,  she  thus  had  Him  alone,  she  fell  on  His  neck,  but  in- 
stead of  kissmg  Hmi,  as  she  had  done  a  thousand  times  secretly  in 
spirit,  she  hid  h^r  face  on  His  shoulder,  and  a  stream  of  tears  fell 
from  her  eyes.  She  wept  without  speakini?,  and  would  not  let 
Him  go. 

"  At  last,  Jesus  said,   '  Mother,  be  calm,  and  sit  down  by  me  and 
tell  me  why  you  weep? '     She  did  so,  and  beo:an,— her  hand  in  His 
and  His  eyes  fixed  on  hers—'  I  rejoice  that  a"t  last  I  have  you  a-min' 
and  grieve  that  we  shall  soon   have  once  more  to  part.'     '  Do^yoii 
know,  then,'  asked  Jesus,  'how  .soon  or  how  late  I  .shall  leave  this 
world?'     'Oh.  ray  child,'    replied    Miriam,    'does  not  the  deathly 
whiteness  of  your  face  tell  me  that    vou  are  wearin"-  yourself  out' 
and  if  you  do  not  wear  yourself   out,  though  I  am  a  woman,  shut  in 
by  the  four  corners  of  my  hou^e.  how  can  I  help  seeing  that  the 
hatred  of   your  enemies  increa?es    daily,  and  that   they  have   lono- 
sworn  your  death?'     'Granted,'     broke  in  Jesus,    'but  has  not  a 
great  part  of  the  people  banded  round  me,  and  does  not  this  stand  in 
the  way  of  the  plots  ag.iinst  me?'      'Indeed,' replied  Miriam,   'the 
mi^ht  of  your  preachin;^,  your  independence  towards  those  in  power 
at  Jerusalem,  the  novelty  of  your  whole  appearance,  and   above  all 
your  miracles,  have  won  many  to  vour  side,  but  the  favour  of  the 
people  is  like  a  rain-torrant.  which  swells  quickly,  only  to  pass  away 
as  soon.'     '  \ou  are  right,  O  blessed  among  women,'  answered  Jesus- 
most  of  this  people  seek  not  salvition  from  siu,  but  from   quite 
other  burdens,  and  when  the  decisive    moment  comes,  thev  will  for- 
sake me,  faint-heartedly  and  ungratefullv.     Your  look  into  the  future 
does  not  deceive  you,  but  even  the  enmity  and  evil  of  men  serve  the 
counsels  of  God,  which  I  came  to  fulfil.      My  way  -ocs  downwards 
to  deep  darkness,  from  which  my  soul  shrinks,  but  1  follow  the  will 
ot  my  Father,  whether  the  road  be  up  or  down.'     As  He  spoke  His 
countenance,  which  had  been  clouded  for  a  moment,  was  as  it  were 
transfi^iired,  as  the  divine  in  His  nature  shone  through  the  human- 
and  31iriam,  drinking  in  all  these   beams,  thrilled  with  a  more  than 
mortal  joy.     There  was  a  long   pause.     Mii-iara  was  silent,  but  she 
j  was,  as  alwa5^s,  wrapt  in  prayer.      ' Fair,'  said  she,  in  the  thoughts  of 
tier  soul,     is  the  rising  sun,  fair  the  green  vine,  fair  the  blue  sea,  but 
fairer  than  all  is  He.     What  an  hour  is  this!    My  eyes  have  beheld 
the  King  m  His  beauty.'"     The  picture  is  beautiful,  but  it  ascribes 
leelings  to  Mary  which  sprang  only  later. 

It  had  been  the  instinctive  practice  of  Jesus,  from  early  childhood, 

to  attend  all  the  synagogue  services,  and  He  was  still  suffered  to  do 

8o,  in  spite  of  the  opposition  He  had  excited.     When  Sabbath  came 

ttteretore,  He  went  to  morning  worship,  and,  after  the  reading  of  the 

L  of  C— 17. 


5C4  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST 

Thcrah,  ftood  np  in  silent  oftor  to  read  the  Ilaplitara  of  the  day  from 
the  Prcphcts.  He  was  forthwith  called  tp  the  reading-desk,  Avheu 
tlie  Sheliach  Tsibbur,  or  Hazan,  hauded  Iiim  the  roll.  The  lesson 
for  the  day  could  not  have  been  more  apprcprir.tc,  for  it  contained 
the  passage  of  Isaiah  whicli  spoke  of  the  ]\Icssiah — "The  spirit  of 
the  Lord  is  upon  me,  because  He  anointed  me  to  preach  the  Gospel 
to  the  poor.  He  has  sent  me  to  proclaim  deliverance  to  the  captives, 
and  recovery  of  sight  to  the  blind:  to  set  at  liberty  the  oppressed: 
to  proclaim  the  acceptable  year  of  the  Lord."  Then,  sitting  down. 
He  began  His  Midrasch,  or  explanation,  commenting  on  the  pacsage 
in  language  which  astonished  the  hearers,  and  applying  the  predic- 
tions of  the  prophets  to  Himself. 

But  the  honest  wonder  and  delight  at  His  words  soon  gave  way  to 
less  friendly  feeling.  Whispers  soon  ran  through  the  congregation 
respecting  Kim.  How  came  He  by  such  wisdom?  He  belonged  to 
no  school:  claimed  noplace  in  the  succession  of  Rabbis:  spoke  on 
His  own  authority,  witliont  ordination  or  sanction  from  the  doctors. 
Is  net  this  the  carpenter,  the  son  of  IMiriara  and  Joseph,  the  brother 
of  James  and  Joses,  and  of  Juda  and  Simon?  and  are  not  His  sisters 
here,  with  us?  They  could  not  realize  One  with  whom,  and  with 
whose  circle,  they  had  been  on  familiar  relations  of  citizenship,  as  a 
prophet.  Perhaps  His  freedom  towards  the  traditions  had  offended 
the  strict  notions  of  some  of  His  brothers,  and  the  petty  jealousy  of 
a  country  village  cculd  not  acknowledge  a  superior  in  one  whom 
they  had  long  treated  as  an  equal,  or  even  an  inferior.  His  hr.mble 
origin.  His  position  as  a  carpenter,  a  trade 'He  had  learned  among 
them,  the  absence  of  anything  special  in  His  family,  and  the  fact  that 
even  they  did  not  acknowledge  His  claims,  were  all  remembered. 
Perhaps  lealousy  of  Capernaum  mingled  with  other  thoughts,  for 
He  had  done  miracles  there,  and  none  in  Nazareth.  Moreover,  if  He 
did  not  belong  to  the'  schools.  He  could  not  speak  or  act  by  inspiration 
from  above,  for  the  Rabbis  were  the  teachers  appointed  by  God.  He 
must  do  His  miracles,  as  the  Rabbis  said,  by  the  help  of  the  devil. 
He  could  not,  they  began  to  think,  liave  come  by  His  knowledge  and 
eloquence  by  fair  means,  or  in  the  usual  way.  He  must  have  un- 
holy aid. 

This  was  enough  to  turn  the  Synagogue  against  Him,  and  His  own 
words  intensified  the  revolution  of  feeling,  and  brought  it  to  a  crisis. 
He  frankly  told  them  that  He  knew  they  thought  "  that  He  should 
help  Himself  before  helping  them,  and  remove  the  suspicion  and  dis- 
respect they  growingly  felt,  by  miracles  like  those  of  Capernaum,  as 
the  only  way  to  convince  them  of  His  claims !  But  He  would  not  do 
in  Nazareth  what  He  had  done  there,  for  He  well  knew  tiiat  no 
prophet  had  any  honour  in  his  own  country.  Had  not  Elijah  con- 
fined his  miraculous  power  to  strangers,  and  they  heathen,  and  with- 
drawn it  from  Israel?  Their  hardness  of  heart  enforced  the  same  oa 
Him.  and  if  Israel,  as  a  whole,  showed  a  like  spirit,  it  also  would  sea 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  505 

His  mighty  works  withdrawn,  and  shown  among  the  heathen."  They 
could  stand  no  more.  The  whole  synagogue  ro^e  ia  commotion,  and 
in  wild  uproar  hus:led  Him  towards  the  steep  wall  of  rock  hard  by, 
to  throw  Him  from  it,  headlong.  But  His  time  was  not  yet  como.  A 
spell  ca&t  on  the  fi.rcj  mob,  opened  a  way  for  Him,  and  He  passed 
through  tliem,  and  left  tlie  town  uuliurt. 

This  disa-itrous  result  so  far  exceeded  all  previous  experience,  that 
Jesus  Himselt  marvelled  at  their  unbelief.  It  even  fettered  Hij  action, 
for  "He  could  do  no  miglity  work,  save  that  He  laid  liU  hands  upon 
a  few  sick  and  healed  them."  He  exerted  His  miraculous  power  only 
towards  those  in  whom  He  found  moral  sympathy,  hovv'cvcr  imper- 
fect. The  human  will,  mysteriously  independent,  needed  to  meet 
His  supernatural  might  and  give  it  entrance,  as  if  the  soul,  opposed 
or  indilferent,  were  wayside  soil,  on  which  the  seeds  of  physical,  as 
of  moral  blessing,  fell  without  fruit. 

But,  though  He  left  Nazareth  never  to  return,  He  remained  in  the 
neighbourhood  for  a  time,  preaching  in  the  villages  of  the  gi'eat  plain 
of  Esdraelon,  far  and  near.  The  whole  theatre  of  His  activity,  how- 
ever, in  this  circuit,  as  in  previous  ones,  was  limited  beyond  ordinary 
conception.  From  north  to  south,  between  Chorazin,  above  Caperna- 
um, and  Jezreel,  in  the  great  plain,  was  only  a  distance  of  ten  hours, 
and  from  east  to  west,  from  Chorazin  to  Cana,  or  Nazareth,  only  six  or 
seven.  His  whole  life  was  spent  in  a  space  represented  by  one  or  two 
English  counties,  but  the  seed  sown  on  this  speck  of  ground  is  yet  to 
cover  the  earth ! 

The  apostles  had  now  passed  through  a  lengthened  and  varied 
experience,  and  besides  the  constant  instruction  of  their  Master's 
words  and  life,  had  learned  from  their  own  hearts  how  great  their 
moral  deficiencies  still  were.  Their  faint-heartedness,  irresoluteness, 
and  want  of  faith,  were  evident,  and  they  were  thus  brought  to  that 
modest  self-distrust  which  alone  could  tit  them  for  the  heavier  duties 
before  them.  They  were  now  to  rise  from  the  position  of  dependent 
and  simple  followers  and  scholars,  and  become  co-workers  witu  Jesus, 
and  that  not  only  on  the  good  soil  already  sown,  but,  rather,  on  the 
hard  trodden  paths,  the  stony  ground,  and  that  pre-occupied  by  thorns. 
In  Gadara  and  Nazareth,  they  had  learned  to  distinguish  the  opposite 
aspects  of  unbelief;  in  the  one,  that  of  common  natural  selti.shness 
and  harshness;  in  the  other,  that  of  proud  perverted  faaaticiom. 
After  long  wanderings  and  continuous  trials,  the  Twelve  were  now, 
in  their  Master's  opinion,  in  a  measure  prepared  to  work  by  them- 
selves in  spreading  the  New  Kingdom.  In  spite  of  the  opposition  of 
the  interested  professional  classes,  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people  to 
hear  the  new  leaching  was  unabated,  ilultitudes  followed  Je3U3 
wherever  He  appeared;  the  synagogues  still  offered  acces.^  to  the 
•whole  population  each  Sabbath,  and  in  all  the  cities  and  villages  of 
Galilee,  the  "  Gospel  of  the  Kingdom"  was  the  great  topic  of  couvta"- 
eatiou. 


gO«  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  times  moreover,  were  exciting.  The  whole  country  rang  with 
the  story  of  a  massacre  of  Galilseaiis  by  Pilate,  at  the  last  Feast  of 
Tabernacles— perhaps,  at  the  same  tumult  in  which  Joseph  Barabbas 
was  arrested  as  a  ringleader,  to  be  afterwards  freed  instead  of  Jesus. 
Pilate  was  always  ready  to  shed  the  blood  of  a  people  he  hated,  and 
the  hot-blooded  Galilaeans,  ever  ready  to  take  affront  at  the  hated 
infidels,  gave  him  only  too  many  excuses  for  violence.  Tliey  had  a 
standing'grievauce  in  the  sacrifices  offered  dail  yfor  the  Empire  and 
the  Emperor,  and  at  the  presence  of  a  Pvomau  garrison  and  Roman 
(pickets  at  the  Temple,  during  the  feasts,  to  keep  the  peace,  as  Turkish 
soldiers  do  at  this  day,  during  Easter,  at  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sep- 
ulchre. But  Pilate  had  given  special  offence,  at  this  time,  by  appro- 
priating part  of  the  treasures  of  the  Temple,  derived  from  the  Tem- 
ple tax  levied  on  all  Jews  over  the  world,  and  amounting  to  vast 
sums .  in  the  aggregate— to  defray  the  cost  of  great  conduits  he  had 
begun  for  the  better  supply  of  Jerusalem  with  water.  Stirred  up  by 
the  priests  and  Rabbis,  the  people  had  besieged  the  government  house 
when  Pilate  came  up  to  the  city  at  the  feast,  and  with  loud  continu- 
ous cries  had  demanded  that  the  works  be  given  up.  Seditious  words 
against  himself,  the  representative  of  the  Emperor,  had  not  been 
wanting.  He  had  more  than  once  been  forced  t«  yield  to  such  clam- 
our, Jmt  this  time  determined  to  put  it  down.  ]S  umbers  of  soldiers, 
in  plain  clothes,  and  armed  only  with  clubs,  surrounded  the  vast  mob, 
and  used  their  cudgels  so  remorselessly  that  many,  both  of  the  inno- 
cent and  guilty,  were  left  dead  on  the  spot.  The  very  precincts  of 
the  Temple  A\ere  invaded  by  the  legionaries,  and  some  pilgrims  who 
were  so  poor  that  they  were  slaying  their  own  sacrifices,  were  struck 
down  while  doing  so,  their  blood  mingling  with  that  of  the  beasts 
they  were  preparing  for  the  priests,  and  thus  polluting  the  House  of 
God.  It  was  an  unprecedented  outrage,  and  tilled  every  breast  in 
Judea  and  Galilee  with  the  wildest  indignation,  though  such  brawls 
were  of  freqxient  occurience.  The  excitement  had  even  penetrated 
the  palace  at  Tiberias,  and  kindled  bitter  ill-feeling  in  Antipas  towards 
Pilate,  for  the  men  slain  were  Galilaean  subjects. 

Another  misfortune  had  happened  in  Jerusalem  a  short  time  before. 
A  tower,  apparently  on  the  top  of  Ophel,  near  the  Fountain  of  the 
Virgin  opposite  Silbam,  had  fallen— perhaps  one  of  tue  buildings  con- 
nected with  Pilate's  public-spirited  steps  to  bring  water  to  the  Holy 
Oity — and  eighteen  men  had  been  buried  beneath  it;  in  the  opinion 
of  the  people,  as  a  judgment  of  God,  for  their  having  helped  the  sac- 
rilegious undertaiviug. 

I'he  cry  for  a  national  rising  to  avenge  the  murdered  pilgrims 
doubtless  rose  on  every  side,  but  Jesus  did  not  sanction  it  for  a  mo- 
ment. He  saw  the  arm  of  God  even  in  the  hated  Romans,  and  in  the 
fall  of  the  tower,  and,  instead  of  sympathizing  with  them  for  the  one, 
and  joining  in  a  cry  for  insurrection  for  the  other,  told  His  astonished 
liearers  that  the  same  horrors  were  like  to  fall  on  the  whole  nation. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  507 

"  Suppose  ye,"  He  asked,  "  thiit  these  Galilseans  were  sinners  above 
all  the  Galilseans,  because  they  have  suffered  such  things?  I  tell 
you  nay,  but,  except  ye  repent,  ye  shall  all  perish  in  like  manner.  Or 
those  eighteen,  upon  whom  the  tower  in  Siloam  fell  and  killed  them, 
suppose  ye  that  they  were  sinners  above  all  the  men  that  dwell  in 
Jerusalem?  I  tell  you  nay;  but  except  ye  repent,  ye  will  all  perish  in 
the  same  manner."  "  Israel,"  He  added,  "  is  like  a  fig-tree,  planted 
by  a  man  in  his  vineyard,  whicli  year  after  year  bore  no  fruit.  Wear- 
ied by  its  barrenness,  the  householder  was  determined  to  cut  it  down, 
and  it  was  now  spared  at  the  intercession  of  the  vine-dresser,  only  for 
another  year,  to  give  it  a  last  respite.  After  that,  if  it  still  bore  no 
fruit,  he  would  cut  it  down,  as  merely  cumbering  the  ground.  That 
year  of  merciful  delay  was  the  passing  jnoment  of  His  own  presence 
and  work  among  them.  The  nation  had  given  itself  up  to  a  wild 
dream,  that  would  end  in  its  ruin.  Led  by  the  priests  and  Rabbis, 
it  trusted  that  God  would  appear  on  its  behalf,  and  by  a  political 
revolutioti  overthrow  the  hated  foreign  domination.  The  fruits  of 
repentance  and  faith,  which  God  i-equired,  were  still  wanting.  As 
the  vine-dresser,  Jesus  had  done  all  possible  to  win  them  to  a  better 
frame.  He  had  warned,  besought,  counselled;  but  tliey  were  wedded 
to  their  sins  and  their  sinful  pride.  His  peaceful  kingdom  offered  them 
the  only  escape  from  ruin,  here  and  hereafter;  but  as  a  nation,  they 
were  more  and  more  turning  towards  the  worldly  schemes  of  their 
ecclesiastical  leaders,  and  lent  a  deaf  ear  to  all  proposals  of  spiritual 
self -reform.  Continuance  in  this  course  would  bring  the  fate  of  those 
they  now  lamented  on  the  whole  race.  If  they  rejected  Him,  God 
would  erelong  destroy  them  as  a  people. " 

There  ^'as  still  another  matter  agitating  all.  minds,  and  helping  to 
keep  up  the  volcanic  excitement  of  the  country.  John  lay  still, a  pris- 
oner, in  the  black  fortress  of  Machaerus,  almost  within  sight,  and 
each  day  men  wondered  if  Antipas  had  yet  dared  to  put  him  to 
death. 

Under  any  circumstances,  the  croAvds  following  Jesus  would  have 
touched  a  heart  so  lender,  but  their  wild  despair  and  religious  enthu- 
siasm made  the  sight  of  them  doubly  affecting.  Might  they  not  be 
won  to  the  peace  and  joy  of  the  glad  tidings?  They  seemed  to  Him, 
the  Good  Shepherd,  like  a  great  flock  needing  many  shepherds,  but 
witli  none;  footsore  with  long  travel,  wandering  tliey  knew  not 
wiiither,  with  no  one  to  lead  them  to  the  .still  waters  and  green  pas- 
tures. "The  harvest,"  said  He  to  His  disciples,  "  is  plenteous,  but 
the  labourers  are  few;  pray  ye,  therefore,  the  Lord  of  the  harvest, 
that  He  will  send  forth  labourers  into  His  liarvest."  There  were 
multiludas  to  be  won  for  the  New  Kingdom, — multitudes  prepared 
to  hear,  for  their  spirits  were  broken  under  personal  and  national 
sorrow.     But  the  munber  of  right  teachers  was  small. 

He  decided,  therefore,  to  delay  no  longer  sending  forth  the  Twelve. 
Calling  them  together,  He  told  them  His  purpose,  and  fitted  them  te 


808  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

carry  it  out.  As  a  proof  of  their  mission  from  Him,  He  infested 
tiiem  witli  autliority  over  spirits,  and  gave  them  power  to  heal  diseases. 
Tliey  were  to  confine  lliemselves  for  tlie  present  to  Jewisli  districts, 
avoiding  Samaritan  towns,  and  not  enteiing  on  the  road  to  lieatlien 
parts.  Galilee  itself  was  tlms  virtually  their  feld  of  labour,  for 
heathenism  had  a  footing  in  every  place  round  it,  and  within  a  few 
miles  of  them  lay  Gadara,  Hippos,  Pella,  Scj  thopolis,  and  even 
Sepphoris,  Avith  heathen  worship,  in  their  midst.  Jiidea  and  Jerusa- 
lem were  not  to  be  thought  of.  The  simple  Galilaans  would  be  a 
better  beginning  for  the  Apostles  than  the  dark  bigoted  population  of 
the  south.  One  day  tiiey  would  be  free  to  visit  Samaria,  as  He  Him- 
self had  already.  Meanwhile  they  must  not  stir  up  Jewish  hatred  by 
going  to  either  Samaritans  or  heathen.s.  Moreover,  their  own  Jewish 
prejudices  unfitted  them  for  a  mis.sion  to  any  but  Jews,  for,  even 
after  this,  the  first  signs  of  hostility  made  John  wish  to  call  down 
fire  from  heaven  on  a  Samaritan  village,  and  they  were  not  fit  as  yet 
to  handle  aright  the  many  questions  such  a  journey  would  elicit. 
Besides,  Israel  must  have  another  j'car  in  which  to  bring  forth  fruit; 
and  withal,  it  was  their  fii'st  independent  journey. 

The  burden  of  their  preaching  was  to  be  the  repetition  of  that  o& 
John,  and  of  Jesus  Himself,  when  He  began.  ' '  The  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  is  at  liand."  Like  John,  they  were  heralds,  to  prepare  the 
"way.  "Heal  the  sick,"  said  He,  "raise  the  dead,  cleanse  lepers, 
cast  out  demons."  They  had  received  their  miraculous  gifts  freely, 
and  must  dispense  them  as  freely.  Their  equipment  was  to  be  of  the 
simplest,  for  superfluity  diverted  the  mind  from  their  great  object, 
and  made  an  extra  burden  which  would  only  hinder  them  on  their 
journeys.  It  became  them,  also,  by  their  humble  guise,  to  disarm 
the  suspicion  of  worldlmess,  and  to  show  their  implicit  trust  in  God. 
They  were  to  take  no  money;  not  even  any  copper  ccin.  in  their 
girdles — the  usual  Eastern  purse;  nor  a  wallet  for  their  food  by  the 
way;  nor  two  under  garments,  but  were  to  wear  only  one;  nor  were 
they  to  have  shoes,  which  looked  like  luxury,  but  only  tlie  sandals 
of  the  common  people,  and  they  were  to  have  only  one  slaif.  They 
were  to  go  as  the  peasants  of  Palestine  often  do  yet,  trusting  to  hos- 
pitality if  or  food  and  shelter;  offering  in  their  simplicity  a  stiiking 
contrast  to  the  flowing  robes  and  bright  colours  of  the  population  at 
large.  But  they  were  not  to  go  alone.  Each  must  have  a  companion, 
to  accustom  them  to  brotherlj^  communion,  to  give  counsel  and  help 
to  each  other  in  difficulties,  and  to  cheer  cacli  other  on  the  way.  We 
may  fancy  that  Peter  was  sent  with  Andrew,  Jiimes  with  John, 
Philip  with  Bartholomew,  the  grave  Thomas  with  the  practical  jMat- 
thew,  James  the  Small  with  Judas  the  Brave-hearted,  and  Simon  the 
Zealot  with  Judas  Iscariot;  the  brother  with  the  brother;  ths  friend 
"with  the  friend;  the  zealous  with  the  cold. 

No  mention  is  made  of  the  synagogues  in  their  instructions;   it 
may  be,  because  the  Apostles  were  not  yet  confident  enough  to  come 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  509 

forward  so  publicly.  It  was  to  be  a  house  to  house  mission.  While 
every  traveller,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  greeted  his 
acquaintances  with  laborious  formality,  raising  the  hand  from  the 
heart  to  the  forehead,  and  then  laying  it  in  the  rigiit  hand  of  the 
person  met;  even,  according  to  circumstances,  bowing  thrice,  or  as 
many  as  seven  times;  they  were  forbidden  to  indulge  in  any  greet- 
ings by  the  way.  Time  was  too  precious,  and  their  mission  too 
efirnest  for  empty  courtesies.  On  entering  a  town  or  village,  they 
were  to  make  inquiries,  to  guard  against  their  seeking  hospitality 
from  the  unworthy,  but  having  once  become  guests,  they  were  to  stay 
in  the  same  family  till  they  left  the  place.  They  were  to  enter 
the  dwelling  which  heartily  welcomed  them,  with  a  prayer  for  its 
peace.  Any  house  or  city,  however,  that  refused  to  receive  them, 
was  to  be  treated  openly  as  heathen,  by  their  shaking  off  its  dust 
from  their  feet  as  they  left  it.  But  woe  to  such  as  brought  down 
this  wrath ;  it  would  be  better  at  the  last  day  for  Sodom  and  Gomorrah, 
than  for  the  Galihean  village  in  such  a  case! 

To  these  directions  for  the  way  Jesus  added  warnings  that  might 
have  well  tilled  with  dismay  men  less  devoted.  He  predicted  for 
them  only  persecution  and  universal  hatred,  jails,  public  whipping, 
and  even  death,  but  cheered  them  by  :he  promise  that  their  brave 
and  faithful  confession  of  faith  in  Him,  before  governors  and  kings, 
would  serve  His  cause,  and  that  endurance  to  the  end  would  secure 
their  eternal  salvation.  They  would  be  like  helple;a  sheep  in  the 
midst  of  treacherous  wolves.  Even  their  work  would  be  dilTerent 
from  what  they  might  expect.  To-day  it  was  an  olive-branch;  to- 
morrow it  would  be  a  sword.  Instead  of  peace,  it  would  divide 
households  and  communities,  and  turn  the  closest  relations  into 
deadly  enemies.  They  would  need  to  labour  diligently,  for  before 
they  had  gone  over  all  the  towns  of  Israel,  He  Himself  would  come 
to  their  aid  as  the  risen  and  gloritied  JMessiah.  They  might  expect 
slander,  for  He  Himself  had  been  charged  with  being  in  league  Avitli 
the  devil,  and  they  could  not  hope  to  fare  better.  1  hey  were,  how- 
ever, to  be  stout  of  heart,  for  the  Providence  that  watches  the  birds 
of  the  air  wouhl  keep  them  safe.  He  liad  nothing  to  oiler  in  this 
world,  hut  if  tliey  confessed  Him  here  He  would  confess  them,  in 
the  great  day,  before  His  Father.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  denied 
Kim,  He  would,  on  that  day,  deny  them.  He  frankly  demanded  a 
loyalty  so  supreme  and  imdivided,  that  the  most  sacred  claims  of 
blood  were  to  be  subordinated  to  it.  Instead  of  receiving  honours. 
He  told  them  that  they  might  expect  to  be  crucified,  as  He  would  be. 
To  save  this  life  by  denying  Him  would  be  to  lose  the  life  to  come; 
but  to  lose  it  by  fidelity  to  Him,  was  to  find  life  eternal.  Amidst  ali 
this  dark  anticipation,  they  need  not  fear  for  their  bodily  wants,  for 
the  greater  the  danger  braved  the  greater  would  be  the  reward  in  Hia 
kingdom  to  tliose  who  showed  them  favour,  and  this  would  always 
securw  Ihem  frieuds. 


510  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

Such  an  address,  under  such  circumstances,  was  assuredly  never 
given  before  or  since.  To  propose  to  found  a  kingdom  by  the  ser- 
vices of  men,  wlio,  as  their  reward,  would  meet  only  shame,  torture, 
and  death;  to  claim  from  them  an  absolute  devotion,  from  mere  per- 
sonal reverence  and  love,  with  no  prospects  of  reward  except  those 
of  another  world;  and  to  launch  an  enterprise  thus  supported  only  by 
moral  influences,  in  the  face  of  the  opposition  of  all  the  authority  of 
the  day,  simply  to  win  men  to  righteousness  by  the  display  of  pure, 
unseltisli  devotion  to  their  good,  astounds  us  by  the  sublime  grandeur 
ol  tiie  conceptioiL 

No  details  are  given  of  the  mission,  except  that  the  Twelve  went 
on  a  lengthened  circuit  through  the  towns  and  villages  of  Galilee, 
preaching  the  need  of  repentance,  and  the  glad  tidings  of  the  New 
Kingdom;  and  that  their  ministry  was  accompanied  by  miraculous 
works  of  mercy — the  casting  out  devils,  and  the  anointing  many  sick 
with  oil,  and  healing  them— which  were  themselves  proofs  of  their 
higlier  success,  since  such  wonders  were,  doubtless,  as  in  the  case  oi 
their  Master,  wrought  only  when  there  was  a  measure  of  faith. 

How  long  this  mission  lasted  is  uncertain.  It  may  have  embraced 
weeks,  or  have  extended  over  months,  though,  as  the  first  joiu'ney  of 
the  Twelve,  alone,  it  is  not  likely  to  have  been  very  protracted.  The 
success  must  have  been  unusual,  for,  as  they  appeared,  two  by  two, 
in  the  villages  of  Galilee,  the  name  of  Jesus  was  on  every  tongue, 
and  penetrated  even  the  gilded  saloans  of  the  hated  Roman  palace  of 
Anlipas,  at  Tiberias.  Jesus,  Hiinself,  had  not  been  idle  while  His 
followers  were-  awa3^  for  their  departure  was  the  signal  for  a  new, 
solitary  journey,  to  preach  and  teach  in  the  various  cities.  His  name 
was  thus  spread  abroad  everywhere,  and  His  claims  and  characf(;r 
discussed  by  all.  He  had  beau  nearly  two  years  before  the  world,, 
and  had  steadily  risen  in  popular  favour;  in  spite  of  the  hierarchical 
party.  His  claims  became  the  engrossing  topic  of  the  day.  Hitherto 
the  most  opposite  views  had  perplexed  all  alike.  More  than  all  men, 
Antipas  felt  his  eyes  irresistibly  fixed  on  Him,  for  his  conscience  was 
ill  at  ease.  He  had  at  last  put  John  to  death,  and,  true  to  his  super- 
stitious and  weak  nature,  concluded  that  Jesus  was  no  other  than 
tJie  murdered  Baptist  risen  from  the  dead,  and  clothed  with  the 
awful  powers  of  the  invisible  world.  Since  that  dear  head  had  fallen, 
the  weak  and  crafty  worldling  had  hoped  for  peace  and  security,  but 
an  awful  echo  of  the  voice  he  had  silenced  sounded  louder  and  mora 
terrible,  from  the  lips  of  Jesus,  at  his  very  doors.  He  was  now  again 
in  Tiberias,  and  the  wide  dispersion  of  a  whole  band  of  preachers  of 
the  same  apparently  revolutionary  Kingdom,  in  his  immediate  ter- 
ritory, seemed  a  designed  defiance  of  his  violence  at  Machaerus,  and 
its  counterstroke.  It  was  certain  that,  when  he  gained  couraga 
enough,  he  would  try  to  repeat  tlie  murder  of  the  first  [n-opliet  by 
that  of  the  second.  Suspicion  and  crafty  foresight  were  his  charac- 
teristics.    Jesus  readily,  however,  learned  all  that  passed  respecting 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  511 

Himself  in  the  palace,  for  He  had  followers  in  it,  such  as  Johanna, 
the  wife  of  Chouza,  and  Menahem,  the  foster-brother  of  the  tetrarch] 
and  He  Avas  on  His  guard. 

While  Ant)]ias  thus  interpreted  the  rumours  respectina:  Jesiw, 
others  formed  an  opinion  hardly  more  acute  or  thoughtful,  who  took 
Him  -for  a  second  Elias.  John  and  Elijah,  in  their  whole  spirit  and 
work,  were  men  devoted  to  the  traditional  and  outward  theocracy: 
men  wlio  looked  to  the  past.  Jesus,  on  the  other  hand,  had  pro- 
claimed, even  in  His  con.secration-  sermon  on  the  mountain,  that  He 
devoted  His  life  to  the  founding  of  a  New  Covenant.  Their  opinion 
was  nearer  the  truth  who  believed  Him  a  prophet,  though  distance 
threw  a  mysterious  glory  round  tiie  prophets  of  the  past,  which  they 
failed  to  realize  of  one  in  their  midst. 

The  news  of  the  death  of  John  seems  to  have  reached  Jesus  about 
the  same  time  as  the  Apostles  returned,  and,  doubtless,  seemed  the 
prediction  of  His  own  fate.  The  prospect  of  the  cross  had  been 
before  His  mind  from  the  tirst,  for  even  at  the  Jordan  He  had  been 
announced  as  the  Lamb  of  God.  The  Sermon  on  the  Mount  had 
struck  the  key-note  of  self-sacrifice,  and  He  had  once  and  again  fore- 
told, more  or  less  clearly,  that  He  felt  His  path  would  be  towards  a 
violent  death.  It  was  inevitable  that  one  whom  the  intere.it,  the 
pride,  and  the  reputation  of  the  existing  ecclesiastical  authorities 
combined  to  proscribe,  must  fall  before  their  hostility.  Even  the 
prophets,  as  a  rule,  had  suffered  violent  deaths,  though  their  protest 
against  the  corruption  of  their  day  involved  no  condemnation  of  the 
religious  economy  of  the  nation.  But  He  had  committed  Himself 
deliberately  to  principles  fatal  to  the  theocracy;  for  He  had  violated 
tradition;  He  had  eaten  with  publicans,  and  He  had  denounced  the 
leaders  of  tlie  peojilc  as  hypocrites,  blind,  and  wicked.  It  was  a  life 
and  death  matter  for  the  hierarchical  party  to  try  to  quench  in  His 
own  blood  the  fire  He  had  kindled. 

The  meeting  with  the  Apostles  was  likely  pre-arntnged,  and  Jesus 
returned  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Capernaum,  or,  peiAaps,  of  Tiberias 
to  effect  it.  He  had  been  away  for  a  length  of  time,  and' His  absence 
had  evidently  been  deeply  felt,  for  multitudes  at  once  gathered  round 
Him  again,  as  soon  as  He  re-appeared.  Every  village,  far  and  near, 
poured  out  its  population  to  hear  Him  once  more,  and  the  throng  was 
increased  by  the  countless  passing  bands  of  pilgrims  to  the  Feast  at 
Jerusalem,  for  Passover  was  near  at  hand.  He  needed  rest,  and  there 
-was  much  to  hear  from  the  Twelve,  but  it  was  impossible  to  have 
either  the  rest  or  the  quiet  intercourse  amidst  such  crowds.  They 
had  no  leisure  even  to  eat.  It  was,  moreover,  no  longer  .safe  for  Him 
to  be  in  the  territories  of  Antipas.  Taking  the  Twelve  with  Him 
therefore.  He  crossed  over  to  the  tetrarchy  of  Philip,  at  the  head  of 
the  Lake,  going  by  water,  and  landing  at  the  Plain  of  Batilia,  under 
the  shadow  of  Bethsaida,  or  Julias,  where  He  could  hope  for  privacy 
and  secm-e  a  safe  retreat  in  the  quiet  glens,  with  their  rich  greea 


513  THE  LIFE  OF  CHUIST. 

elopes,  passin.s  gradually  into  the  marshes  round  the  entrance  of  the 
Jordan  into  tiie  Lake.  tt-^  ^„+ „«! 

But  it  was  vain  to  hope  for  escape.  Some  had  seen  Him  pvit  oS, 
and  watched  the  direction  of  the  boat  till  they  knew  that  He  was 
makinc:  for  Batiaa,  which  was  known  as  one  of  His  irsorts.  It  Mas 
only  six  miles  across  the  water  from  Capernaum.  The  new*  soon 
spread,  and  crowds  of  those  most  anxious  to  see  and  hear  Him  set 
out  by  land  for  the  spot.  The  distance  was  farther  than  by  the  Lake 
but  thev  ran,  afoot,  out  of  all  the  villages,  and  were  wai  :ng  foi  Him 
V'hen  He  ardved.  He  had  come  for  rest,  but  it  was  denied  Him  now 
as  at  other  times.  Looking  up  as  the  boat  touched  the  shore,  the 
slopes  were  alive  with  multitudes  who  showed  by  their  very  presence 
that  thev  felt  themselves  like  sheep  without  a  shepherd.  The  e\U 
times  the  restless  uneasiness  of  all,  the  high  religious  excitement  the 
darkness  of  their  spiritual  condition  and  the  equal  n;i^ery  of  Iheir 
national  prospects,  combined  to  touch  His  soul  with  pity.  1  i^^}J^^ 
brought  all  the  sick  who  could  be  earned,  or  who  cculd  ( ome,  and  as 
He  passed  through  the  crowds  He  healed  them  ly  a  woic  oi-  touch 
Thev  had  greater  wants,  however,  than  bodily  healing,  and  He  could 
not  let  them  go  away  uncomforted.  Ascending  the  hi  1-nde  and 
■gathering  the  vast  throng  before  Him,  He  "  ^i  ake  unto  them  of  the 
kiusrdom  of  God,  and  taught  them  many  things." 

The  dav  was  .spent  in  this  arduous  labour,  but  the  people  still  lin- 
eered  they  had  been  fed  with  the  bread  of  truth,  and  seemed  in- 
different fo/ the  time,  to  anything  besi  des.  Poor  .-hepherd.tss  sheep! 
it  was  Hs  delight,  as  the  Good  Sheph  crd,  to  lead  them  to  rich  pas- 
lures,  and  as  they  sat  and  stood  round  Him,  they  forgot  their  bodily 
want's  in  the  beauty  and  power  of  His  words. 

It  was  now  towards  evening,  and  the  company  shcwc'd  no  signs  of 
dispersinj?.  Food  could  not  be  had  in  that  lonely  place,  and  the 
Twelve  afraid  on  this  and  perhaps  other  grounds,  anxiously  urged 
Jesus  to  send  them  away,  that  they  might  l>uy  bread  in  the  co„d n-y 
round  To  their  astonishment,  however,  He  told  them  they  must 
themselves  supply  them;  it  would  never  do  to  dismiss  them  hungry: 
they  might  faint  by  the  way.  No  more  impossible  recjuest  could 
have  been  made.  Between  thirty  and  forty  pounds  worth  of  brei,d 
at  the  value  of  money  in  those  days,  would  be  needed  to  give  each 
even  an  insufficient  share.  They  could  not  understand  Him.  An- 
drew perhaps  the  provider  for  the  band,  could  only  demonst  ate 
their  helplessness  by  saying  that  the  lad  in  attendance  on  them  lu;c 
onlv  five  loaves  of  common  barley  bread-the  food  of  the  poor-and 
two  small  fishes,  but  what,  he  added,  were  they  among  so  many  .^_ 

"Make  the  men  sit  down,"  said  Jesus.  It  was  m  iSisan,  he 
month  of  flowers,"  and  the  slopes  were  rich  with  the  soft  green  of  the 
sprinff  ?rass— that  simplest  and  most  toucliing  lesson  of  the  care  ot 
God  for  all  nature.  The  Twelve  presently  divideci  the  vast  multitude 
into  companiea  of  fifties  and  hundreds,  reminding  St.  Feter,  long 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  513 

after,  from  the  bright  colours  of  their  Eastern  dresses,  of  the  flower- 
beds of  a  great  garden. 

This  done,  lilie  tlic  great  Father  of  the  far-stretching  household, 
Jesus  took,  the  bread  antl  the  fishes,  and  looking  vip  to  Heaven,  invoked 
the  blessing  of  God  on  their  use,  and  giving  thanks  for  them,  as  was 
customary  before  all  meals,  proceeded  to  hand  portions  to  the  dis- 
ciples, who,  in  turn,  gave  them  to  the  crowd.  Elisha  had  once  fed  a 
hundred  men  with  twenty  loaves,  and  increased  the  oil  in  the  widow's 
cruse,  and  Elijah  liad  made  the  bread  and  the  oil  of  the  widow  of 
Sarepta  endure  till  the  Lord  sent  raiu  on  the  earth.  But  Christ,  from 
three  loaves  and  two  small  fisiies,  not  only  satisfied  the  hunger  of  five 
thousand  men,  besides  women  and  children,  but  did  it  so  royally  that 
the  fragments  that  remained  were  enough  to  fill  twelve  of  the  little 
baskets  in  which  Passover  pilgrims  and  other  Jews  were  wont  to 
carry  their  provisions  for  the  way.  More  was  left  than  there  had 
been  at  first! 

Jesus  liad  thus  supplied  the  wants  of  the  needy,  in  a  way  the  full 
significance  of  which  Avas  as  yet  far  beyond  what  the  disciples  either 
understood  or  dreamed,  for  He  had  shown  how  there  dwelt  in  Him  a 
virtue  sufficient  to  meet  all  higher  wants,  as  well  as  the  lower,  so  that 
none  who  believed  in  Him  would  ever  have  either  hunger  or  thirst  of 
soul  any  longer,  but  would  find  in  Him  their  all.  Had  they  known 
it.  He  had  shown  them  that  He  Himself  was  the  Bread  of  Life,  that 
came  down  from  Heaven.  But  they  at  least  knew  how  much  they 
came  short  of  a  lofty  faith,  which,  in  loving  trust,  despairs  least  when 
the  need  is  greatest,  and  in  the  strength  of  which  all  is  doubled  by 
joyful  imparting,  while  abundance  remains  instead  of  w^ant. 

The  effect  on  the  multitude  was  in  keeping  with  the  ideas  of  the 
fhne.  Murmurs  ran  through  the  excited  throng,  tliat  Jesus  must  be  ' 
the  expected  ]n-ophet — the  Messiah.  Like  Moses,  He  had  fed  Israel 
by  a  miracle,  in  the  wilderness,  which  the  Rabbis  said  the  Messiah 
would  do.  Surely  He  would  manifest  Himself  now%  if  they  put  Him 
at  their  head?  They  had  no  higher  idea  of  the  Messianic  Kingdom 
than  the  outward  and  political,  and  w^ould  hasten  its  advent  by  forc- 
ing Him,  if  possible,  to  proclaim  Himself  King,  and  thus  open  the 
longed-for  war  with  the  hatred  Romans,  in  which  God  would  appear 
on  their  belialf. 

Material  power,  not  moral  preparation,  was  the  national  conception 
of  the  path  to  the  Messianic  Uiumph.  The  Rabbis  and  the  people 
had  decided  for  themselves  the  way  in  which  the  salvation  of  Israel 
was  to  show  itself,  but  between  their  views  and  those  of  Jestis  there 
was  a  great  gulf.  He  w^ould  not  use  force,  and  they  were  bent  on  it. 
His  refusal  to  4:arry  out  their  plan  made  opposition  inevitable,  and  it 
necessarily  grew  deeper  each  day  as  that  refusal  became  more  clearly 
final. 

While  visions  of  national  splendour  dazzled  the  thoughts  of  His 
countrymen,  the  ideal  of  greatness  for  Himself  and  them  lay  with 


614  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

Jesus  in  humiliation.  His  path  was  in  the  lowly  valleys,  not  on  the 
high  places  of  the  earth.  He  aimed  only  to  tind  the  humble  and 
needy,  to  seek  the  lost,  to  serve  rather  than  to  be  served.  Hiding 
His  glory  in  outward  lowliness,  and  never  seeking  honour  from  men, 
He  had,  throughout,  identified  His  will  with  that  of  God,  with  a 
self-restraint  which  showed  the  grandest  force  of  will.  The  outward 
and  material  M^ere  indifferent  to  Him,  and  utterly  opposed  to  the 
divine  purpose,  if  made  an  aim  in  connection  with  His  work.  The 
reign  of  God  in  His  own  soul  was  the  perfect  realization  of  the  only 
kingdom  He  sought  to  found  in  the  souls  of  men  at  large,  and  it  had 
nothing  in  common  with  the  vulgar  parade  of  an  earthly  royalty. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  He  perceived  the  design  of  the  crowd  to 
force  Him  to  act  as  their  leader,  and  to  instal  Him  at  Jerusalem  at 
the  head  of  a  national  insurrection,  He  hurriedly  left  them,  and  went 
into  the  bosom  of  the  hills,  beyond  their  reach.  But  that  He  had 
declined  to  be  led  by  them  to  the  throne  of  David,  in  their  way,  was, 
in  reality,  a  step  towards  the  Cross.  The  very  proposal  was  a  fore- 
shadowing of  His  final  rejection  and  violent  death.  The  solitude  of 
the  mountains  was  His  fittest  retreat,  to  strengthen  Himself  against 
this  new  assault  of  the  temptation  He  had  so  often  repelled,  and  to 
gird  up  His  soul  for  the  trials  that  lay  in  His  path. 

At  the  first  signs  of  tumult  among  the  people,  He  had  sent  off  the 
Twelve  to  cross  the  Lake  again  at  once,  to  the  Bethsaida  near  Caper- 
naum, while  He  dismissed  the  multitudes.  They  had  waited  for  Him 
till  night  fell,  but,  at  last,  as  He  did  not  come,  they  set  off  without 
Him.  As  they  rowed,  however,  a  sudden  squall,  blowing  every  way, 
struck  down  on  the  Lake  from  the  hills  around,  and  caught  their 
boat.  It  was  the  last  watch  of  the  night — between  three  and  six 
o'clock  in  the  wild  morning,  and  the  weary  boatmen  had  been  toiling 
at  their  oars  since  the  night  before,  but  though  the  whole  distance  to 
be  rowed  was  only  six  miles,  they  had  only  made  two-thirds  of  the 
way.  Jesus  was  not  with  them  to  still  the  wind,  and  their  own 
strength  and  skill  had  availed  little.  But  suddenlj^,  close  to  the  boat, 
they  saw  through  the  gleam  of  the  water  and  the  broken  light  of  the 
stars,  a  human  form  walking  on  the  sea.  The  sight  would  have 
troubled  men  less  superstitious  than  simple  fishermen,  and  made 
them  cry  out  in  their  terror.  But  it  was  only  momentary,  for  close 
at  hand,  so  that  it  was  heard  above  the  wind  and  the  waves,  came 
the  words,  "Be  of  good  cheer;  it  is  I:  be  not  afraid,"  in  a  voice 
which  they  knew  was  that  of  Jesus.  Always  impulsive,  the  warm- 
hearted Peter  could  not  wait  till  the  Deliverer  came  among  them. 
"Would  not  his  Master  suffer  him  to  come  to  Him  on  the  water?" 
Then  followed  that  touching  incident  which  has  supplied  a  lesson  for 
all  ages ;  the  safe  footing  on  the  waves  while  the  apostle  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  his  Lord,  and  the  instant  sinking  when  his  faith  gave 
way — an  image  of  his  whole  nature,  and  of  all  his  future  life.  But 
the  saving  hand  was  near,  and  with  the  gentle  rebuke,  "O  thou  of 


THi:  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  515 

little  faith,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt?"  they  were  in  the  boat,  and 
as  they  entered,  the  wind  ceased,  so  that,  presently,  witli  easy  sweeps, 
their  oars  carried  tliem  to  the  sliore. 

Like  the  mass  of  men,  the  Twelve  were  sIoav  at  reasoning  or  applying 
broadly  the  plainest  lesson.  Had  they  realized  the  greatness  of  the 
miracle  they  had  seen  the  day  before,  even  the  walking  on  the  sea,  and 
the  calming  of  tlie  wind,  would  have  seemed  only  what  they  might 
have  expected.  But  their  minds  were  dull  and  unreflecting,  and  their 
amazement  knew  no  bounds.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  the  unedu- 
cated, that  they  think  without  continuity,  and  forthwith  relapse  into 
stolid  vacuity  after  the  strongest  excitement.  The  miracle  of  the 
loaves  had  ceased  to  be  a  wonder,  for  it  was  some  hoiu's  old.  But 
this  new  illustration  of  the  superlmman  power  of  their  Master  was  so 
transcendent,  that  their  wonder  passed  into  worsliip.  The  impres- 
sion, like  many  before,  might  soon  lose  its  force;  but  for  the  moment 
they  were  so  awed  that,  approaching  Him,  they  kneeled  in  lowliest 
reverence,  and,  through  Peter,  ever  their  spokesman,  paid  Him  hom- 
age in  words  then  first  heard  from  human  lips — "Of  a  truth  Thou 
art  the  Son  of  God. " 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE   TURN  OF   THE  DAT. 

When  day  broke  on  the  scene  of  the  miraculous  meal  of  the  even- 
ing before,  a  number  who  had  slept  in  the  open  air,  through  the 
■warm  spring  night,  still  remained  on  the  spot.  They  had  noticed 
that  Jesus  did  not  cross  with  tlie  Twelve,  and  fancied  that  He  was  still 
on  their  side  of  the  Lake.  Meanwhile,  a  number  of  the  boats  which 
usually  carried  over  wood  or  other  commodities,  from  these  eastern 
districts,  had  come  from  Tiberias;  blown  roughly  on  their  way  by 
the  same  wind  that  had  been  against  the  disciples.  In  these,  many, 
finding  that  Jesus  had  left  tlie  neighbourhood,  took  passage,  and  came 
to  Capernaum,  seeking  for  Him.  It  was  one  of  the  days  of  synagogue 
worship — Monday  or  Thursday — and  they  met  Him  oii  His  way  to  the 
synagogue,  to  which  they  accordiagly  went  with  Him.  Excitement 
was  at  its  lieight.  News  of  His  arrival  had  spread  far  and  near,  and 
His  way  was  hindered  by  crowds,  who  had,  as  usual,  brought  their 
sick  to  the  streets  through  which  He  was  passing,  in  hope  of  His 
healing  them. 

The  incidents  of  the  preceding  day  might  well  have  raised  desires 
for  the  higher  spiritual  food  which  even  the  Rabbis  taught  them  to  ex- 
pect from  the  Messiah.  But  they  felt  nothing  hisjher  than  vulgar  won- 
der, and  came  after  Jesus  in  hopes  of  further  atTvantages  of  tlie  same 
kind,  and,  above  all,  that  they  wo^:;id  still  find  in  Hima  second  Judas 
the  Gaulonite,  to  lead  them  against  the  Romans.  A  few,  doubtless, 
had  worthier  thoughts,  but,  to  the  mass,  the  Messiah's  kingdom  was 


516  s  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

as  gross  as  Mahomet's  paradise.  They  were  to  he  gathered  together 
Into  the  garden  of  Eden,  to  cat,  and  drink,  and  satisfy  themselves  all 
their  days,  with  houses  of  precious  stones,  beds  of  silk,  and  rivers 
flowing  with  wine,  and  spicy  oil  for  all.  It  was  that  He  might  gain 
all  this  for  them  that  they  had  wished  to  set  Him  up  as  king. 

Feeling  how  utterly  He  and  they  were  at  variance,  Jesus  resolved 
to  enter  into  no  irrelevant  conversation  with  them,  and  waiving  aside  a 
question  as  to  His  crossing  the  Lake,  at  once  pointed  out  their  misap- 
prehension respecting  Him,  and  urged  them  not  to  set  their  hearts  on 
the  perishable  food  of  the  body,  but  to  seek  earnestly  fcr  that  food 
of  the  soul  which  secures  eternal  life.  So  long  as  they  did  not  seek 
this  beyond  all  things  else,  they  missed  their  highest  advantage.  As 
the  Son  of  Man — the  Messiah — accredited  from  Gcd  the  Father  by 
His  wondrous  works.  He  was  appointed  to  give  them  this  heavenly 
food,  and  would  do  so  if  they  showed  a  sincere  desire  for  it  by  be- 
coming His  disciples. 

The  Rabbis  were  accustomed  to  teach  by  metaphors,  and  the  people 
saw  at  once  that  He  alluded  to  some  religious  duty.  What  it  was, 
however,  they  did  not  understand,  but  fancied  He  referred  to  fome 
special  works  appointed  by  God.  As  Jews,  they  had  been  painfully 
keeping  all  the  Rabbinical  precepts,  in  the  belief  that  their  doing  so 
gave  them  a  claim  above.  Yet,  if  He  had  some  additional  injimc- 
tions,  they  were  Avilling  to  add  them  to  the  rest,  that  they  might 
legally  qualify  themselves  for  a  share  in  the  New  Kingdom  of  God, 
as  a  right.  But,  insteael  of  multiplied  observances,  He  startled  them 
by  announcing  that  citizenship  in  the  New  Theccracy  required  no 
more  than  their  believing  in  Him,  as  sent  from  the  Father.  In  this 
lay  all,  for  the  manifold  "  works  of  God"  would  spring  naturally 
from  it. 

Those  of  the  crowd  around  who  had  not  seen  the  miracle  of  the 
day  before  had,  doubtless,  ere  this,  hearel  of  it.  It  had  been  an  amaz- 
ing proof  of  supernatiu-al  power,  but  their  craving  for  wonders  de- 
manded somethino-  still  more  astounding,  as  a  justifcation  of  His 
claim  to  be  "the  Sent  of  the  Father."  A  voice,  perhaps  that  of  some 
open  opponent — for  the  Rabbis  had  taken  care  to  be  present — there- 
fore broke  in,  apparently  half  mocking,  with  the  question,  "What 
'sign 'He  had  to  show,  that  they  might  see  it,  ard  believe  Him? 
Moses  proved  his  authority  by  stupendous  '  signs.'  What  sign 
worthy  the  name  do  you  do,  to  show  your  right  to  introduce  new 
laws,  in  addition  to  his,  or  in  their  room?  Our  fathers  ate  the  manna 
in  the  wilderness,  as  it  is  written,  '  He  gave  them'  bread  from  heaven 
to  eat.'     What  voucher  as  great  as  this  do  you  offer?" 

The  miracle  of  the  manna  had  become  a  subject  of  the  proudest 
remembrances  and  fondest  legends  of  the  nation.  "  God,"  says  the 
Talmud,  "  made  manna  to  descend  for  them,  in  Avhich  were  all  man- 
ner of  tastes.  Every  Israelite  found  in  it  what  best  pleased  him.  The 
young  tasted  bread,  the  old  honey,  and  the  children  oil."    It  had  evea 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHIIIST.  5X7 

^become  a  fixed  belief  that  the  Messiah,  -vN-hen  He  came,  would  sig- 
nalize His  advent  b}^  a  repetition  of  this  stupendous  miracle.  "  As 
the  first  Saviour — the  deliverer  from  Egyptian  bondage,"  said  the 
Rabbis,  "  caused  manna  to  fall  for  Israel  from  heaven,  so  the  second 
Saviour — the  Messiah — will  also  cause  manna  to  descend  for  them 
once  more,  for  it  is  written.  '  There  will  be  abundance  of  corn  in  the 
land.'"  Moses  had  gradually  been  half  deified.  It  was  taught  that 
God  counted  him  of  as  mucli  value  as  all  Israel.  Most  believed  that 
he  was  five  grades  in  knowledge  above  all  creatures,  even  angels. 
The  lower  part  of  his  body  was  human ;  the  upper  divine.  On  his 
entrance  to  paradise,  God  left  the  upper  heavens  and  came  to  him, 
and  the  angels  also  came  and  ministered  to  him,  and  sang  hymns  be- 
fore him.  Even  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars  came,  and  craved 
liberty  from  him  to  shine  on  the  world,  which  they  could  not  have 
done  had  he  refused. 

It  was  thus  only  an  expression  of  the  public  feeling  of  the  day  when 
Jesus  was  asked  to  repeat  the  descent  of  manna — the  greatest  of  the 
miracles  of  Moses.  It  is  in  human  nature,  but  above  all,  in  Eastern. 
human  nature,  to  associate  high  office  and  dignity  with  display  and 
outward  circumstance,  and  what  must  hence  have  been  the  popular 
expectations  of  external  grandeur  and  majesty  in  the  Messiah,  when 
they  saw  a  demigod  in  Moses,  whom  He  was  to  resemble?  No  de- 
mand for  overpowering  "signs"  of  the  divine  approval  of  a  claim, 
to  be  the  Messiah  could,  in  this  point  of  view,  be  too  great,  from  one 
whose  outward  appearance,  and  whole  life,  in  other  respects,  so  en- 
tirely contradicted  the  general  Messianic  anticipations. 

But  Je^us,  at  all  times  resolute  in  withholding  miraculous  action 
for  any  personal  end,  had  no  thought  of  satisfying  their  craving  for 
wonders.  "Moses  indeed,"  said  He,  "gave  you  manna,  but  it  was 
not  the  true  Bread  of  Heaven."  He  wished  to  draw  them  from  the 
merely  outward  miracle  to  that  far  higher  wonder,  even  then  enact- 
ing before  their  eyes,  the  free  offer  of  the  true  Bread  of  Heaven, 
in  the  offer  of  Himself  as  their  Saviour.  The  manna.  He  implied, 
could  only  by  a  figure  be  called  bread  of  Heaven,  for  it  was  material 
and  perishable,  and  the  heaven  from  which  it  fell  was  only  the  visible 
eky,  not  that  in  which  God  dwells.  Moses  gave  what  was  called  by 
ft  figure,  "  Bread  of  Heaven,"  but  the  true  Bread  of  Heaven  only  His 
Father  could  give,  and  He  was  giving  it  now.  That  only  can  be  the 
true  Bread  of  God,  which  comes  down  from  the  highest  heaven, — 
He  might  have  said,  from  the  pure  heaven  of  His  own  soul, — and 
^ives  fife  to  the  world ;  for  with  Jesus,  those  'ft  ho  had  not  this  bread 
•jvere  spiritually  dead. 

"  Master,"  cried  many  voices,  "give  us  this  bread  henceforth, for 
life."  Like  Ponce  de  Leon,  with  the  spring  of  Unfading  Youth  in 
Florida,  they  thought  that  the  new  gift  would  literally  make  them 
immortal,  and  eagerly  clamom-ed  to  have  a  boon  eo  far  in  advance  of 
tire  mere  bcix-Ity  loaves  of  the  day  before. 


518  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"1  am  the  Bread  of  Life,"  replied  Jesus;  in  a  moment  scattering 
to  tke  'winds  tlieir  visions  of  material  plenty  and  endless  natural 
life.  Then,  explaining  Himself,  He  added,  "  He  that  comes  to  mo 
shall  never  hunger,  and  he  tliat  believes  on  me  shall  never  thirst. 
But,  as  I  said  a  moment  ago,  you  have  not  only  heard  of  me, 
but  have  also  seen  me,  and  been  eye-witnesses  of  my  deeds  as 
the  Messiah,  and  yet  you  do  not  believe.  All  whom  the  Father  gives 
me  will  come  to  me.  You  may  resist  my  invitations  or  yield,  but 
he  who  resists  is  not  given  me  by  my  Father.  Believe  me,  no  hunger- 
ing and  thirsting  soul  that  comes  to  me  will  I  cast  out  of  my  King- 
dom when  it  Is  erected.  How  could  I,  indeed,  when  I  have  come 
down  from  heaven,  not  to  act  on  my  own  human  will,  but  only  to 
carry  out  the  will  of  my  Father  in  Heaven,  which  is,  in  this  matter, — ■ 
that,  of  all — not  Jews  alone,  but  all,  without  exception — wliom  He 
has  given  me  I  should  lose  none,  but  should  raise  them  up  in  the  last 
day — or,  in  other  words,  should  give  them  eternal  life." 

These  words,  spoken  in  the  synagogue  at  Capernaum,  created  a 
great  sensation.  The  congregation,  comprising  some  Rabbis  and 
other  enemies,  had,  from  time  to  time,  in  Jewish  fashion,  freely  ex 
pressed  their  feelings,  and  had  taken  such  offence  at  His  claim  to  be 
the  Bread  that  came  down  from  heaven,  that  their  whispers  and 
murmurs  now  ran  through  the  whole  building.  "How  can  He  say 
He  has  come  down  from  heaven?  We  know  His  father  and  mother. 
He  is  fi'om  Nazareth,  and  would  have  us  believe  He  is  from  God 
above.  He  is  mad.  He  has  a  devil.  When  the  Messiah  comes,  no 
one  will  know  whence  He  is." 

"Do  not  murmur  among  yourselves,"  said  Jesus.  "  Natural  sense 
is  worth  nothing  in  this  inatter — it  will  never  help  you  to  understand 
how  I  am  the  True  Bread  come  dow^n  from  heaven.  If  you  wish  to 
know  how  I  can  say  so,  you  must  submit  yourself  to  the  teach- 
ing and  influence  of  God:  must  hear  and  learn  wdiat  God  says,  for  it 
tells  us  in  tlie  prophets — 'They  shall  be  all  taught  of  God.'  Only 
those  thus  taught  come  to  me  or  believe  in  me.  The  yielding  your 
souls  to  God  and  your  rising  thus  to  communion  with  Him  by  spir- 
itual  oneness,  can  alone  lead  to  the  faith  that  recognizes  the  ti'uth 
respecting  me." 

"Perhaps  you  think,"  He  continued,  to  paraphrase  His  words, 
*'that  to  hear  and  learn  of  God,  you  must  yourselves  see  Him,  or 
commune  directly  with  Him?  If  so,  you  greatly  err.  To  see  God 
immediately  face  to  face,  is  given  to  no  mortal  man,  but  only  to  Him 
jwho  is  from  GocL  No  one  but' His  only-begotten  Son,  who  was  in 
Jieaven  and  has  come  down  thence,  has  seen,  and  now  sees,  the 
Father,  and  reveals  Him  to  man.  Him,  therefore,  tlie  Son — that  is. 
Me,  must  you  hear;  from  Me  must  you  learn;  if  you  would  hear  and 
learn  from  God.  Amen,  amen,  I  say  to  you.  He  that  believes  on  me 
as — thus— the  '  Word  '  and  Revealer  of  the  Father,  has  everlasting 
life.     I,  myself,  am,  as  such,  that  Bread  of  Life  of  which  I  have 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  519 

spoken.  Your  forefathers  ate  the  manna  which  Moses  gave  in  the 
wilderness,  and  died;  but  it  is  the  grand  virture  of  the  true  Bread  of 
Heaven,  tii'at  if  a  man  eat  of  it— that  is,  if  he  receive  my  words  into 
his  soul',  he  shall  not  die,  but  shall  have  everlasting  life." 

"lam  not  only  the  Life-Giving  Bread,"  He  continued,  "but  the 
Livin"-  Bread,  and  as  all  that  is  living  communicates  life,  so  whoever 
eats  this  only  true  Bread  of  Heaven— whoever  believes  in  me— shall 
live  for  ever.  As  the  Living  Bread  I  will  give  myself— my  flesh- 
that  is,  mv  life— for  the  life  of  the  world." 

He  pointed  thus— in  language  which  His  hearers  could  have  readily 
understood,  had  their  minds  not  been  blinded  by  opposite  precon- 
ceptions—to His  death,  as  the  "Lamb  of  God,"  for  mankind.  This, 
He  implied,  must,  above  all,  be  received,  to  secure  everlasting  life, 
for  so  only,  could  His  claims  and  authority  be  felt.  He  would  give 
His  life  for  the  spiritual  life  of  men,  as  bread  is  given  for  their  bodily 
life  :  the  one  to  be  taken  by  the  soul,  the  other  by  the  body. 

The  idea  of  eating,  as  a  metaphor  for  receiving  spiritual  benefit, 
was  familiar  to  Christ's  hearers,  and  was  as  readily  understood  as  our 
expressions  of  "devouring  a  book,"  or  "drinking  in"  instruction. 
In  Isaiah  iii.  1,  the  words  "  the  whole  stay  of  bread,"  were  explained 
by  the  Rabbis  as  referring  to  their  own  teaching,  and  they  laid  it 
down  as  a  rule,  that  wherever,  in  Ecclesiastes,  allusion  was  made  to 
food  or  drink,  it  meant  .study  of  the  Law,  and  the  practice  of  good 
works.  It  was  a  saying  among  them — "  In  the  time  of  the  Messiah 
the  Israelites  will  be  fed  by  Him."  Nothing  was  more  common  iu 
the  schools  and  synagogues  than  the  phrases  of  eating  and  drinking,^ 
in  a  metaphorical"  sense.  "Messiah  is  not  likely  to  come  to  Israel," 
said  Hillcl,  "for  they  have  already  eaten  Him"— that  is,  greedily 
received  His  words— "  in  the  days  of  Hezekiah."  A  current  con- 
ventionalism  in  the  synagogues  was  that  the  just  would  "  eat  the  She- 
kinah."  It  was  peculiar  tolhe  Jews  to  be  taught  in  such  metaphorical 
language.  Their  Rabbis  never  spoke  in  plain  words,  and  it  is  ex- 
pressly'^said  that  Jesus  submitted  to  the  popular  taste,  for  "without  a 
parable  spake  He  not  unto  them." 

But  nothing  blinds  the  mind  so  much  as  preconceived  ideas,  and 
dreams  of  national  glory  had  so  inseparably  associated  themselves 
with  their  conception  of"  the  Messiah,  that  a  figure,  which  in  other 
cases  would  have  created  no  difliculty,  led  to  violent  discussion,  some 
contending  for  the  literal  sense,  which  they  held  as  a  self-contradic- 
tion, others  favouring  a  metaphorical  explanation. 

Instead,  however,  of  answering  the  eager  questions  which  now 
rose,  how  this  could  be,  Jesus,  resolved  to  break  finally  with  the 
gross  outward  ideas  of  His  kingdom  which  prevailed,  only  proceeded 
to  carry  out  the  paradox  farther,  by  adding  that  they  must  not  only 
eat  His  flesh,  but  drink  His  blood— thus  intimating  still  more  clearly 
His  violent  death  and  its  my.sterious  virtue  for  the  salvation  of  man- 
kind, as  He  was  hereafter  to  do  still  more  vividly  by  the  abiding 


520  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

symbols  of  the  Last  Supper.  On  no  other  condition  than  by  making 
the  lessons  and  merits  of  that  death  their  o-^vn  could  they  liave  eternal 
life,  or  be  raised  up  at  the  last  day.  Without  this  tliey  were  spir- 
itually dead.  His  flesh  and  blood  were  true  spiritual  food;  the 
lieaveuly  bread  of  the  soul;  the  nourislinienl  of  the  divine  life 
■within.  The  hearty  recofcnition  and  iT'ception  of  this  p;reat  truth 
■would  create  an  abiding  and  intimate  commimion  between  Him  and 
those  who  thus,  as  it  were,  fed  on  Him  as  their  inner  life.  Living  in 
Him,  He  \NOuld  live  and  reign  in  them.  Naj",  as  a  further  result  of 
this  intimate  spiritual  imion — this  oneness  of  will  and  heart  with 
Him,  divine  life  would  go  forth  from  Him  to  those  in  whom  He 
found  it,  as  it  came  forth  to  Himself  from  the  Father.  Then,  with 
a  repetition  of  the  original  figure  of  His  being  the  bread  that  came 
down  from  heaven;  not  the  manna,  of  which  those  A\ho  ate  were 
long  since  dead;  but  the  bread,  to  eat  which  gave  eternal  life,  He 
closed  His  address. 

The  Baptist  had  spoken  of  the  fan  in  the  hand  of  his  great  suc- 
cessor; this  discourse  was  the  realization  of  the  figure.  These  who 
hf:.d  hoped  to  find  a  popular  political  leader  in  Him  saw  their  dreams 
iiiclt  away:  those  who  had  no  true  sympathy  for  His  life  and  words 
had  an  excuse  for  leaving  Him.  None  wl;o  were  not  l;ourd  to  Him 
by  sincere  loyalty  and  dsvotion  had  any  longer  a  motive  for  follow- 
ing Him.  Fierce  patriotism  burning  for  insurrection,  mean  self- 
interest  seeking  worldly  advantage,  and  vulgar  curiositj-  craving 
excitement,  were  equally  disappointed.  It  was  the  first  vivid  in- 
stance of  "  the  ofl'euce  of  the  Cross" — henceforth  to  become  the 
special  stumbling-block  of  the  nation.  The  wishes  and  hopes  of  the 
crowds  who  had  called  themselves  disciples  had  proved  self-decep- 
tions. Tliey  expected  from  the  Messiah  quite  other  favours  than  the 
identity  of  spiritual  nature  symbolized  by  the  eating  His  flesh  and 
drinking  His  blood.  The  bloody  death  implied  in  the  metaphor  was 
in  direct  contradiction  to  all  their  ideas.  A  lowly  and  .'suffering 
Messiah  thus  unmistakably  set  before  them  was  revolting  to  their 
national  pride  and  gross  material  tastes.  "  We  have  heard  out  of 
the  Law,"  said  some,  a  little  later,  "  that  the  Christ  abideth  for  ever, 
and  how  say  est  thou  the  Son  of  man  must  be  'lifted  \ip,'— that  is, 
crucified?"  "That  be  far  from  Thee,  Lord:  this  shall  not  be  unto 
Thee,"  said  even  Peter  almost  at  the  last,  when  he  heard  from  his 
Master's  lips  of  the  Cross,  so  near  at  hand.  The  Messiah  of  popular 
conception  would  use  force  to  establish  His  kingdom,  but  Jesus, 
while  claiming  the  Messiahship,  spoke  only  of  self-sacrifice.  Out- 
"ward  glory  and  material  wealth  were  the  national  dream :  He  spoke 
only  of  inward  purity.  If  He  would  not  head  them  with  Alminhty 
power,  to  g'it  Judea  for  the  Jews,  they  would  not  have  Hun.  Their 
idea  of  the  kingdom  of  God  was  the  exact  opposite  of  His. 

The  discourse  had  been  interrupted  in  its  progress,  and,  now,  at 
itfl  close,  the  murmuring  and  whispering  grew  more  earnest  thaa 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  521 

ever.  '' This  is  a  hard  sayini^," -was  (he  general  feeling,  "-who  can 
hear  it?"  "  No  one  could  submit  to  such  self-denial,"  said  one.  "  I 
don't  understand  it,"  said  anotlier.  "Blasphemy,"  said  a  third. 
"  lie  claims  to  be  God."  "He  is  not  the  Messiah  for  me,"  said  a 
foiu'th.  Jesus,  now  on  His  way  out  of  the  synagogue,  noticed  all. 
"Does  what  I  have  said  offend  you?"  said  He.  "  If,  now,  while  I 
am  with  you,  you  think  my  wortls  hard,  and  stumble  at  them,  what 
will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  when  I  have  returned  to  heaven, 
whence  I  came,  you  will  still  have  to  eat  my  tlesh  and  drink  my 
blood,  to  become,  through  me,  partakers  of  eternal  life?  Do  you 
not  see  from  this  that  I  speak  in  metaphor,  and  that  you  are  not  to 
take  my  words  literally,  but  in  tlieir  spirit  ami  inner  meaning?  It  is 
not  my  flesh  you  are  to  eat,  but  my  words,  wluch  you  have  just  heard. 
Tliese  you  must  receive  into  your  hearts,  and  they  will  quicken  you 
into  spiii'ual  life,  for  they  are  spirit  and  life.  If  you  do  not  believe 
on  me  as  tiie  true  i>ress!ah,  by  His  death  the  life  of  the  world — but 
expect  only  a  national  salvation  from  my  visible  bodily  presence — as 
one  who  vrlll  live  on  eartli  for  ever,  and  reign  in  deathless  splendour 
— j'cu  must  find  what  I  have  said  an  offence.  But  he  who  desires 
from  me.  as  tlie  Messiah,  cnly  the  hidden  life  of  the  soul,  its  renewal 
in  the  hoty  image  of  God,  and  His  reign  within,  will  find  no  offence 
in  any  of  ray  words.  Tiie  truths  I  have  told  jou  are  spirit  and  life, 
and  quicken  the  soul  that  receives  them  into  a  heavenly  life  as  bread 
quickens  the  body.  jMy  mert;  outward  natural  life,  as  such,  profits 
you  nothing.  If  my  words  have  been  iiard  to  any,  it  is  because  they 
do  not  believe  in  me,  for  only  the  believing  heart  can  realize  their 
truth." 

In  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  which  inaugurated  His  public 
ministry,  Jesus  had  contrasted  the  theocratic  forms  of  i)upilage  au.d 
the  letter,  with  the  Law  of  the  Kew  Kingdom;  a  law  of  the  spirit 
and  liberty.  In  this  address  to  the  people  He  contrasted  with  the 
theocratic  life  in  its  mere  outwardness  and  its  slavery  to  forms,  the 
new  life  from  God  which  He  made  known — a  life  kindled  and  main- 
tained  by  the  Spirit  from  above — the  gift  of  the  Heavenly  Father. 
The  dead  letter;  the  cutward  material  tlesh;  He  told  them,  profited 
nothing:  the  form,  the  rite,  the  dogma,  the  institution,  however 
venerable  in  itself — even  His  own  flesh,  as  the  symbol  of  mere  ma- 
terial life,  had  no  magic  virtue.  Only  the  inward  essence,  the  truth 
embodied,  the  living  piriucipjle,  the  quickening  spirit  received  into  the 
heart,  availed  with  God,  or  sustained  the  heavenly  life  in  the  soul. 
The  life-giving  Spirit  as  it  flows  from  the  infinite  fulness  of  God,  and 
reproduces  itself  in  the  heart,  was  the  true  manna  of  humanity  in  the 
wilderness  of  the  world. 

The  false  enthusiasm  which  had  hitherto  gat'iered  the  masses 
round  Jesus  was  henceforth  at  an  end,  now  that  their  worldly  hopes 
of  Him  as  the  Messiah  were  exploded.  His  discourse  had  finally 
Undeceived  them.    He  was  founding  a  mj'sterious  spiritual  kingdom : 


633  THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST. 

they  only  cared  for  a  kingdom  of  this  world.  It  became  for  the 
first  time  clear  that  no  worldly  rewards  or  honours  were  to  be  had  by 
following  Him,  but  only  spiritual  gifts  and  benefits,  for  which  most 
of  them  cared  nothing.  They  wanted  to  see  wonders,  to  eat  bread 
from  heaven  that  would  protect  them  from  dying,  and  to  get  places 
and  wealth  in  the  new  kingdom  when  finally  set  up.  They  had 
looked  on  Jesus  as  a  miracle-worker  rather  than  a  spiritual  Saviour, 
and  wished  to  be  healed  rather  by  touching  His  garments  than  by  , 
sympathy  and  communion  with  His  Spirit.  But  He  had  come  to 
save  sinners,  not  to  work  miracles,  even  of  healing:  to  be  a  physician 
of  souls,  not  of  bodies.  He  had  disenchanted  the  insincere  and 
selfish  who  had  hitherto  flocked  after  Him,  and  they  forthwith 
showed  their  altered  feelings.  From  the  mom(?nt  of  this  address,  the 
crowds  that  had  thronged  Him  began  to  disappear,  returning  to  their 
homes,  doubtless  in  angry  disappomtment.  It  seemed  as  if  He  would 
be  entirely  forsaken.  Could  it  be  that  even  the  Twelve  would  leave 
Him?  He  knew  them  too  thoroughly  to  look  for  any  answer  but  an 
earnest  assurance  of  their  loyalty.  Yet  it  was  well  to  put  them  to 
the  test,  and  strengthen  their  faith  by  trying  it.  "Do  you,  also,  wish 
to  leave  me?"  asked  He.  "To  whom,  Lord,  shall  we  go  away?" 
answered  Peter,  evei'  the  first  to  speak, — "Thou  hast  words  of  eternal 
life,  and  we  have  believed  and  known  that  Thou  art  the  Holy  One  of 
God."  But  even  in  the  Twelve,  as  Jesus  knew,  the  fan  had  chaff  to 
separate  from  the  wheat.  "Did  not  I  myself  choose  you  Twelve  to 
be  specially  my  own,  and  one  (even)  of  you  is  a  devil?  Beware  of 
self-confidence.  If  you  think  you  stand,  take  heed  lest  you  fall!" 
Eleven,  as  we  know,  refused  to  leave  Him.  Did  the  first  thought  of 
treachery  rise  in  the  mind  of  Judas  with  the  blasting  of  worldly 
hopes  entertained,  almost  unconciously,  till  now?  His  Master  had 
never  before  spoken  so  plainly.  Henceforth,  to  follow  Him  clearly 
meant  to  give  up  all  worldly  aims  or  prospects,  and  voluntarily 
choose  a  life,  and  it  might  be  a  death,  of  self-denial  and  self-sacrifice 
for  the  nation  and  the  world — or  act  the  hypocrite  with  a  faint  hope 
of  ulterior  advantage. 

Jesus  had  not  gone  to  the  Passover,  for  it  would  have  been  unsafe 
to  have  shown  Himself  in  Jerusalem.  His  disciples,  however,  doubt- 
less went  up,  for  no  Jew  neglected  to  do  so  if  possible.  He  had  now 
been  publicly  teaching  for  some  months  over  a  year  in  Galilee,  and 
had  not  revisited  Judea,  except  for  a  few  days  at  the  Passover  before, 
since  His  first  discouraging  circuit  in  the  south.  The  north  had  re 
ceived  Him  with  a  warmtli  and  frankness  that  had  won  His  heart  by 
the  contrast  with  the  cold  self-righteous  bigotry  of  Judea.  It  had 
given  Him  the  Twelve,  and  the  ready  audience  He  had  found  had 
enabled  Him  to  make  a  small  but  healthy  beginning  of  the  New 
Kingdom.  The  impulsive,  excitable  Galiheans  seemed  for  a  tim«, 
indeed,  likely,  almost  as  a  whole,  to  leave  the  Rabbis  for  Wm  new 
teaching.     But  the  movement  had  been  checked,  and  the  popular 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  523 

favour  chilled  by  the  restless  efforts  of  the  party  threatened.  Weak 
in  the  north,  tliey  had  sent  word  to  Jerusalem  of  the  success  of  the 
Teacher  from  Nazaretii,  whom  the  orthodoxy  of  Judeahad  refused  to 
follow.  The  Rabbis  of  the  capital— known  variously  ar,  "the  Phari- 
sees," "  Scribes,"  or  Sopherim, — "  lawj-ers," — "masters  of  the  tradi- 
tions"— "  Hakamiu  or  wi.se  men," — "  doctors," — "expounders  of  the 
Law," — and  ' '  disputers"  of  the  Gospels  and  the  Epistles ;  and  the  offi- 
cial ecclesiastical  world  at  large — the  priests,  canonists,  and  preachers 
of  Judaism  had  their  stronghold  in  the  Temple  courts,  and  rivalled 
the  bigotry  of  the  more  modern  INIoliahs  and  Softas  of  Mecca  and 
Medina.  At  the  lirst  hint  of  danger,  a  deputation  had  been  sent  to 
Capernaum,  but  they  had  failed  to  carry  the  people  with  them  in 
their  attempts  to  tix  charges  on  the  new  Teacher.  He  had  defended 
Himself  so  dexterously  against  their  allegations  of  Sabbath-breaking 
and  blasphemy,  that  for  the  time  they  retired  discomfited.  Fresh 
news  from  the  north,  however,  had  again  roused  them.  More  Rabbis 
appeared,  sent  by  the  authorities  in  Jerusalem,  to  see  if  the  rash  In- 
novator could  not  be  crushed,  and  their  presence  speedily  led  to  a 
further  conflict. 

In  the  training  of  the  Twelve  for  their  future  work  it  was  neces- 
sary, above  all  things,  to  create  and  foster  the  conception  of  moral 
freedom;  for  the  central  point  in  the  contrast  between  tile  New 
Kingdom  and  the  old  Theocracy  was  its  liberty,  as  opposed  to  the 
bondage  to  the  letter  that  had  prevailed.  The  deep  and  pure  relig- 
iousness Christ  demanded  could  only  flourish  where  the  conscience 
was  quickened,  and  made  responsible  by  a  sense  of  perfect  spiritual 
freedom.  He  had  already  announced  tliis  great  principle  in  the 
Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Tiie  Twelve  had  been  disciplined  in  it  by 
their  mission  journeys,  but  new  illustrations  .showed,  day  b}^  day, 
how  hard  it  was  for  them  to  emancipate  themselves  from  hereditary 
prejudices,  and  from  Rabbinical  authority. 

The  very  foundation  of  the  new  Society  was  in  itself  a  breaking 
away  from  the  established  theocracy,  and  it  necessarily  led  to  con- 
tinually more  decisive  acts  of  independence  and  separation.  The 
Jewish  theologians  of  the  Pharisaic  party,  with  their  pedantic  devo- 
tion to  precedent  and  form,  and  their  claim  to  direct  the  conscience 
of  the  people,  had  to  a  great  extent  produced  a  mere  outward  relig- 
ionisni  which  had  weakened  the  moral  sense  of  the  nation,  and 
withered  up  all  aspirations  for  spiritual  manhood  and  liberty  of 
thought.  They  were  very  popular  as  the  reverend  and  zealous  de- 
fenders of  the  holy  Law  handed  down  from  the  Fathers,  almost  from 
the  tirst.  They  had  recognized  in  Jesus,  still  more  than  in  His  hated 
and  feared  predecessor,  the  Baptist,  a  deadly  foe,  and  the  success  of 
the  new  teaching  in  Galilee  imperilled  their  intluence  if  it  remained 
unchecked.  With  keen  foresight  they  had  sought  to  anticipate  the 
Jang-r,  but  hitherto  had  failed  so  ignomiuiously,  that  they  had  for 
some  time  past  refrained  from  open  attack,  contenting  themselves 


824  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■with  a  secret  hostility  of  dark  hints  suspicions,  and  blasphemies,  to 
poison  the  minds  of  the  people.  Till  now,  however,  Jesus  had  made 
no  direct  attack  on  them,  but,  wliile  ■patched  and  aspniled,  had  kept 
strictly  on  the  defensive.  Henceforth,  He  took  a  difierent  course. 
To  expose  their  innuendoes  and  calumnies  Avas  no  longer  enough. 
He  felt  constrained,  for  the  future,  to  show  that  not  He  but  His  ac- 
cusers were  really  obnoxious  to  the  charges  made  against  Him  so 
recklessly ;  that  not  He  but  they  were  leading  the  people  from  the 
right  way,  and  acting  under  unholy  influence,  and  that  their  zeal  for 
God  was  blind,  not  His. 

A  new  attack  by  them  led  to  this  change.  Reports  of  the  popular 
readiness  to  accept  Him  as  Messianic  King,  and  of  His  resolute  re- 
fusal to  head  such  a  political  movement,  which  alone  could  meet 
then-  own  wislies,  had  doubtless  reached  Jeru.'^akm,  and  this,  coupled 
with  rumours  of  His  innovations  and  independence  as  a  religious 
reformer,  had  thoroughly  alarmed  the  authorities  at  Jerusalem.  Dis- 
carding invective,  craft,  or  indirect  r,]  preach,  their  deputies  now 
came,  no  longer  to  the  disciples,  but  1o  Himself,  witli  specific  com- 
plaints, which  the  freedom  of  Eastern  manners,  peimitting  free 
access  to  private  life,  had  enabled  them  to  establish.  The  disciples 
had  ny-eady  given  offence  by  plucking  and  rubbing  ears  of  barley  on 
the  Sabbath,  and  thus,  as  it  was  held,  reaping  and  threshing  on  the 
.sacred  day;  but  a  still  graver  scandal  in  Fhari.'^aic  eyes  had  been  de- 
tected in  their  sitting  down  to  eat  without  ceremonially  washing  their 
hands.  The  Law  of  Moses  required  purifications  in  certain  cases, 
but  the  Rabbis  had  perverted  the  spirit  of  Leviticus  in  this,  as  in 
other  things,  for  they  taught  that  food  and  drink  could  not  be  taken 
with  a  good  conscience  when  there  was  the  possibility  of  ceremonial 
defilement.  If  every  conceivable  precaution  had  not  been  taken, 
the  person  or  the  vessel  used  might  have  contracted  impurity,  which 
would  thus  be  conveyed  to  the  food,  and  through  the  food  to  the 
body,  and  by  it  to  the  soul.  Hence  it  had  been  long  a  custom,  and 
latterly  a  strict  law,  that  before  every  meal  not  only  the  hands  but 
even  the  dishes,  couches,  and  tables  should  be  scrupulously  washed. 

The  legal  washing  of  the  hands  before  eating  was  especially  sacred 
to  the  Rabbiuist ;  not  to  do  so  was  a  crime  as  great  as  to  eat  the  flesh 
of  swine.  "  He  who  neglects  hand-wa.shing, "  says  the  book  Sohar, 
' '  deserves  to  be  punished  here  and  hereafter. "  ' '  He  is  to  be  destroyed 
out  of  the  world,  for  in  hand-washing  is  contained  the  secret  of  the 
ten  commandments."  "He  is  guilty  of  death."  "  Three  sins  bring 
poverty  after  them,"  says  the  IVlischna,  "  and  to  .shght  hand-washing 
is  one."  "He  who  eats  bread  without  hand-washing,"  says  Rabbi 
Jose,  "is  as  if  he  went  in  to  a  harlot."  The  later  Schulchan  Aruch, 
eniunerates  twentj'-six  rules  for  this  rite  in  the  morning  alone.  "It 
is  better  to  go  four  miles  to  Avater  than  to  incur  guilt  by  neglecting 
hand- washing,"  says  the  Talmud.  "He  who  does  not  wash  his 
hands  after  eating,"  it  says,  "is  as  bad  as  a  murderer."    The  devil 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  SS^S 

Schibta  sits  on  unwashed  hands  and  on  the  bread.  It  was  a  special 
mark  of  the  Pharisees  that  "they  ate  their  daily  bread  with  due 
purification,"  and  to  neglect  doing  so  was  to  be  despised  as  un- 
clean. 

Rabbinism  was  now  in  its  highest  glory,  for  the  great  teachers 
Hillel  and'  Schanimai,  who  wore  hardly  a  generation  dead,  had  de- 
veloped it  to  the  uttermost.  They  had  disputed  so  tiercely,  indeed, 
on  many  trifling  details,  that  it  was  often  said  that  Elias  himself, 
when  he  came,  would  hardly  be  able  to  decide  between  them.  But 
they  agreed  respecting  hand-washing,  so  that  the  Talmud  maintains 
that  "any  one  living  in  the  land  of  Israel,  eating  his  daily  food  in 
purification,  speaking  the  Hebrew  of  the  day,  and  morning  and 
evening  praying  duly  with  the  phylacteries,  is  certain  that  he  will 
eat  bread  in  the  kingdom  of  God. " 

It  was  laid  down  that  the  hands  were  first  to  be  waslied  clean. 
The  tips  of  the  ten  fingers  were  then  joined  and  lifted  up  so  that  the 
water  ran  down  to  the  elbows,  then  turned  down  so  that  it  might 
run  off  to  the  ground.  Fresh  water  was  poured  on  them  as  they 
were  lifted  up,"and  twice  again  as  they  hung  down.  The  washing 
itself  was  to  be  done  by  rubbing  the  fist  of  one  hand  in  the  hollow  of 
the  other.  When  the  hands  were  washed  before  eating  they  must  be 
held  upwards;  when  after  it,  downwards,  but  so  that  the  water  should 
not  run  beyond  the  knuckles.  The  vessel  used  must  be  held  first  in 
the  right,  then  in  the  left  hand ;  the  water  was  to  be  poured  first  on 
the  riglit,  then  on  the  left  hand,  and  at  every  third  time  the  words 
repeated  "Blessed  art  Thou  who  hast  given  us  the  command  to  wash 
the  hands."  It  was  keenly  disputed  whether  the  cup  of  blessing  or 
the  hand-washing  should  come  first ;  whether  the  towel  used  should 
be  laid  on  the  table  or  on  the  couch;  and  whether  the  table  was  to  be 
cleared  before  the' final  washing  or  after  it." 

This  anxious  trifling  over  the  infinitely  little  was,  liowcvcr,-  only 
part  of  a  system.  If  a  Pharisee  proposed  to  eat  common  food,  it  was 
enough  that  the  hands  were  washed  by  water  poured  on  them.  Be- 
fore eating  Terumah — the  holy  tithes  and  the  shew-bread — they  must 
be  dipped  completely  in  the  water,  and  before  the  portions  of  the 
holy  offerings  could  be  tasted,  a  bath  must  be  talien.  Hand-washing 
before  prayer,  or  touching  anything  in  the  morning,  Avas  as  rigidly- 
observed,  for  evil  spirits  might  have  defiled  the  hands  in  the  night. 
To  touch  the  mouth,  nose,  ear,  eyes,  or  the  one  hand  with  the  other, 
before  the  rite,  was  to  incur  the  risk  of  disease  in  the  part  touched. 
The  occasions  that  demanded  the  observance  were  countless :  it  must 
be  done  even  after  cutting  the  nails,  or  killing  a  flea.  The  more 
watQf  used,  the  more  piety.  "He  v.-ho  uses  abundant  water  for 
hand- washing,"  says  R.  Chasda,  "will  have  abundant  riches."  If 
one  had  not  been  out  it  was  enough  to  pour  water  on  the  hands;  but 
one  coming  in  from  without  needed  to  plunge  his  hands  into  the 
water,  for  lie  knew  not  what  uncleanness  might  have  been  near  biia, 


'teas  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST, 

"While  in  tho  streets,  aad  this  phinging  could  not  be  done  except  in  a 
spot  w];rie  there  were  not  less  than  sixty  gallons  of  water. 

The  same  scrupulous,  superstitious  minuteness  extended  to  possible 
defilements  of  all  the  liouseliold  details  of  daily  life.  Dishes,  hollow 
or  flat,  of  whatever  material,  linives,  tables,  and  couches,  were  con- 
stantly subjected  to  purifications,  lest  they  sliould  have  contracted 
any  Levitical  defilement  by  being  used  by  some  one  unclean. 

This  ritual  exaggeration  was,  apparently,  a  result  of  the  jealousy 
between  the  democratic  Pharisees  and  the  lordly  Sadducees.  Tlie 
latter  attached  supreme  importance  to  the  ceremonial  sanctity  of  the 
officiating  priests,  to  exalt  themselves  as  the  clerical  aristocracy.  The 
Pliarisees,  to  humble  them,  laid  the  stress,  as  far  as  possible,  on  the 
vessels  used,  and  the  exactness  of  tlie  act.  In  Ivceping  with  their 
endless  washings  in  private,  they  demanded  that  all  the  vessels  of  the 
Temple  itself  should  be  purified  after  each  feast,  lest  some  unclean 
person  might  iiave  defiled  them — a  refinement  which  drew  down  on 
a  Pharisee  wlio  was  carrying  out  even  the  golden  candlestick  itself  to 
■wash  it,  after  a  feast,  the  moclving  gibe  from  a  Sadducee,  that  he 
expected  before  long  the  Pharisees  would  give  the  sun  a  washing. 

The  authority  for  this  endless,  mechanical  religionism  was  the  com- 
mands or  "  traditions"  of  the  Fathers,  handed  down  from  the  days 
of  tlie  Great  Synagogue,  but  ascribed  witli  pious  exaggeration  to  the 
Almighty,  who,  it  was  said,  had  delivered  them  orally  to  Moses  on 
Mount  Sinai.  Interpretations,  expositions,  and  discussions  of  all 
kinds  were  based,  not  only  on  every  separate  word,  or  on  every  letter, 
but  even  on  every  comma  and  semicolon,  to  create  new  laws  and 
observances,  and  where  these  were  not  enough,  oral  traditions,  said 
to  have  been  delivered  by  God  to  Moses  on  Sinai,  were  invented  to 
justify  new  refinements.  These  "traditions"  were  constantly  in- 
creased, and  formed  a  New  Law,  which  passed  from  moutli  to 
mouth,  and  from  generation  to  generation,  till,  at  last,  public  schools 
rose  for  its  study  and  development,  of  wliicli  tlie  most  famous  were 
those  of  Hillel  and  Schammai,  in  the  generation  before  Jesus,  and 
even,  perhaps,  in  His  early  childhood.  In  His  lifetime  it  was  still  a 
fundamental  rule  that  they  should  not  be  committed  to  writing.  It 
was  left  to  Rablii  Judali,  the  Holy,  to  commence  the  collection  and 
formal  engrossing  of  tlie  almost  countless  fragments  of  which  it  con- 
sisted, and  from  his  weary  labour  ultimately  rose  the  huge  folios  of 
the  Talmud. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  Brahminical  theocracy  of  India,  that  of  Judca 
attached  more  importance  to  the  ceremonial  precepts  of  its  schools 
tlian  to  the  sacred  text  on  which  they  were  based.  Wherever  Scrip- 
ture and  Tradition  seemed  opposed,  the  latter  was  treated  at  the 
higlicr  authority.  Pharisaism  openly  proclaimed  this,  and  set  itself, 
as  the  Gospel  expresses  it,  in  the  chair  of  Moses,  displacing  the  great 
lawgiver.  "It  is  a  greater  offence,"  says  the  Mischna,  "to  teach 
anytliing  contraiy  to  the  voice  of  the  Rabbis,  than  to  contradict  Scrip- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  637 

ture  itself.  He  ^vlio  says,  contrary  to  Scripture,  'It  is  not  lawful  to 
wear  the  Tcphillin'" — the  little  leather  boxes  containing  texts  of 
Scripture,  bound,  during  prayer,  on  the  forehead  and  on  the  arm — 
"is  not  to  be  punislied  as  a  troubler.  But  he  who  says  there  should 
be  five  divisions  in  the  Totaphoth" — another  name  for  the  Tcpliillin, 
or  phylacteries — "and  thus  teaches  differently  from  the  Eabbio,  is 
guilty."  "He  who  expounds  the  Scriptures  in  opposition  to  the 
Tradition, "  says  R.  Elcazar,  "has  no  share  in  the  world  to  come." 
The  mass  of  Rabbinical  prescriptions — not  the  Scripture — was  re- 
garded as  the  basis  of  religion,  ' '  for  the  Covenant  of  God  was  declared 
to  have  been  made  with  Israel  on  account  of  the  oral  Law,  as  it  is 
written,  'After  the  tenor  of  these  vords  I  have  made  a  covenant,' &c. 
For  God  knew  that,  in  after  ages,  Israel  would  be  carried  away  among 
strange  people,  who  would  copy  off  the  written  Law,  and,  therefore, 
He  gave  them  the  oral  Law,  that  His  will  might  be  kept  secret  among 
themselves."  Those  Avho  gave  themselves  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
Traditions  "saw  a  great  light,"  for  God  enlightened  their  eyes,  and 
sliowed  them  how  they  ought  to  act  in  relation  to  lawful  and  unlaw- 
ful things,  clean  and  unclean,  which  are  not  told  thus  fully  and 
clearly  in  Scripture.  It  was,  perhaps,  good  to  give  one's  self  to  the 
reading  of  the  Scripture,  but  he  who  reads  diligently  the  Traditions 
receives  a  reward  from  God,  and  he  who  gives  himself  to  the  Com- 
mentaries on  these  traditions  has  the  greatest  reward  of  all.  "The 
Bible  was  like  water,  the  Traditions  like  wine,  the  Commentaries  on 
them  like  spiced  wine."  " My  son, "  says  the  Talmud,  "give  more 
heed  to  the  words  of  the  Rabbis  than  to  the  words  of  the  Law."  So 
exactly  alike  is  Ultramoutanism  in  every  age,  and  in  all  religions! 

Jesus  had  no  sympathy  with  a  sj'stem  which  thus  ignoi'cd  con- 
science, and  found  the  essence  of  religion  in  the  slavery  of  outward 
forms.  The  New  Kingdom  was  in  the  heart;  in  tlie  loving  sonship 
of  the  Father  in  Heaven,  and  all  outward  observances  had  value  only 
as  expressions  of  this  tender  relationship.  The  Pharisees  had  refined 
the  Law  into  a  microscopic  casuistry  which  prescribed  for  every  iso- 
lated act,  but  Jesus  brought  it  into  the  compass  of  a  living  principle 
in  the  soul.  From  the  outer  particidar  requirement.  He  passed  to 
the  spirit  it  was  intended  to  express.  Special  enactments  were  suf- 
fered to  fall  aside,  if  the  vital  idea  they  embodied  were  honoured. 
A  lifetime  was  hardly  enough  to  learn  the  Rabbinical  precepts  re- 
specting offerings,  but  Jesus  virtually  abrogated  them  all  b}^  the  short 
utterance  that  "mercy  was  better  than  sacrifice."  The*  schools  had 
added  to  the  simple  distinctions  of  the  Law  between  clean  and  unclean 
beasts,  endless  distinctions  respecting  different  parts  of  each,  and  the 
necessary  rites ;  the  simple  rule  of  Jesus  was — It  is  not  w.luit  enters  the 
mouth  that  defiles  a  man,  but  Avhat  comes  from  the  heart.  The 
Rabbis  contended  after  what  uses  vessels  should  l)e  purified  in  running, 
after  what  in  drawn  water,  and  how  wooden  and  metal  dishes  were 
to  t»€  minutely  discriminated.     Jesus  waived  aside  this  trilling  and 


528  THE  LITE  OP  CHRIST. 

deadly  pedantry,  and  told  His  hearers  to  take  care  to  have  vrhnt  was 
Tri'.Iiin  clean,  and  then  the  outside  would  be  clean  also.  Even  the 
Cabbath  laws,  with  tlicir  countless  enactments,  were  as  briefly  con- 
densed. "It  is  lawful  to  do  good  on  the  Sabbath  day."  "The  Sab- 
bath was  made  for  man,  not  man  for  the  Sabbath  "  Such  teaching 
was  i;nhcard  of  in  Israel.     It  was  revolutionary  in  the  grandest  sense. 

The  deputation  of  Rabbis  now  sent  to  Capernaum  ^^  ere  determined 
to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis.  Their  spies,  and,  perhaps,  themselves, 
had  carefully  gathered  evidence  Avliether  Jesus  and  His  disciples 
observed  the  traditions,  and  carried  tliem  out  with  the  minuteness  of 
a  recognized  religious  duty;  whether  He  and  the}' dipped  their  hands 
duly  before  eating;  whether  they  held  them  up  or  down  in  doing  so; 
whether  they  wetted  them  to  the  elbows  or  to  the  knuckles,  or  wetted 
only  the  finger-tips,  as  the  school  of  Schammai  prescribed  for  certain 
cases;  and  they  had  found,  to  their  horror,  that  neither  He  nor  His 
disciples  wa;Vi!ed  their  hands  thus  ceremonially  at  all.  The  next 
Passover  wculd  show  how  formally  tliej"  had  laid  their  information 
against  Him,  Icforethe  Sanhedrim,  with  its  leaders,  the  high  priest 
Caiaphas  and  the  powerful  Hannas,  for  such  independence  and 
audacity. 

jileanwhile,  their  demand  for  an  explanation  gave  Jesus  the  desired 
opportunity  to  break,  finally,  with  their  whole  party.  A  casuistry 
worthy  of  Suarez  or  Escobar,  had  sapped  the  fundamental  principles 
of  morality  in  the  name  of  religion.  With  a  keen  eye  to  the  interests 
of  their  caste,  the  Rabbis  had  trifled  with  the  subject  of  oaths  and 
TOWS  in  such  a  way  that  the  treasury  of  the  Temple  was  not  only 
sacred  from  all  public  appeals,  but  was  continually  eniiched  by 
money,  v/hich  ought,  rightfully,  to  have  gone  to  the  support  of 
families  and  relations,  and  even  of  rged  or  poor  parents.  The  utter- 
ance of  the  word  "  Corban" — "I  hava  vowed  it  to  sacred  uses" — 
sequestrated  anything,  absohitely  and  irreversibly,  to  the  Temple. 
It  might  be  spoken  under  the  influence  of  death  bed  terror,  or  in  the 
weakness  of  superstitious  fear,  but  if  once  uttered,  the  Church  threw 
round  the  money  or  property  thus  secured  the  impassable  barrier  of 
her  ghostly  claims. 

To  honour  one's  parents  was  one  of  the  "Ten  AYords"  of  Sinai, 
and  no  duty  was  held  more  sacred  by  a  Jew  unperverted  by  Rab- 
binical sophistry.  It  was  not  forgot  ten  that  it  was  the  one  command- 
ment to  which  a  promise  of  reward  was  attached.  "A  child  is  bound 
to  maintain  his  parents  when  old  and  helpless,"  says  one  passage  in 
the  Talmud,  "even  if  he  have  to  beg  to  do  so  "  But  this,  unfor- 
tunately, was  net  the  uniform  teaching  of  Christ's  day.  If  one  Rabbi 
had  put  filial  duty  before  the  right  to  vow  for  one's  own  advantage, 
others  had  taught  that  it  was  a  duty  to  honour  God  before  honouring 
human  relationships — a  smooth  phrase  for .  legalizing  gifts  to  the 
Church  at  the  expense  even  of  father  and  mother.  The  hieriyjchical 
party  ignored  all  interests  but  their  own,  and  subordinated  natural 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  529 

duty  to  their  own  enrichment.  Pliarisaism,  in  its  moral  decay,  had 
come  to  be  a  spiritual  death,  corrupting  the  springs  of  national  life. 
A  few  years  later,  in  the  time  of  the  great  famine  of  the  year  a.d.  -45, 
undir  Claudius,  the  theocratic  party  so  heartlessly  cared  for  them 
selves,  that  while  the  people  were  perisliing  of  iiung jr  by  hundreds, 
no  remission  of  Temple  dues  was  permitted,  and  the  Passover  alone 
saw  forty-one  attic  bushels  of  wheat  presented  at  the  altar,  to  be 
pres3atiy  re.uaved  for  the  use  of  the  priests,  Ihougli  the  issarion — a 
measure  of  thriij  and  a  half  pints — sold  for  four  drachmas,  a  sum 
eqiiil  to  about  twenty-si^  shillings  at  the  present  value  of  money. 
Josjphus,  indj-jd,  boast-i  that  uo  priest  ate  a  crumb  of  the  grain  thus 
relentlassly  hjirdei,  but  when  even  a  high  priest  was  known  as  "the 
disciple  of  gluttons,"  rioting  in  great  feasts  on  the  sacritices  and  wine 
of  tlie  alta;*,  tli3  m  iss  of  his  order  would  not  be  fastidious  about  the 
wheat  anrl  V.n  bread. 

R^presaatatives  of  this  smooth  hypocrisy  had  now  gathered  round 
Jesus,  and  proceeded  to  inquire  into  His  alleged  unlawful  acts. 
"How  comes  it,"  asked  they,  "that  a  teacher  who  claims  a  higher 
sanctity  than  others  can  quietly  permit  His  disciples  to  neglect  a 
custom  impos3i  by  our  wise  forefathers,  and  so  carefully  observed 
by  evjry  pious  Israelite?  How  is  it  that  they  do  not  wash  their  hands 
before  eating?" 

"They  neglect  only  a  ceremonj'  introduced  by  men,"  retorted 
Jesus;  "  but  how  comes  it  that  you,  who  know  the  Law,  transgress 
commm.ls  which  are  not  of  man,  but  from  God  Himself?  How 
comjs  it  that,  for  the  sake  of  traditions  invented  l)y  the  Rabbis, 
you  S3t  aside  thj  most  explicit  conunands  of  God?  He  has,  for 
example,  said  that  we  must  honour  our  father  and  mother,  and  sup- 
port and  care  for  them  in  old  age.  He  has  declared  it  worthy  of 
death  for  any  one  to  deny  his  parents  due  reverence,  or  to  treat 
them  harshly  or  with  neglect.  But  you  have  invented  a  doctrine 
whicli  absolves  children,  in  many  cases,  from  this  commandment. 
'If  any  one,'  says  your  '  tradition,'  'is  asked  by  his  parents  for  a 
gift,  or  help,  for  their  benetit,  he  has  only  to  say  that  he  has  vowed 
that  very  part  of  his  means  to  the  Temple,  and  they  cannot  press 
Uira  further  to  contribute  to  their  support.'  How  cunningly  have 
you  thus  circumveiited  God's  law!  How  easy  is  it  for  any  one  to 
break  it,  and  alleet  a  zeal  for  religion  in  doing  so! 

"Ye  hypocrites! — acting  religion" — now  for  the  first  time  thus 
denouncing  them  and  their  party — "well  has  Isaiah  painted  you 
when  he  introduces  God  as  saying,  '  This  nation  has  its  worship 
in  words,  and  its  religion  is  of  the  lips,  while  its  iieart  is  far  from 
me.  Tneir  service  of  me  is  worthless,  for  it  is  not  my  Law,  but 
only  liami.i  iaveutioa. '  These  words  describe  you  to  the  letter. 
You  put  aside  what  God  has  commanded,  and  has  enforced  by 
promises  and  threats,  and  yet  keep,  superslitiously,  'traditions' 
wkicU  only  custom,  and   homage   to  human   teachers,  have  Intro- 


530  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

duced.  Of  this  kind  are  your  hand-wasliings,  and  many  similar 
usages." 

Such  a  defence  was  an  open  declaration  of  war  against  Pharisaism, 
and  the  liierarchy  closely  indentified  with  it.  His  words  struck  at 
the  insincerity  and  false-heartedness  of  the  party  as  a  whole,  at  its 
fundamental  principles,  its  practice,  its  modes  of  thought,  its  whole 
ideas  and  aims.  Tliey  are  pious,  very  pious.  He  tells  them,  in  out- 
ward seeming.  They  keep  the  traditions  fastidiously,  hut  their  piety 
is  from  the  lips,  not  the  heart;  obedience  to  the  Rabbis,  not  God. 
They  wash  pots  and  cups,  and  care  for  gifts,  as  their  religion,  and 
ignore  the  commands  of  Jehovah.  No  irony  could  be  more  keen  or 
annihilating.  What  Hames  of  rage  must  it  have  kindled  in  the  hearts 
of  the  great  party  so  mortally  assailed!  They  could  not  challenge 
His  loyalty  to  the  higher  law,  for  He  spoke  as  its  Champion,  against 
their  human  additions  and  perversions.  They  could  not  but  feel 
that,  far  from  destroying  either  the  Law  or  the  Prophets,  He  was  en- 
nobling and  exalting  them.  But  the  very  light  He  poured  on  the 
oracles  of  God  showed  so  much  the  more  the  worthlessness  of  their 
cherished  system,  and  their  misconception  of  their  office  as  the 
teachers  of  the  people.  He  had  virtually  condemned  not  only  iheir 
setting  washings  above  duty  to  parents;  He  had  denounced  them  for 
laying  more  stress  on  the  Temple  worship  and  ritual  than  on  such 
filial  piety.  Hence  washings,  sacrifices,  alms,  and  fasts;  all  the  loved 
boastful,  pretentious  worship  and  outward  practice  on  which  they 
rested,  were  of  no  value  compared  with  the  great  eternal  commands 
of  God,  and  were  even  crimes  and  impiety,  when  they  proudly  set 
themselves  in  their  room.  He  arraigned  Pharisaism,  the  dominant 
orthodoxy,  as  a  whole.  The  system,  so  famous,  so  arrogant,  so  in- 
tensely Jewish,  was  only  an  invention  of  man;  a  subversion  of  the 
Law  it  claimed  to  represent,  an  antagonism  to  the  prophets  as  well  aa 
to  Moses,  the  spiritual  ruin  of  the  nation ! 

The  die  was  finally  cast.  All  that  it  involved  had  heen  long 
weighed,  but  He  who  had  come  into  tlie  world  to  witness  to  the 
Truth  could  let  no  prudent  regard  for  self  restrain  His  testimony.  It 
was  vital  that  the  people  who  followed  the  Rabbis  and  priests  should 
know  what  the  religion  and  morals  thus  taught  by  them  were  worth. 
The  truth  could  not  find  open  ears  wlule  men's  hearts  were  misled 
and  prejudiced  by  sucli  instructors.  No  one  would  seek  inward  re- 
newal who  had  been  taught  to  care  only  for  externals,  and  to  ignore  the 
sin  and  corruption  within.  Pharisaism  was  a  creed  of  moral  cosmetics 
and  religious  masks,  as  all  ritual  systems  must  ever  be.  With  Jesua 
the  only  true  religion  was  puiity  of  heart  and  absolute  sincerity  to 
truth.  Leaving  the  Rabbis,  therefore,  and  calling  round  Him  the 
crowd  which  was  lingering  near,  He  proclaimed  aloud  the  great  prin- 
ciple He  had  laid  down — "Hear  me,  all  of  you,"  cried  He,  "and 
understand.  There  is  nothing  from  without  the  man  that,  entering 
into  him,  caa  defile  Uimj  but  the  things  which  cobig  out  of  the  inaa 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  531 

are  those  that  defile  him."  Words  clear  enough  to  us,  perhaps,  but 
grand  beyond  thousxht  when  uttered,  for  they  were  tlie  knell  of  caste 
— h3;ird  now,  for  t!io  first  time,  in  the  history  of  the  world;  of 
national  divisions  and  hatreds,  and  of  the  religious  worth  of  external 
observansas,  as  such,  and  the  inauguration  of  a  universal  religion  of 
spirit  and  truth!  Nothing  external,  they  proclaimed,  made  clean  or 
unclean,  holy  or  unholy.  Purity  and  impurity  were  words  applicable 
only  to  the  soul  and  its  utterances  and  acts.  The  charter  of  spiritual 
religion:  tha  abrogation  of  the  supremacy  of  forms  and  formula  for 
ever,  was  at  last  proclaimed;  the  leaven  of  religious  freedom  cast  in- 
to tlie  life  of  humanity,  in  the  end,  to  leaven  it  throughout! 

Even  the  disciples  were  alarmed  at  an  attitude  so  revolutionary. 
In  ommon  with  the  nation  at  large,  they  looked  on  the  Rabbis 
with  a  superstitious  reverence,  and  now  hastened  to  tell  .Jesus  how 
deeply  the  whole  clas?  was  offended  by  His  words.  It  was  hard  for 
simple  G.xlihean  peasants  to  break  away  from  hereditary  habits  of 
thoaglit.  B.it  Christ's  answer  was  ready.  "  Everj- plant  which  my 
Heavenly  Fathsr  has  not  planted,  shall  be  rooted  o'ut.  Leave  them; 
they  are  blial  lei.br^  of  the  blind,  and,  as  such,  both  they  and  their 
followers  mast  stumble  on  to  destruction !"  The  plants  of  human,  not 
divine  planting,  were  the  "  traditions"  and  "  commandments  of  men" 
— the  "  hedge  of  the  Law,"  in  which  the  Rabbis  gloried.  Henceforth, 
there  wa-5  a  breach  for  ever  between  the  men  of  the  Schools  and  the 
New  Kingd  ).n. 

Bat  tliLi  mind  is  slow  to  realize  great  spiritual  truths.  To  the  dis- 
ciples, Ihjir  Mister's  words  were  dark  and  strange,  demanding  expla- 
natija.  Nor  was  it  possible,  either  then,  or  even  to  the  ver}- last,  to 
familiarize  them  with  the  new  ideas  they  involved,  or  free  them  from 
the  iudujace  of  past  modes  of  thought.  The  tendency  to  regj,rd  the 
extern  il  and  formal  as  a  vital  and  leading  characteristic  of  religion, 
was  well-uigli  uncoaqueral:)le,  in  minds  habituafcHi  to  Jewish  concep- 
tions. An  earnest  request  of  Peter,  for  fin-thcr  explanation,  only  drew 
forth  an  a.nplitication  of  what  had  been  already  said.  The  "evil  in 
mail  was  traced  directly  to  the  thoughts;  but  to  eat  with  unwashed 
hands,  it  was  repeated,  made  a  man  in  no  waj-  "common"  or  polluted, 
as  alleged  by  the.  Pharisees.  Yet  the  truth  had  to  lie  long  in  the 
breasts  of  the  Twelve  before  it  wrought  their  spiritual  emancipation 
from  the  .slaver}-  of  the  past.  The  natural  and  eternal  distinction  of 
good  and  evil  was  proclaimed,  after  having  been  obscured  for  ages  by 
an  artificial  morality,  but  to  fully  unlearn  inveterate  prejudice  would 
require  the  lapse  of  generalioua. 


CHAPTER   XLY. 

THE   COASTS  OP   THE   HEATHEN, 

jEsrs  had  no-w,  apparcntlj'-,  been  two  j'ears  before  the  worlfl  as  a 
rehgious  teacher,  and  bad  had  the  usual  lot  of  those  viiio  seek  to  re- 
forin  entrenched  and  ]ivosperous  abuses.  A  brief  and  dazzling  popu- 
larity had  roused  the  bitter  hostility  of  threatened  interests,  and  they 
had  at  last  banded  together  for  His'destruction.  For  months  past  Ee 
had  seen  the  dcaih-clouds  gathering  ever  more  threateningly  over 
Him,  and  had  devoted  Himself  with  calm  anticipation  of  the  end,  to 
the  task  of  training  the  Twelve  to  continue  His  work  when  Ke  had 
perislied.  He  had'taken  the  utmoi-t  care  to  avoid  open  collision  with 
His  enemies,  and  to  confine  Himself  to  the  instruction  of  the  little 
circle  round  Him ;  but  the  priests  and  Rabins  had  been  quick  to  see 
in  this  very  quiet  and  retirement  their  gicatest  danger,  for  open  con- 
flict might  destroy  what  peaceful  seclusion  would  give  opportunity  to 
take  root.  "  The  world,"  as  He  Himself  expressed  it,  "  hated  Kim, 
becaufc  lie  witnessed  of  it  that  its  works  were  evil."  Kct  only  His 
form.al  accusations  and  the  spirit  of  His  tciichicg,  but  His  -nhole  life 
and  actions,  and  even  His  gentlest  words,  arraigned  things  ate  they 
•were. 

Eumours  of  possible  action  against  Him  by  Antipas  increased  the 
difTiculty  of  the  situation.  Every  one  knew  that  He  and  many  of  His 
followers  had  come  from  the  school  of  the  Eaptist,  whom  Antipas  had 
just  murdered,  and  it  was  evident  that  His  aim  wr.s  more  or  less 
similiar  to  John's,  though  His  acts  v.  ere  more  wonderful.  Hence 
speculation  was  rife  respecting  Him.  Was  He  the  promised  Elias? 
or,  at  least,  Jeremiah,  risen  from  the  dead?  or  was  He  seme  special 
prophet  sent  from  God?  .]Many,  indeed,  were  questioning  if  He  might 
not  even  be  the  Messiah,  and  were  v.  illing  to  accept  Him  as  such,  if 
He  would  only  head  a  national  revolt,  in  alliance  with  thcEabbis  and 
priests,  asrainst  the  Komans.  To  Antipas  His  appearance  was  doubly 
alarming,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  fancied  revclutionaiT  movement  of 
John  had  broken  out  afresh  more  fiercely  thau  evtr,'"and  .niperstition, 
working  in  an  uneasy  conscience,  easily  saw  in  Him  a  resurrection  of 
the  murdered  Baptist,  endowed,  now,  with  the  awful  power  of  the 
eternal  world  from  which  he  had  returned.  A  second  murder  s(  eined 
needed  to  make  the  first  effective,  and  to  avoid  this  additional  danger 
Jesus  for  a  time  sought  concealment. 

But  the  Gi-aft  and  violence  of  the  half-heathen  Antipas,  was  a  slight 
evil  compared  with  the  hatred  which  glowed  ever  more  intensely  in 
the  breasts  of  the  Rabbis  and  priests  of  Jerusalem,  and  in  those  of 
the  Pharisees,  and  other  disciples  of  the  schools,  scattered  over  the 
country.     The  demands  of  Jesus  were  far  beyond  the  mere  summons 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  633 

of  the  Baptist,  to  prepare  for  a  new  and  better  time.  He  required 
immediate  submission  to  a  new  Theocracy.  He  excited  the  fury  of 
the  dominant  party,  not  like  the  Baptist,  by  isolated  bursts  of  de- 
nunciation, but  ijy  woricin!^  quietly,  as  a  Kini,^  in  His  own  Icingdom, 
whicli,  while  in  the  world,  was  something  far  higher.  Hence,  tiie 
feeling  against  Him  was  very  dilferent  from  the  partial,  cautious,  and 
intermittent  liatred  of  the  Baptist.  The  hierarchy  and  the  Rai)bis, 
as  the  centre  of  that  which,  with  all  its  corruptions,  was  the  only  true 
religion  on  earth  as  yet,  felt  them.selves  compromised  directly  and 
fatally  by  Him,  and  could  not  maintain  themselves  as  they  were,  if 
He  were  tolerated.  The  whole  spiritual  power  of  Israel  was  thus 
arrayed  against  Him;  a  force  slowly  created  by  the  possession,  for 
ages,  of  the  grandest  religious  truths  known  to  the  ancient  world,  and 
by  the  pride  of  a  long  and  incomparably  sublime  national  liistory.  It 
had  been  assailed  in  tlie  piist,  at  long  intervals,  from  without,  but  ia 
recent  years  it  had  been  for  the  first  timc3  attacked  from  within,  by 
the  Baptist,  and  now  i'elt  itself  still  more  dangerously  assaulted  by 
thij  Galikean.  To  crash  such  a:a  apparently  insigniticant  opponent 
— a  i)easant  of  Nazareth,  rising,  singly  and  unsupported,  against  a 
power  so  colossal— seemed  easy;  nor  could  it  be  fancied  more  difficult 
to  scatter  and  destroy  His  small  band  of  followers,  as  yet,  mostly, 
despised  peasants. 

The  tirst  oiHcial  step  towards  the  repression  of  the  new  movement 
had,  apparently,  been  already  taken,  on  the  occasion  of  the  last  visit 
of  JeSvis  to  Jerusalem.  His  cure  of  the  blind  man  on  the  Sabbath, 
had  then  brought  down  on  Hi.n  Vaq  warning  punishment  of  llie  les-ser 
excommuaicalion,  wliich  eutailjd  formal  exclusion  from  the  syna- 
gogues of  Judea,  and  was  all  tliey  dared  as  yet  inflict.  In  conse- 
queace  of  it.  He  had  never  returned  to  the  south,  but  confined  Him- 
self to  the  nor;h,  where  the  synagogues  were  still  open  to  Him.  The 
same  sen'.ence  .seems  now  to  have  been  gradually  extended  to  the  syna- 
gogues of  Galilee,  for  we  cease  to  read  of  His  entering  tliem  or  teach- 
ing iu  them.  But  as  this  measure  evidently  failed,  spies  were  let 
loose  on  Him,  to  dog  His  steps  constantly,  and  liud  ground  for  fresh 
charges,  even  by  invading  the  privacy  of  His  home  life. 

Tliis  deadly  hatri'd,  witli  all  that  it  involved  in  the  future,  had  beea 
foreseen  from  t.rj  first,  and  His  utmost  care.  His  seclusion,  and  His 
innocence,  had  only  delayed  the  crisis  that  had  now  come.  The 
foundation  of  His  new  kingdom  on  a  firm  basis,  l)y  the  choice  and 
preparation  of  the  Twelve,  had,  however,  lightened  the  thought  of  it, 
and  neutralized  its  worst  consequences.  Yet  it  was  still  necessary 
to  ward  olf  the  ctitastrophe  as  long  as  possible,  in  order  to  advance 
the  great  work  of  building  up,  as  far  as  might  be,  the  infant  society- 
He  had  established;  for  it  was  slow  work  to  ripen  vigorous  faith  and 
adequate  spirituality,  even  iu  those  under  His  personal  influence. 
But  the  growing  hatred  and  ill-will  of  His  enemies  made  lengthened 
residence  ia  any  one  place  henceforth  luidesirable,  and  He  had  from 


584  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

this  time  to  take  more  frequent,  as  well  as  wider  circuits,  to  escape 
them.  Yet  there  were  compensating  benefits  even  in  this  wandering 
life,  for  it  made  it  easier,  amidst  the  many  unforeseen  incidents  of 
each  day,  to  raise  the  Twelve  to  that  higher  faith  and  gi'cater  stead- 
fastness which  yet  failed  them,  and  it  enabled  Him  to  help  many  in 
outlying  parts,  who  were  fitted  to  receive  good  at  His  hands.  The 
gracious  purpose  of  God  was  thus  leading  Him  to  visit  in  peace  all 
the  chief  places  of  the  land,  which  it  was  His  great  mission  to  sum- 
mon to  enter  His  kingdom. 

One  inevitable  result  was  that  the  nearer  the  end  came,  the  more 
necessary  was  it  to  make  clear  to  the  Twelve  the  causes  of  this  hatred 
shown  towards  Him,  and  the  divine  necessity  of  His  approaching 
death.  Hence,  He  took  every  opi3ortunity  from  this  time  to  impress 
both  thoughts  more  and  more  clearly  on  His  followers.  His  warn- 
ings against  the  corruptions  of  the  hierarchical  party  became  more 
frequent,  and  constantly  keener,  until,  at  last,  the  Twelve  understood, 
in  some  measure,  the  whole  situation. 

Leaving  the  shores  of  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  He  now  turned  to  the  far 
north,  with  the  Twelve  as  companions  of  His  flight.  His  way  led 
Him  over  the  rough  uplands  towards  Safed,  with  its  near  view  of  the 
snowy  summits  of  Lebanon.  Then,  leaving  Gischala  on  the  right, 
the  road  passed  through  one  of  the  many  woody  valleys  of  these 
highland  regions,  till,  at  the  distance  of  two  days'  journey  from  the 
Lake,  it  reached  the  slope  at  the  foot  of  which  lay  the  plains  of  Tjtc. 
A  3"ellow  strip  of  beach  and  sand  divides  the  hills  from  the  sea,  into 
which  tlie  insular  tongue  of  land  on  which  Tyre  was  built  stretched 
far.  He  looked  down,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  so  closely,  on  the 
smoking  chimneys  of  the  glass  works  of  Sidon  and  of  the  dye  works  at 
Tyre;  on  the  long  rows  of  warehouses  filed  with  the  merchandise  of 
the  world;  on  the  mansions,  monuments,  public  buildings,  palaces, 
and  temples  of  the  two  cities,  and  their  harbours  and  moles  crowded 
•with  shipping.  The  busy  scene  before  Him  was  the  land  of  the 
accursed  Canaanite ;  the  seat  of  the  worship  of  Eaal  and  Ashtaroth, 
which  had  of  old  so  often  corrupted  Israel ;  a  region,  with  all  its 
wealth  and  splendour,  and  surpassing  beauty  of  palm  groves,  and 
gardens,  and  embowering  green,  so  depraved  and  polluted,  that  the 
Hebrew  had  adopted  the  name  of  Beelzebub — one  of  its  idols — a«  the 
name  for  the  Prince  of  Devils.  Yet,  even  here,  Jesus  felt  a  pity  and 
charity  unknown  to  His  nation,  and  the  great  sea  beyond,  whitened 
with  wing-like  sails,  would  be  like  a  dream  of  the  future,  when  dis- 
tant lands,  washed  by  the  waves  over  which  these  vessels  sped,  would 
gladly  receive  the  message  He  came  to  deliver. 

Whether  He  passed  into  heathen  territory  is  a  question.  He  may 
only  have  gone  as  far  as  the  border  of  the  alien  district.  The  whole 
region  was  more  or  less  thickly  settled  by  Jews,  drawn  by  commerce, 
or  through  long  historic  association  with  the  district,  which  had  been 
assigned  to  Asshur,  though  never  won  by  that  tribe.     So  far  back  as 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  535 

Ihe  days  of  the  judges,  ths*  population  had  been  half  heathen,  half 
Jewish.  Kept  back,  through  all  their  history,  from  the  sea-coast, 
Israel  had  come  to  hate  the  life  of  a  sailor  from  which  they  were 
thus  debarred,  and  hence  were  contented  to  settle  amidst  the  busy 
traders  of  Phenicia,  without  attempting,  after  the  first  failure,  to  dis- 
possess them.  No  retreat  could  have  promised  more  safe  retirement, 
but  Jesus  was  now  too  universally  known  to  remain  anywliere  undis- 
covered, for  numbers  had  come  to  Galilee,  even  from  these  very  dis- 
tricts, to  see  and  hear  Him. 

His  mission,  during  His  life,  had  been  repeatedly  defined  by  Him- 
self, as  only  to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  House  of  Israel.  That  He  f(?lt  no 
narrow  exclusiveness  had  been  already  shown  ])y  the  incidents  of  His 
journey  through  Samaria,  and  by  the  prophetic  joy  with  which  He 
had  predicted  tlie  entrance  of  many  from  the  heathen  world  into  His 
new  Society.  Even  His  sympathy  with  publicans  and  sinners,  and 
^v^th  the  outcast  sunken  multitude,  whose  ignorance  of  Rabbinical 
precepts  was  held  to  mark  them  as  accursed  of  God,  had,  in  fact, 
baen  as  distinct  protests  againt  Pharisaic  bigotry  as  He  could  have 
made  even  by  the  formal  recognition  of  heathens  as  citizens  of  His 
new  Society.  And  had  He  not  proclaimed  the  supreme  truth  that 
God  was  the  Great  Father  of  all  mankind,  and  that  the  human  race 
round  the  world  were  brethren  in  His  great  houseliold?  But  pity 
for  His  own  nation — the  Israel  of  the  Old  Covenant — forbade  His 
going  forth,  for  the  time,  to  all  races,  with  the  open  invitation  to  join 
the  new  Theocracy.  It  would  at  once  have  sealed  the  fate  of  His 
people,  for  what  was  offered  to  the  heathen  would,  from  that  very 
fact,  have  been  instantly  rejected  by  the  fanatical  Jew. 

It  was  vain  for  Him  to  seek  rest.  A  woman  of  the  country,  by 
language  a  Greek,  by  nationality  a  Canaanite,  and  by  residence  a 
Syro-Phenician — for  Phenicia  was  attached  to  the  Roman  province 
of  SjTia — perhaps  a  heathen,  but,  in  any  case,  of  an  humble  religious 
heart,  heard  that  He  was  in  the  neighbourhood.  His  fame  had  long 
before  spread  so  widely,  that  the  wondrous  cures  He  had  performed 
were  everywhere  known.  Among  others,  this  woman  had  heard  of 
them,  and  maternal  love  was  quick  to  turn  them  to  its- own  unselfish 
account.  She  had  a  daughter  "grievously  vexed  with  a  devil,"  and 
at  once  came  over  the  border  to  implore  Jesus  to  have  mercy  on  her 
child.  The  half  belief  that  He  was  the  Messiah  had  spread  even  tf 
Tyre,  and  was  accepted  in  her  poor  unenlightened  way  by  the  suppli- 
cant. He  was  abroad  with  the  Twelve  when  she  found  Him,  and 
forthwith  entreated  Him — "  Lord,  son  of  David,  have  mercy  on  me." 
She  had  made  her  child's  trouble  her  own.  Such  an  incident,  at  a 
time  when  He  sought  to  remain  unknown,  must  have  been  very  dis- 
turbing, for  it  might  put  His  enemies  on  His  track.  From  whatever 
cause.  He  took  no  notice  of  her  prayers.  But  she  would  not  be  denied, 
and  persistently  followed  Him  with  her  wailing  petitions,  as  He  went 
along,  till  the  Twelve,  filled  with  harsh  Jewish  prejudice,  and  mia» 

L  of  C— 18. 


63<  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

y 

taking  the  reason  of  their  Master's  siltnce,  grew  indignant  at  hex* 
pertinacity,  and  l^egged  Him  to  send  her  away  and  stop  her  crying 
after  theni.  That  a" foreigner,  and,  above  all,  a  Cauaanite,  accursed 
of  God,  should  share  His  mercies,  was,  as  yet,  far  too  liberal  a  con- 
ception for  them.  Did  not  the  Eabbis  teach  that  the  race  built  their 
houses  in  the  name  of  their  idols,  so  that  evil  spirits  came  and  dwelt 
in  them?  and  was  not  Beelzebub,  the  Prince  of  the  Devils,  their  chief 
god?  The  answer  of  Jesus  seemed  to  favour  this  bitter  exclusive- 
uess — "He  was  not  sent  except  to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  House  of 
Israel!"  They  little  knew  that  His  help  was  kept  back  only  in  pity 
for  His  own  nation,  whom  mercy  to  abhorred  unclean  Canaanites 
would  embitter  against  Him  to  their  own  destruction.  It  was  vain, 
however,  to  try  to  wearj^  out  a  mother's  love.  Following  Him  into 
the  house,  though  He  would  fain  have  remained  unknown,  she  cast 
herself  at  His  feet  and  renewed  her  prayer.  To  the  Twelve  she  was 
only  a  "dog,"  as  the  Jews  regarded  all  heathen.  Veiling  the  tender- 
ness of  Hislieart  in  aifected  roughness  of  speech,  softened,  doubtless, 
by  the  tremblina;  sympathy  of  His  voice  and  His  gentle  looks.  He 
told  her  that  thechildren— Israel,  tlie  sons  of  God— must  first  be  fed 
before  others  could  be  noticed.  "  It  is  not  right,"  said  He,  "to  take 
the  children's  bread  and  cast  it  to  the  dogs."  Then,  as  now,  the  trav- 
eller, entering  or  leaving  a  town  or  village,  had  only  too  much  reason 
to  notice  the  troops  of  lean,  sharp-nosed  masterless  dogs,  which 
filled  the  air  with  their  cries  as  he  passed,  and  no  one  could  sit  at  a 
meal  without  the  chance  of  some  of  them  coming  in  at  the  ever-open 
door  to  pick  up  the  fragments,  always  to  be  found  where  only  the 
fingers  were  used  at  table. 

With  a  woman's  quickness,  and  a  mother's  invincible  love,  deep- 
ened bv  irrepressible  trust  in  Him  whose  face  and  tones  so  contra- 
dicted His  words,  even  this  seeming  harshness  was  turned  to  a 
resistless  appeal.  "Yes,  Lord,"  said  she,  "it  is  true:  still  the  dogs 
are  allowed  to  eat  the  fragments  that  fall  from  the  children's  table." 
She  had  conquered.  "O  woman,"  said  Jesus,  "great  is  thy  faith; 
be  it  unto  thee  as  thou  wilt."  His  Avord  was  enough,  and  going  her 
wav  she  found,  on  reaching  her  house,  that  her  daughter,  no  longer 
raviuo:,  was  perfectly  cured,  and  lay  calmly  in  bed,  once  more  her- 
self. "The  Twelve  had  learned,  at  last,  that  even  heathen  "dogs" 
were  not  to  be  sent,  unheard,  away. 

How  Ions;  Jesus  stayed  in  these  parts  is  imknown.  It  would  seem 
as  if  this  incident  had  forced  Him  to  leave  sooner  than  He  had  pro- 
posed. He  did  not,  however,  retimi  at  once  to  Capernaum,  but  set 
out  north-eastwards,  through  the  territory  of  Sidon,  to  the  country 
east  of  Jordan.  The  Roman  road  which  ran  over  the  richly  wooded 
hills,  almost  straight  eastward,  from  Tjtc  to  Cssarea  Philippi,  was 
too  far  to  the  south.  He  must  have  taken  the  caravan  road,  which  still 
runs  from  Sidon  on  the  south  side  of  the  mountain  stream  Bostrenus, 
aliBibing  the  spurs  of  Lebanon,  with  their  woods  and  noble  mountain 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  5S7 

scenery,  till  it  crosses  the  range  amidst  peaks  six  thousand  feet  high, 
at  the  natural  rock-bridge  ove^  the  deep,  rushing  Leontes.  Turning, 
now,  down  the  valley  of  the  Upper  Jordan,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Hermon  range,  rising  9,500  feet  high  in  their  highest  peak.  He,  ere- 
long, at  Csesarea  Philippi,  reached  the  open  country,  with  a  wide 
view  of  the  broad  reedy  marshes  of  Ulatha  and  Merom,  the  hills  of 
Galilee,  and  the  wide  uplands  of  Gaulonitis.  How  long  He  spent 
on  the  journev  is  not  told.  Perhaps  He  stopped  by  the  way,  for 
Lebanon  was  full  then,  as  now,  of  villages;  perhaps  He  only  passed 
through  them  on  His  way.  His  final  purpose  by  this  wide  circuit, 
■was  to  reach  His  old  haunts  without  passing  through  Galilee,  and  this 
brought  Him,  apparently  for  the  first  time,  to  the  wide  territory  of 
the  ten  allied  free  cities — the  Decapolis. 

These  cities  were  simply  places  which  the  Jews  had  not  succeeded 
in  re-conqueriug,  after  their  return  from  Babylon.  They  had  thus 
remained  in  the'hands  of  the  heathen,  though  in  Palestine;  had  pre- 
served distinct  municipal  government,  and  had  joined  in  a  political 
alliance,  offensive  and  defensive.  To  the  Jews  they  were  a  continual 
offence,  and  they  were  the  first  to  suffer  from  tlie  frenzied  fanaticism 
of  the  nation  when  it  rose  in  its  last  great  revolt.  JMost  of  them,  full 
of  busy  life,  and  adorned  with  splendid  temples,  baths,  theatres,  and 
public  buildings,  when  Jesus  passed  through  them,  were  destined,  be- 
fore another  generation,  to  perish  amidst  fire  and  sword. 

Even  here  "the  fame  of  the  great  Teacher  attracted  multitudes  of 
Jews  settled  all  over  the  half -foreign  district,  especially  in  its  towns 
and  cities,  and  revived  for  a  time  the  cheering  scenes  of  the  past. 
The  cripple,  the  blind,  the  dumb,  the  deformed,  and  many  others,  vari- 
ously afflicted,  were  either  brought  to  Him,  or  came ;  till  He  was  once 
more  forced,  as  of  old,  to  retreat  to  the  hills,  in  the  vain  effort  to  gain 
quiet.  The  popular  excitement,  however,  made  rest  impossible. 
They  sought  and  found  Him  wherever  He  might  be,  and  enjoyed  not 
only  the  benefits  of  His  supernatural  power,  but  the  richer  blessings 
of  flis  teaching.  Only  one  incident  is  given  in  detail.  A  man  had 
been  brought  to  Him'who  was  deaf,  and  could  only  stammer  inar- 
ticulately ;  and  He  was  besought  to  heal  him.  From  what  motive  is 
not  told,  He  varied  His  usual  course.  Taking  him  aside  from  the 
multitude,  perhaps  to  have  more  freedom,  perhaps  to  avoid  their  too 
great  excitement  and  its  possibly  hurtful  political  consequences.  He 
put  His  fingers  into  the  man's  ears,  and  touched  his  tongue  with  a 
finger  moistened  on  His  own  lips.  It  may  be  that  these  simple  forma 
were  intended  to  waken  faith  in  one  who  could  hear  no  words,  for, 
without  the  fitting  spirit,  the  miracle  would  not  have  been  wrought. 
Looking  up  to  heaven,  as  if  to  lift  the  thoughts  of  the  unfortunate 
man  to  the  Eternal  Father,  whose  power  alone  could  heal  him,  Jesu3 
then,  at  last,  uttered  the  single  word  of  the  popular  ;iiiiiect— 
"  Ephphatha" — "Be  opened" — and  he  Tva^  perfectly  cured.  An 
Injunction  to  keep  the  r^ixocie  private  Tra5  of  no  avail:  the  wlvolc 


538  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

countiy  was  presently  filled  with  reports  of  it,  and  of  other  simUar 
■wonders. 

The  vast  concourse  attracted  by  such  scenes  may  be  imagined;  for 
in  the  East  especially,  it  is  easy  for  the  population,  with  their  simple 
wants,  and  the  mildness  of  the  sky,  which  in  the  warm  months 
invites  sleeping  in  the  open  air  by  night,  to  camp  out  as  they  think  tit. 
But,  as  often  liappens,  even  in  our  own  day,  with  the  Easter  pil- 
grims at  Jervisalem,  many  found  their  provisions  run  short,  and  as 
in  these  strange  and  motley  crowds  numbers  of  tendie  of  want,  many 
of  those  following  Jesus  might  have  sunk  by  the  way  but  for  His 
thoughtful  care,  for  numbers  had  come  far.  Once  more  the  crowds 
'were  caused  to  sit  on  the  ground,  and  were  fed  from  the  scanty  pro- 
vision found  on  the  spot,  which  was  no  more  than  seven  of  the  round 
loaves  of  the  country,  and  a  few  small  dried  fishes  from  the  Lake  of 
Galilee.  Four  thousand  men,  besides  women  and  children,  were 
supplied  from  this  scanty  store,  and  seven  baskets  of  fragments,  after- 
wards gathered,  attested  that  they  had  suffered  no  stint. 

Leaving  the  eastern  side  of  the  Lake,  to  which  His  wanderings  had 
led  Him,  Jesus  now,  once  more,  crossed  to  the  neighbourhood  of 
Magdala,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  Plain  of  Gennesareth,  and  close  to 
Capernaum.  He  had  hardly  reappeared  before  His  enemies  were  once 
more  in  motion.  The  Pharisees  had  already  stifled  their  dislike  of 
the  Herodians,  and  had  formed  an  alliance  with  them,  that  they 
might  the  more  easily  crush  Him.  It  marked  the  growing  malignity 
of  feeling  that  a  class  fanatically  proud  of  their  ceremonial  and 
moral  purity — a  class  from  whose  midst  had  sprung  the  Zealots  for 
the  Law,  who  abhorred  all  rule  except  that  of  a  restored  theocracy — 
should  have  banded  themselves  with  a  party  of  moral  indifferentists, 
partial  to  monarchy,  and  guilty  of  flattering  even  the  hated  family  of 
Herod.  But  a  still  more  ominoiis  sign  of  increasing  danger  showed 
itself  in  even  Sadducees  joining  the  Pharisees  to  make  new  attempts 
to  compromise  Jesus  with  the  authorities. 

The  Sadducees,  few,  but  haughty  and  powerful,  held  the  highest 
posts  in  the  Jewish  state,  and  represented  the  Law.  They  were  of 
the  priestly  caste,  and  held  the  chief  oflices  in  the  hierarchy.  Their 
name  was  perhaps  derived  from  the  famous  ancient  family  of  Zadok, 
of  whom  Ezekiel  speaks  as  having  the  charge  of  the  altar,  and  as, 
alone,  of  the  sons  of  Levi,  appointed  to  come  before  the  Eternal,  to 
serve  Him.  Joshua,  the  son  of  Jozedek,  the  comrade  of  Zerubbabel, 
was  of  this  House,  so  that,  after  the  Return,  as  before  it,  it  seems  to 
have  been  the  foremost  among  the  priestly  families.  In  any  case, 
the  Sadducees  of  the  times  of  Josephus  and  the  Apostles  not  only 
held  the  highest  Temple  offices,  but  represented  the  purest  Jewish 
blood. 

.  But  this  priestly  aiistocracy  were  by  no  means  the  most  zealous  for 
the  sanctnsry  from  which  they  drew  their  honours  and  wealth.  They 
counted  in  their  auceslry  not  only  high  priests  like  Joshua  and  Simon 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  539 

the  Just,  but  traitors  to  their  country  like  Manasseh,  Menelaus,  and 
the  younger  Onias.  Already,  in  the  time  of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah, 
they  had  given  occasion  for  the  charge  that  the  highest  oificials  had 
been  foremost  in  breaking  the  theocratic  laws,  and'had  even  sought 
to  turn  parts  of  the  Temple  into  a  splendid  family  mansion.  They 
had  coquetted  and  debased  their  offices  to  win  favour  with  the 
Ptolamies  and  the  Syrian  kings;  they  had  held  back,  in  half  Greek 
irreligiousness,  from  taking  a  vigorous  part  in  the  glorious  Macca- 
bican  struggle,  and  now  truckled  to  heathen  procurators,  or  with  a 
half  heathen  king,  to  preserve  their  honours  and  vested  interests.  To 
please  Herod,  they  had  admitted  Simon  Boethus,  the  Alexandrian, 
the  father  of  the  king's  young  wife,  to  the  high  priesthood,  from 
which  a  strict  Jew,  Jesus  the  son  of  Phabi,  had  been  expelled  to 
make  room  for  him.  They  had  even  shown  frank  and  hearty  sub- 
mission and  loyalty  to  Rome. 

The  nation,  with  its  chosen  religious  leaders,  the  Pharisees— the 
representatives  of  tiie  "  Saints"  who  had  conquered  in  the  great  war 
of  religious  independence— never  forgot  the  faint-heartedness  and 
treachery  of  the  priestly  nobility  in  that  magnificent  struggle.  Their 
descent  might  secure  its  members  hereditary  possession  of  the  digni- 
fied offices  of  the  Church,  and  there  might  still  be  a  charm  in  their 
liistorical  names;  but  they  were  regarded  with  open  distrust  and  dis- 
like by  the  nation  and  the  Pharisees  alike,  and  had  to  make  many 
concessions  to  Pharisaic  rules  to  protect  themselves  from  actual  vio- 
lence. 

The  strict  fanatical  heads  of  the  Synagogue  and  leaders  of  the  peo- 
ple, and  the  cold  and  polished  Temple  aristocracy,  were  thus  bitterly 
opposed,  and  it  added  to  the  keenest  of  the  dislike  that  the  dreams 
by  the  Rabbinical,  or  Pharisaic  party,  of  a  restored  theocracy,  could 
only  be  realized  through  the  existing  organization  of  the  priesthood, 
of  which  the  indifferent  Sadducees  had  the  control. 

Theological  hatred,  the  bitterest  of  all  passions,  added  additional 
intensity  to  this  political  opposition.  The  Sadducees  had  no  inclina- 
tion to  be  taught  their  duty  by  tlie  Rabbis  of  village  synagogues,  and 
rejected  the  whole  body  of  Pharisaic  tradition  and  jurisprudence, 
taking  for  their  only  authority  the  written  law  of  Moses,  though  to 
this  were  generally  added  some  traditions  of  their  own.  Holding 
the  highest  offices  of  the  tlieocracy,  and  the  members  of  familiet  i 
which  had  officiated  in  the  Temple  of  Solomon  itself,  they  disdained  ' 
to  be  taught  what  was  lawful  in  Israel,  or  to  accept  the  hair-splitting 
refinements  of  the  democratic  and  puritan  Pharisees.  To  the  coiT 
stantly  increasing  decisions  and  requirements  of  the  Rabbis,  thej 
stolidly  opposed  the  venerable  letter  of  the  ancient  Law.  That  their 
creed  was  cold  and  rationalistic,  compared  to  that  of  the  Rabbis, 
was,  perhaps,  the  result  of  tliis  attitude,  but  was  not  its  cause.  The 
instinctive  conservatism  of  "the  first  in  rank,"  inevitably  took  its 
Btand  on  the  original  documents  of  the  Law  in  opposition  to  Uio 


640  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

heated  exaggerations  of  tlie  plebeian  schoolmen.  Both  sides  vaunted 
their  orthodoxy.  The  Sadducees  were  as  deeply  committed  to  sup- 
port the  theocrocy  as  their  popidar  rivals,  for  it  was  the  basis  of  their 
dignities,  their  wealtii,  and  even  their  existence.  Fierce  controver- 
sies^  often  culminating  in  bloodshed,  marked  the  devotion  of  both 
»like  to  their  opinions,  and  these  opinions  themselves  illustrated  the 
position  of  the  two  parties.  The  Sadducees  uniformly  fell  back  on 
the  letter  of  the  Law,  the  prescriptive  rights  of  the  Temple,  and  the 
glory  of  the  priesthood;  the  Pharisees,  on  the  other  hand,  took  their 
stand  on  the  authority  of  the  Rabbinical  traditions,  the  value  of 
sacred  acts  apart  from  the  interposition  of  the  priest,  and  advocated 
popidar  interests  generally. 

The  contrast  between  the  spirit  of  the  two  parties  showed  itself 
prominently  in  the  harsh  tenacity  with  which  the  Temple  aristocracy 
held  to  the  letter  of  the  Mosaic  Law  in  its  penalties,  as  opposed  to 
the  milder  spirit  in  which  the  Pharisees  interpreted  them,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  spirit  of  the  times.  The  Pharisees,  for  example,  ex- 
plained the  Mosaic  demand — an  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a 
tooth — metaphorically,  and  allowed  recompense  to  be  made  in  money, 
but  the  Sadducees  required  exact  compliance.  The  Sadducees  re- 
quired that  the  widow  should  literally  spit  in  the  face  of  the  brother- 
in-law  who  refused  her  the  levirate  marriage  rights,  but  it  was  enough 
for  the  Pharisees  that  she  spat  on  the  ground  before  him.  The  Phar- 
isees permitted  the  carcass  of  a  beast  that  had  died  to  be  used  for  any 
other  purpose  than  food,  to  save  loss  to  the  owner,  but  the  Sadducees 
denounced  the  penalties  of  uncleanness  on  so  lax  a  practice.  They 
sternly  required  that  a  false  witness  be  put  to  death,  according  to  the 
letter  of  the  Law,  even  if  his  testimony  had  done  the  accused  no  in- 
jury, and  many  did  not  even  shrink  from  carrj^iag  out  the  reasoning 
of  the  Rabbis,  that,  as  two  witnes.ses  were  always  required  to  con- 
demn the  accused,  both  witnesses  should  always  be  executed  when 
any  perjury  had  been  committed  in  the  case. 

This  blind  insistance  on  the  letter  of  laws  which  ages  had  made 
obsolete,  lixed  on  the  Sadducees  the  name  of  "The  Condemning 
Judges,"  and  Josephus  testifies  that  they  were  more  ruthless  in  their 
judicial  decisions  than  any  other  Jews.  The  Pharisees,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  for  their  axiom  the  saying  of  Joshua  Ben  Perachia — 
"Judge  everything  on  the  presumption  of  innocence;"  or  that  of 
Hillel — "Put  yourself  in  your  neighbour's  place  before  j'ou  judge 
him."  Hence,  a  prisoner  blessed  himself  when  he  s^w  opposite  him, 
on  his  judges,  the  broad  phylactery  of  the  Pharisee,  and  not  the 
white  robe  of  the  priestly  Sadducee.  Both  our  Lord  and  St.  Paul 
'had  the  multitude  stirred'up  against  them  by  the  Pharisees,  but  they 
were  condemned  by  Sadducee  judges,  and  it  was  Sadducee  judges 
who  murdered  St.  James. 

This  relentless  ferocity  of  priestly  houses,  who  rested  on  the  favour 
of  the  rich  and  titled  few,  was  dictated  only  by  the  class  interests  of 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  541 

the  Temple  nobility,  whose  claims  and  privileges  coukl  not  be  justi- 
fied except  by  the  blind  maintenance  of  things  as  tliey  were.  Un- 
changing conservatism  was  their  only  safety;  the  least  innovation 
seemed  an  omen  of  revolution. 

But  there  were  even  deeper  grounds  of  dislike  and  opposition. 
The  Pharisees,  as  the  hereditary  representatives  of  puritans  who  had 
delivered  the  nation  in  tiie  great  struggle  against  Syria,  looked  for- 
■Uard  with  touching  though  fanatical  yearning,  to  the  realization  of 
the  propiiecies  of  Daniel,  which,  as  thej'  understood  them,  promised 
that  Israel,  under  the  Messiah,  and  with  it,  themselves,  sliould  be 
raised  "to  dominion,  and  glory,  and  a  kingdom;  tliat  all  peoples, 
nations,  and  languages  should  serve  Him,  and  that  His  kingdom 
should  be  everlasting."  They  believed  that  this  national  triumph 
would  be  inaugurated  so  soon  as  Israel,  on  its  part,  carried  out  to  the 
full  the  requirements  of  the  ceremonial  laws,  as  expounded  in  their 
traditions.  It  was  a  matter  of  formal  covenant,  in  which  the  truth 
and  righteousness — that  is,  the  justice,  of  Jehovah  were  involved. 
The  morals  they  demanded  might  be  only  mechanical,  and  their  ob- 
servances slavery  to  rites  and  ceremonies,  but  they  believed  that  if 
they  fulfilled  their  part,  God  must  needs  fulfil  His,  and  they  strove 
hard  to  make  the  nation,  like  themselves,  "blameless,"  touching  this 
righteousness;  that  they  might  claim  divine  interposition  as  a  right. 
The  zeal  of  the  Pharisee  for  the  Law  was,  thus,  a  mere  hired  service, 
with  all  the  restlessness,  exaggeration,  emulation,  and  moral  impurity, 
inseparable  from  a  mercenary  spirit. 

To  this  dream  of  the  future,  the  Sadducees  opposed  a  stolid  and 
contemptuous  indifference.  Enjoying  the  honours  and  good  things 
of  the  world,  they  had  no  taste  for  a  revolution  which  should  intro- 
duce, they  knew  not  what,  in  the  place  of  a  state  of  things  with 
which  they  were  quite  contented.  Their  fathers  had  had  no  such 
ideas,  and  the  s  ms  ridiculed  them.  They  not  only  laughed  aside  the 
Pharisaic  idea  of  righteousness,  as  identified  with  a  life  of  minute  and 
endless  observance,  but  fell  back  on  the  Mosaic  Law,  and  mocked  at 
the  Messianic  hope  from  which  the  zeal  of  their  rivals  had  spnmg. 
"  The  ISadducees. "  says  Josephus,  "believe  that  the  soul  dies  with 
tlie  body,  and  recognize  no  authority  but  that  of  the  Law.  Good 
was  to  be  done  for  its  own  sake,  not  for  reward  in  the  3Iessianic 
kingdom,  or  at  the  resurrection  of  the  dead."  "The  Sadducees," 
says  Kabbi  Nathan,  "use,  daily,  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  not  for 
pride,  but  because  the  Phari.sees  torment  themselves  in  this  life, 
though  they  will  have  nothing  in  the  next."  As  to  the  world  to 
come,  they  "left  it  doubtful,  maintaining,  if  the  words  in  the  Talmud 
be  not  an  interpolation,  in  opposition  to  the  Pharisees,  that  it  could 
not  be  proved  from  the  Books  of  Moses.  They  even  went  tlie  length 
of  inventing  difiiculties  which  they  supposed  involved  in  the  resur- 
rection of  the  dead.  "They  believe  neither  in  the  resurrection,  nor 
ia  aufiel,  nor  spirit,  but  the  Pharisees  confess  both,"  says  St.  Luke. 


543  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

To  all  this  Tvas  added  the  embitterment  of  opposite  views  on  the 
great  subject  of  human  freedom  and  divine  foreknowledge.  Like 
all  puritans,  the  Pharisees  exalted  the  latter  though  they  did  not  deny 
the  former.  They  had  a  profound  belief  in  Providence,  understand- 
ing by  it  that  they  themselves  were  the  favourites  of  Jehovah,  and 
could  count  on  His  taking  their  side.  "The  Sadducees,"  says  Jose- 
phus,  "maintain  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  prcde.'lination,  and 
deny  that  human  affairs  are  regulated  by  it,  maintaining  that  our  des- 
tiny rests  with  ourselves;  that  we  are  the  cause  of  our  own  good  for- 
tune, and  bring  evil  on  us  by  our  own  folly.  The  Sadducee  was,  in 
fact,  a  mere  man  of  the  world,  believing  only  in  the  present :  the 
Pharisee,  a  mystic,  to  whom  the  future  and  the  supernatural  were  all. 

The  nation  zealously  supported  the  Pharisees.  The  spirit  of  the 
age  was  against  the  Sadducees.  The  multitude  disliked  to  hear  thai 
what  the  Maccabseans  had  defended  with  their  blood  was  uncanon- 
ical.  They  yielded  cheerfully  to  the  heavy  yoke  of  the  Pharisaic 
Rabbis,  for,  the  more  burdensome  the  duties  required,  tlie  greater  the 
future  reward  for  performance.  The  Pharisees,  moreover,"were  part 
of  the  people,  mingled  habitually  with  them  as  their  spiritual  guides, 
and  were  the  examples  of  exact  obedience  to  their  own  precepts. 
Their  Messianic  dreams  were  of  national  glory,  and  thus  the  crowd 
saw  in  them  the  representatives  of  their  own  fondest  aspirations. 
The  Sadducees — isolated,  haughty,  harsh,  and  unnational — were 
hated:  their  rivals  honoured  and  followed.  The  extravagances  and 
the  hypocrisy  of  some  might  be  ridiculed,  but  they  were  the  accepted 
popular  leaders. 

Indeed,  apart  from  all  other  considerations,  the  fact  that  the  Sad- 
ducees supported  zealously  every  government  in  turn,  was  enough  to 
set  the  people  against  them.  Instead  of  this,  the  Pliarisees  shared 
and  fostered  the  patriotic  and  religious  abhorrence  of  the  Eoman 
supremacy,  and  were  sworn  enemies  of  the  hated  Herodian  family. 
The  result  was  that,  in  the  words  of  Josephus,  "the  Pharisees  had 
such  an  influence  with  the  people,  that  nothing  could  be  done  about 
divine  worship,  prayers,  or  sacrifices,  except  according  to  their  wishes 
and  rules,  for  the  community  believed  they  sought  only  the  loftiest 
and  worthiest  aims  alike  in  word  and  deed.  The  Sadducees  were 
few  in  number;  and  though  they  belonged  to  the  highest  ranks,  had 
so  little  influence,  that  when  elected  to  office,  they  were  forced  to 
comply  with  the  ritual  of  the  Pharisees  from  fear  of  the  people." 

There  were,  doubtless,  many  priests  who  were  not  Sadducees — men 
serving  God  humbly;  devoted  to  their  sacred  duties,  and  living  in 
full  sympathy  of  thought  and  life  with  the  Pharisees.  In  the  dis- 
putes with  Jesus,  we  may  be  sure  that  many  such  Pharisaic  priests; 
Ike  great  company,  perhaps,  who,  within  a  short  time  after  His 
death,  became  "obedient  to  the  Faith,"  took  no  part  in  the  fierce 
malignity  of  their  brethren.  But,  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  Saddu- 
cees—haughty  clerical  aristocrats  of  the  Temple — joined  with  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  549 

hated  vulgar  Pharisee  of  the  Synagogue  to  accomplish  the  destruction 
of  the  new  Teacher.  It  was  the  most  ominous  sign  of  the  beginning 
of  the  end  that  had  yet  appeared. 

Eager  for  a  fresh  dispute,  the  strange  allies,  verj'  likely  fresh  from 
Jerusalem,  no  sooner  found  that  He  had  returned,  than  they  sallied 
forth  to  open  a  discussion.  "  You  claim,"  said  they,  "  to  be  a  teacher 
come  from  God,  and  have  given  many  '  signs  '  that  you  are  so  in  the 
miracles  you  have  perforpied.  But  all  these  signs  have  been  untrust- 
worthy, for  we  know  that  the  earth  and  even  the  air  are  filled  with 
demons.  It  is  quite  possible  that  the  prince  of  the  devils,  to  deceive 
men  into  supporting  your  claims,  may  have  given  you  power  for  a 
time  over  these  demons,  and  thus  all  that  you  have  done  may  be  only 
a  dark  plot  to  undo  us.  The  Egyptian  magicians  did  miracles,  and 
our  fathers  did  not  believe  even  Moses  for  the  common  wonders  he 
did,  for  they  might  have  been  wrought  only  by  magic  and  incanta- 
tions. A  sign  from  heaven,  however,  is  different.  It  is  beyond  the 
power  of  devils:  '  they  can  neither  shine  like  the  sun,  nor  give  light 
like  the  moon,  nor  give  rain  unto  men.'  Our  Rabbis  tell  us  that  whea 
the  King-Messias  comes,  and  the  gi-eat  war  between  Gog  and  Magog 
begins,  signs  from  heaven  will  appear.  "VVe  are  not  to  expect  Him  till 
a  rainbow  has  spanned  the  world  and  filled  it  with  light.  Give  us 
bread  from  heaven,  as  Moses  did.  or  signs  in  the  sun  and  moon  like 
Joshua,  or  call  down  thunder  and  hail  like  Samuel,  or  fire  and  rain 
like  Elijah,  or  make  the  sun  turn  back  like  Isaiah,  or  let  us  hear  the 
Bath  Kol  which  came  to  Simon  the  Just — that  we  may  believe  you." 
But  Jesus  knew  the  men  with  whom  He  had  to  do,  and  Avould  hold 
no  communication  with  them  beyond  the  sliortest.  The  tempter  had 
long  before  urged  Him  to  make  a  vain  display  of  His  supernatural 
power  in  support  of  His  claims,  but  as  it  was  monstrous  that  miracles 
should  be  thrown  away  on  the  Prince  of  Darkness,  or  wrought  at  his 
will,  it  vyas  no  less  so  to  work  them  at  the  bidding  of  men  tilled  with 
his  spirit.  The  worth  of  proof  depends  on  the  openness  to  convic- 
tion. He  had  already  said  that  to  cast  pearls  before  wild  swine,  was 
only  to  invite  them  to  turn  and  rend  vou.  No  "sign"  could  avail 
where  there  was  no  sympathy.  The  truth  He  came  to  proclaim  ap- 
pealed to  the  heart,  and  must  be  its  own  evidence,  winning  its  way 
by  its  own  divine  beauty  into  humble  and  ready  breasts.  External 
proofs  could  only  establish  external  facts. 

With  biting  irony  He  turned  on  them  in  a  few  brief  incisive  sen- 
tences. "How  is  it  that  ye,  who  are  so  .skilled  in  the  signs  of  the 
heavens,  are  so  dull  to  read  those  arotmd  you?  You  watcli  the  sky, 
and  talk  of  signs  in  it.  In  t'.ie  evening  you  say,  '  Fair  Aveather,  foi 
the  sky  is  red;'  and  in  the  morning,  '  Foul"  weather  to-day,  for  the  sky 
is  red  and  lowering.'  When  you" see  a  cloud  rising  in  the  west,  you 
say,  '  there  comes  a  shower ;'  when  you  see  a  south  wind  blowing, 
you  say,  '  There  will  be  heat.'  You'pretend  to  tell,  by  the  way  the 
Knoke  blows  on  the  last  evening  of  tlie  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  what 


644  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

weather  there  will  be  for  the  year.  If  it  turn  northward,  you  say  there 
will  be  much  rain,  and  the  poor  will  rejoice;  if  it  turn  south,  you  say 
the  rich  will  rejoice  and  the  poor  mourn,  for  there  will  be  little  rain; 
if  it  turn  eastward,  all  rejoice;  if  westward,  all  mourn.  If  God  have 
been  so  gracious  to  men  as  to  give  signs  of  fair  weather,  of  wind,  and 
of  rain,  how  much  more  must  He  have  given  signs  of  the  near  ap- 
proach of  the  Messiah?  You  are  diligent  to  excess  in  studying  the 
sky,  but  you  ask  signs  of  my  being  the  Messiah  as  if  none  had  been 
given,  when  many  unmistakable  ones  invite  you  in  your  own  Scrip- 
tures, in  the  events  of  the  day,  the  preaching  of  John,  and  in  my 
own  miracles,  teaching,  and  life.  An  evil  and  adulterous  generation 
seeks  after  a  sign  of  the  approach  of  the  kingdom  of  God  to  suit  it, 
while  it  is  blind  to  the  signs  around,  that  the  Messiah  must  come,  if 
the  nation  is  not  to  perish.  I  will  give  you  no  sign  but  that  of  the 
prophet  Jonah,  for  as  the  warning  of  his  words,  was  the  only  one 
given  to  the  Ninevites,  my  preaching  will  be  the  only  sign  given  to 
you.  It  is  its  own  evidence.  Apart  from  my  miracles;  mj'  life, 
and  the  divine  and  heavenly  truth  I  preach,  are  sufficient  proof  that 
I  am  sent  by  God.  Hereafter,  indeed,  Jonah  will  become  a  sign  in 
another  sense,  for  as  he  was  three  days  and  three  nights  in  the  whale's 
belly,  so  I,  when  put  to  death,  shall  be  the  same  time  in  the  grave." 

So  saying.  He  left  them.  It  was  clearly  unsafe  to  stay  in  their  neigh- 
bourhood. Henceforth  He  could  only  lead  a  fv^gitive  outlawed  life, 
and  with  a  deep  sigh  at  the  hopelessness  of  winning  over  men  blinded 
by  prejuice,  and  hardened  in  heart.  He  entered  the  boat  once  more, 
and  crossed  the  Lake  to  the  lonely  and  secure  eastern  side. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

rN  FLIGHT   ONCE  MORE. 

The  renewed  attempt  to  involve  Jesus  in  a  damaging  dispute  had 
failed.  He  had  not  made  an  ostentatious  display  of  supernatural 
power  at  the  bidding  of  His  enemies,  but  had  turned  sharply  on  them, 
and  had  left  them  discomfited  before  the  multitude.  They  had  hoped 
to  have  depreciated  Him  as  a  mere  unaiithorized  intruder  into  the 
office  of  Rabbi,  and  to  have  had  an  easy  triumph,  but  His  modest,  yet 
dignified  and  keen  retort  bad  put  them  to  shame.  Their  bitterness 
again.st  one,  now  hated  and  feared  more  than  ever,  was  so  much  the 
greater. 

His  departure  that  autumn  evening  might  well  have  saddened  His 
heart.  It  was  His  final  rejection  on  the  very  spot  where  He  had 
laboured  most,  and  He  was  leaving  it,  to  return,  indeed,  for  a  passing 
visit,  but  never  to  appear  again  publicly,  or  to  teach,  or  work  miracles. 
As  the  boat  swept  out  into  the  Lake,  and  the  whole  scene  opened 
before    Him — the  wtito    beach,  the   green  plain,  the  wooded  hills 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  545 

behind,  the  white  houses  reflected  in  the  water,  and  over  them  the 
stately  synagogue,  in  which  He  had  taught  so  often,  and  done  such 
mighty  acts, — it  was  no  wonder  that  He  sighed  deeply  in  spirit,  borne 
down  by  the  thought  of  the  darkened  mind,  the  perverted  conscience, 
and  the  stony  heart  tliat  had  rejected  the  things  of  their  peace. 

As  He  sat  in  tlie  boat  amidst  His  disciples  He  was  still  full  of  such 
thoughts.  They  had  heard  His  words  to  His  enemies,  but  they  did 
not  seem  to  have  realized  all  the  danger  implied  in  the  incident. 
Many  had  been  led  away  from  Him  by  the  deceitful  slanders,  or 
r.pecious  arguments  of  the  hierarchical  party,  and  it  was  well  that 
they  should  be  put  on  their  guard. 

"Take  heed,  beware,"  said  He  solemnly,  "of  the  leaven  of  the 
Pharisees  and  Sadducees,  and  of  the  party  of  Herod."  It  so  hap- 
liened,  however,  that  in  their  hurried  flight,  having  had  no  time  to 
lay  in  jirovisions,  there  was  only  one  loaf  in  the  boat,  and  with 
the  childishness  of  uneducated  minds,  they  at  once  fancied  He 
referred  to  their  having  come  without  bread.  At  the  well  of  Samaria 
they  had  thought  He  referred  to  common  food  when  He  spoke  of  the 
meat  of  the  soul;  they  had  been  as  dull  in  catching  the  metaphor  of 
His  flesh  being  tlie  bread  of  life,  and  hereafter  they  were  to  think 
only  of  natural  rest  when  He  spoke  of  the  dead  Lazarus  as  sleeping. 
Rejection,  like  continuity  of  tliought,  comes  only  with  mental  train- 
ing. The  uncultured  mind,  whether  old  or  young,  learns  slowly. 
They  might  have  remembered  from  the  twice  repeated  miraculous 
feelings  of  the  multitude,  that  it  was  indifferent  how  little  they  had 
with  them  when  their  Master  was  in  their  midst,  but  it  needs  a 
thoughtfulness  and  depth  beyond  that  of  average  fishermen  and 
peasants,  such  as  they  were,  to  reason  and  reflect.  "He  tells  us," 
they  whispered,  "that  if  we  buy  bread  from  a  Pharisee  or  a  Sad- 
ducee,  the  bread  would  defile  us,  as  it  woidd  if  we  bought  it  from  a 
Samaritan. "  So  rude  was  the  spiritual  material  from  which  Jesus 
had  to  create  the  founders  of  Christianity! 

"  O  ye  of  little  faith,"  interrupted  He,  "  why  do  ye  reason  among 
yourselves  because  ye  have  no  loaves?  Are  your  hearts  hardened 
that  you  cannot  understand?  Have  you  forgotten  when  I  broke  the 
five  loaves  among  the  five  thousand,  and  the  seven  among  the  four 
thousand,  how  many  baskets  and  wallets  full  of  fragments  ye  took 
up?  How  could  you  think  you  would  ever  want  after  that,  whether 
we  had  bread  with  us  or  not?  Do  you  not  see  that  when  I  spoke  of 
loaves  I  was  thinking  not  of  loaves,  but  of  instruction?  Beware  of 
the  teaching  of  the  Pharisees,  Sadducees,  and  Herodians,  about  me  or 
about  religion.  They  would  gladly  fill  your  minds  with  slanders  and 
misleading  fancies;  draw  you  away  from  me;  and  corrupt  your  hearts 
by  their  superstition,  and  religious  acting,  and  self-righteous  pride,  or 
by  their  worldliness  and  unbelief." 

The  course  of  the  boat  Avas  directed  to  the  head  of  the  Lake,  to 
BathiSaida,  oewly  renamed  Julias  by  the  tetrarch  Philip,  in  honour  of 


646  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  daughter  of  Augustus,  his  patron.  The  old  name  of  the  village 
had  not  yet  been  lost,  however.  It  was  on  the  route  to  the  district  to 
■which  Jesus  was  hurrying,  and  might  well  have  detained  Him  as  a 
resting  place,  under  other  circumstances.  Lying  on  the  green  hill 
above  the  plain  of  Batiha — the  scene  of  the  miraculous  feeding — it 
overlooked,  at  a  short  distance,  the  entrance  of  the  Jordan  into  the 
Lake.  To  the  west  .stretched  the  wide  tract  of  black  basalt,  rough 
and  barren,  reaching  from  the  marshes  of  Jordan,  dotted  with  buf- 
faloes luxuriating  in  the  mire,  to  Chorazin  and  Capernaum.  To  the 
south  rose  the  bare  table-land  on  the  east  of  the  Lake,  and  the  town 
itself,  boasting  the  splendid  tomb  just  built  by  Philip,  for  his  own 
use,  was  not  wanting  in  beauty.  But  Jesus  had  no  leisure  to  stay, 
nor  was  there  an  inducement  in  any  kindly  bearing  of  the  population 
towards  Him.  He  had  often  taught  in  their  streets  and  synagogue, 
and  had  lived  in  their  houses,  and  done  many  mighty  works  before 
them,  yet,  like  the  people  of  Chorazin  and  Capernaum,  they  had 
listened  to  their  Rabbis  rather  than  to  Him,  and  had  refused  to 
repent.  There  still,  however,  were  some  who  had  better  thoughts, 
and  these,  seeina;  Him  enter  the  town,  hurriedly  brought  a  blind  man, 
and  besought  Him  to  touch  him.  Even  in  a  place  that  would  not 
hear  Him  His  tender  heart  could  not  withhold  its  pity.  It  would 
have  attracted  notice  when  He  most  sought  to  avoid  it,  had  He  healed 
the  sufferer  in  the  public  street,  and,  therefore,  taking  him  by  the 
hand.  He  led  him  into  the  fields  outside.  He  might  have  wrought  the 
cure  by  a  word,  but  He  chose  to  use  the  same  simple  form  as  in  the 
case  of  the  dumb  man  in  the  Decapolis.  Touching  the  blind  eyes 
with  His  moistened  finger,  perhaps  to  arrest  the  wandering  thoughts 
ind  predispose  him  to  trust  in  the  Healer,  He  asked  the  blind  man 
"  if  he  saw  aught?"  The  supernatural  power  of  the  touch  had  had 
due  effect.  With  upturned  eyes,  the  hitherto  blind  could  see  indis- 
tinctly. Men  moved  before  him,  in  undefined  haze,  like  trees.  The 
partial  cure  must  have  strengthened  his  faith,  and  thus  prepared  him 
for  perfect  restoration.  Another  touch,  and  he  could  see  clearly,  far 
and  near.  "Go  to  your  home,"  said  Jesus,  "without  returning  to 
the  town,  and  tell  no  one  about  it. "  The  less  publicity  given  to  His 
acts  or  words,  the  safer  for  Christ. 

The  retreat  to  which  Jesus  was  making  was  the  town  of  Caesarea 
Philippi.  It  lay  on  the  north-east  of  the  reedy  and  marshy  plain  of 
El  Huleh.  It  was  close  to  Dan,  the  extreme  north  of  the  bounds  of 
ancient  Israel,  as  Beersheba  was  the  extreme  south.  It  was  almost  on 
a  line  with  Tyre,  and  thus,  far  out  of  the  reach  of  the  Rabbis  and 
High  Priests.  A  town,  Baal-Gad — named  from  the  Canaanite  god 
of  fortune — had  occupied  the  site  from  immemorial  antiquity,  but 
Philip  had  rebuilt  it  splendidly,  three  years  before  Christ's  birth,  and, 
in  accordance  with  the  prevailing  flattery  of  the  Emperor,  had  called 
it  Caesarea,  in  honour  of  Augustus.  It  had  been  the  pleasure  of  his 
peaceful  reign  to  adorn  it  with  altars,  votiv*  images,  and  etatues,  axui 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  547 

his  own  name  had  been  added  by  the  people,  to  distin2:iiish  it  from 
the  Caesarea  on  the  sea-coast.  Herod  the  Great,  Philip's  father,  had 
already,  nineteen  years  before  Christ,  in  grateful  acknowledgment 
of  the  gift  of  the  districts  of  Panias  and  Ulatha,  adorned  the  spot 
with  a  grand  temple  of  white  marble,  in  heathen  flattery  of  the 
Emperor,  deified,  thus,  while  still  alive,  by  the  king  of  the  Jewg.  ^ 
The  worship  of  the  shepherd  god  Pan,  to  whom  a  cave  out  of  which 
burst  the  waters  of  the  Jordan,  was  sacred,  had  given  its  second 
name — Panias — now,  Banias — to  the  place.  It  was  one  of  the  loveliest 
spots  in  the  Holy  Land,  built  on  a  terrace  of  rock,  part  of  the  range 
of  Hermon,  which  rose  behind  it  seven  or  eight  thousand  feet.  Count- 
less streams  murmured  down  the  slopes,  amidst  a  unique  richness 
and  variety  of  flower,  and  shrub,  and  tree.  The  chief  source  of  the 
Jordan,  still  bursts  in  a  full  silver-clear  stream  from  a  bottomless 
depth  of  water,  in  the  old  cave  of  Pan,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
from  beneath  a  high  perpendicular  wall  of  rock,  adorned  with  niches 
once  filled  with  marble  Naiads  of  the  stream  and  Satyrs  of  the  woods; 
and  with  countless  votive  tablets;  but  now  strewn  round  with  the 
ruins  of  the  shepherd  god's  ancient  temple.  Thick  woods  still  shade 
the  channel  of  the  young  river.  Oaks  and  olive  gro\»es  alternate 
with  pastures  and  fields  of  grain,  and  high  over  all  rises  the  old  castle 
of  Banias,  perhaps  the  "Tower  of  Lebanon  that  looketh  towards 
Damascus,"  of  the  song  of  Solomon. 

To  this  scene  Jesus  had  now  come,  and  might  have  found  in  the 
charms  of  nature  a  balm  for  His  tired  and  stricken  lieart,  had  He 
been  free  to  think  of  such  outward  charms.  From  the  liill  on  which 
the  town  stood — one  of  the  lower  spurs  of  Hermon — the  view  ranged 
over  all  northern  Palestine,  from  the  plains  of  Pheuicia,  to  the  hills 
of  Samaria.  In  the  north-west  rose  the  dark  gigantic  mountain 
forms  of  Lebanon;  to  the  south  stretched  out  the  rich  table-land  of 
the  Hauran.  From  Hermon,  not  from  Zion,  or  the  Mount  of  Olives, 
one  beholds  "the  good  land,  the  land  of  brooks,  of  waters,  of  foun- 
tains, of  depths  that  spring  out  of  the  valleys  and  hills;  a  land  of 
wheat  and  barley,  Hud  vines,  and  fig-trees,  and  pomegranates ;  a  land 
of  oil  olive  and  honey. "  Far  and  near  the  surpassingly  fruitful 
landscape  was  watered  by  sparkling  brooks  flowing  into  the  main 
stream  of  Jordan,  here  only  twenty  steps  broad,  So  far  back  as  the 
days  of  the  Judges,  the  children  of  Dan,  wandering  hither  from  the 
south,  had  found  it  to  want  nothing  that  earth  could  give.  Wheat 
fields  alternated  with  fields  of  barley,  maize,  sesame,  and  rice,  olive 
orchards,  meadows,  and  flowery  pastures,  the  delight  of  countless 
bees;  and  the  slopes  were  covered  with  woods,  vocal  with  the  songs 
of  birds. 

But  even  Jesus  had  few  thoughts,  at  such  a  time,  for  such  natural 
charms.  He  was  a  fugitive  and  outlaw,  rejected  by  the  nation  He 
had  come  to  save ;  safe  only  because  He  was  outside  the  bounds  of 
Israel,  in  a  heathen  region.     It  was  clear  that  His  public  work  wiwi 


548  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Tirtually  over,  for  even  in  Galilee,  where  multitudes  harl  followed 
Him,  His  popularity  had  waned  under  the  calumnies  of  the  Rabhis, 
and  His  steady  refusal  to  sanction  the  popular  conception  of  the 
Messiah.  From  tlie  moment  they  had  seen  that  He  sought  only 
spiritual  aims,  and  was  not  a  second  Judas  the  Galilsean,  they  had 
gone  back  to  their  own  teachers,  who  favoured  the  national  views, 
and  instead  of  demanding  repentance  and  a  new  life,  recognized  them 
as  the  favourites  of  Jehovah,  and  the  predestined  heirs  of  the  Mes- 
siah's Kingdom.  The  death  of  the  Baptist  foretold  His  own  fate. 
The  crisis  of  His  life  had  come.  If  He  had  won  few  true  followers, 
He  had  securely  founded  the  New  Kingdom  of  God.  It  might 
indeed,  as  yet,  be  but  a  seed  in  the  great  tield  of  the  world,  or  a  speck 
of  leaven  in  the  vast  mass  of  humanity ;  but  the  seed  would  multiply 
itself  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  the  leaven  would  slowly  but 
surely  spread,  age  after  age,  through  the  whole  race  of  man.  His 
own  death  would  now  no  longer  be  fatal  to  the  New  Society;  the 
germ  of  its  fullest  development  would  survive  in  the  little  circle 
of  the  Twelve,  and  of  the  few  other  faithful  souls  who  had  received 
Him. 

But  it  was  necessary  that  the  band  to  whom  the  spread  of  His 
Kingdom  after  His  death  would  be  entrusted  should  be  contirmed  in 
their  faith,  and  enlightened  by  explicit  disclosures  of  His  relations 
to  themselves  and  to  it.  There  was  much,  even  in  their  humble  and 
honest  hearts,  that  needed  correction  and  elevation.  They  were  Jews, 
trained  in  the  theology  of  His  enemies,  and  still  unconsciously  in- 
fluenced by  it  to  a  great  extent. 

Jesus  had  utterly  different  conceptions  of  His  kingdom  from 
theirs,  and,  therefore,  had  not,  as  yet,  claimed  the  title  of  Messiah  in 
any  formal  way,  even  in  the  circle  of  the  Twelve,  though  He  had 
never  hesitated  to  accept  homage,  as  such,  when  it  was  offered. 
Once,  to  the  Samaritan  woman,  and  once,  by  silent  assent,  to  the 
Twelve,  He  had  assumed  the  awful  dignity,  and  the  whole  spirit  of 
His  teaching  and  life  implied  His  claim  to  it.  But,  even  to  the 
Twelve,  there  had  been  a  reticence  and  caution,  that  He  might  not 
anticipate  the  development  of  their  religious  nature,  and  disclose  a 
mystery  they  were,  as  yet,  unable  to  receive.  Before  the  people  at 
large  lie  had  never  assumed  the  Messiahship,  for,  with  their  gross 
political  ideas,  to  have  done  so  would  have  been  to  bring  Himself 
into  collision  with  the  State  at  once.  He  had  even,  as  far  as  possible, 
kept  His  supernatural  work  in  the  background,  shunning  publicity 
as  a  worker  of  miracles,  and  leaving  the  progress  of  His  kingdom 
rather  to  the  divine  beauty  of  His  teaching  and  life.  To  have  put 
Himself  forward,  from  the  first,  as  the  Messiah,  would  have  closed  at 
once  all  avenues  of  influence,  for  He  was  in  every  way  the  very  op- 
posite of  the  national  ideal.  They  expected  their  race  to  be  exalted 
to  supreme  honour  and  power.  He  sought  to  humble  them  to  the 
lowliest  contrition.     They  expected    that,  under  the  Messiah,  th» 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  549 

heathen  would  bow  before  Israel ;  He  proclaimed  that  the  heathen 
were  to  have  equal  rank  and  rights  with  "  the  people  of  God."  They 
expected  that  the  traditions  of  the  Rabbis,  with  their  infinite  observ- 
ances, were  to  he  made  the  law  for  all  countries  and  ages;  He  an- 
nounced their  utter  abrogation,  and  the  establishment  of  a  new  cove- 
nant of  filial  liberty  with  men  at  large,  in  place  of  the  old  covenant 
■  with  a  single  people.  They  expected  a  sudden  and  violent  political 
convulsion,  heralded  by  a  disturbance  of  the  order  of  nature  by  lui- 
precedented  signs  and  wonders  in  the  heavens,  and  on  earth,  and  of 
the  history  of  nations.  He  taught  that  the  Messianic  kingdom  would 
be  brought  about  only  by  the  silent  might  of  words,  and  of  thu 
Spirit  of  God,  renewing  all  natural  and  moral  relations  of  men,  but 
only  by  a  slow  and  AveU-nigh  imperceptible  advance.  Not  only  tha 
nation,  but  even  the  Twelve,  had  utterly  to  unlearn  the  fixed  ideas 
of  the  past,  before  a  spiritual  Messiahship  could  be  welcome  to  them. 
How  diflicult  that  was,  is  shown  by  the  request  of  Salome,  the 
mother  of  James  and  John,  after  the  disciples  had  formally  acknowl- 
edged their  Leader  as  the  Messiah,  that  her  two  sons  should  sit  in 
the  high  places  of  honour,  on  the  right  and  left  of  the  Messianic 
throne. 

In  the  conscious  divinity  of  His  nature,  Jesus  had  never  yet  asked 
the  Twelve  any  question  respecting  Himself,  but  it  was  necessary, 
now  that  the  end  was  approaching,  that  they  should  know  Him  in 
His  true  dignity.  He  must  reveal  Himself  definitely  as  the  Messiah, 
and  be  formally  accepted  as  such.  To  have  confined  Himself,  like 
John,  to  the  announcement  of  the  kingdom  of  God  as  at  hand,  would 
have  left  that  kingdom  incomplete,  and  have  created  expectations  of 
the  future  advent  Ox  some  other  as  its  Head.  Without  a  personal 
centre  round  which  to  gather,  the  work  of  His  life  would  have  faded 
away  with  His  deaf  h.  He  Himself,  in  the  deathless  beauty  of  His 
life,  and  the  infinite  attractiveness  of  His  self-sacrificing  death,  must 
necessarily  be  the  abiding  soul  of  the  new  Society  through  all  ages, 
for  its  fundamental  principle,  from  the  first,  had  been  personal  love 
towards  Him.  His  words,  His  whole  life,  His  voluntary  humiliation  ; 
the  transcendent  s(^lf-restraint  and  self-denial  which  had  used  u'.i- 
limited  supernatural  power  only  for  others;  and  had  submitted  to 
poverty,  obscurity,  and  opposition,  erelong  to  culminate  in  the  en- 
durance of  a  violent  death  i:or  the  good  of  mankind,  raised  Him  to 
a  divine  and  perfect  ideal  oi:  love  and  goodness,  which,  of  itself,  pro- 
claimed Him  the  Iving — th.it  is,  the  Messiah — in  the  new  kingdom 
He  had  founded.  "The  love  of  Christ"  was  to  be  the  watchword 
of  His  followers  in  all  ages:  the  sentiment  that  would  nerve  the-u 
to  endure  triumpbiantly  the  bitterest  persecutions,  and  even  death : 
that  would  constrain  them  to  life-long  devotion  to  Hia  cause;  in  obe- 
dience to  His  commands,  and  in  imitation  of  His  example.  The 
words  of  a  future  disciple,  tt.  Paul,  would  be  only  the  .utterance  of 
all  others  worthy  the  uame,  in  every  ago.     "  The  love  of  Chxist  con- 


»e  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

gfrraineth  us."  With  St.  John,  they  would  "love  Him  because  He 
first  loved  us."  He  had  founded  a  kingdom,  for  the  first  and  only 
time  in  history,  on  personal  love  to  the  founder,  and,  as  such,  He 
must  definitely  reveal  Himself  in  Yis  spiritual  relation  to  it  as,  hence- 
forth, its  recognized  Messiah-King. 

A  crisis  so  momentous  in  the  development  of  His  great  work  must 
have  profoundly  affected  a  nature,  sensitive  and  holy,  like  His.  His 
whole  life  was  an  unbroken  communion  with  His  Father  in  Heaven, 
but  there  were  moments  when  this  passion  of  the  soul  appeared  to 
grow  more  intense.  His  human  weakness,  though  unstamed  by  evil, 
iwas  fain  to  strengthen  itself  by  the  near  presence  of  His  Father 
above,  with  whom  every  beat  of  His  thoughts  moved  in  undisturbed 
and  awful  harmony.  In  all  His  temptations,  Ye  had  ever  betaken 
Himself  to  prayer,  and,  now,  when  Israel  had  rejected  Him,  and 
there  rose  before  Him  only  the  vision  of  the  Cross;  when  His  king- 
dom, more  clearly  than  ever,  was  to  go  forth  to  conquer  the  world 
only  from  the  gates  of  His  opened  grave ;  when  He  had,  therefore, 
while  yet  with  them,  ito  take  His  seat  among  those  in  whom  that 
kingdom  had  its  first  subjects, — as  its  Messiah-King — the  moment 
was  one  of  unspeakable  sublimity. 

He  had,  thus,  been  absorbed  in  thought  and  separated  in  fervent 
prayer,  as  they  passed  from  town  to  town  on  His  northward  journey, 
until  at  last  they  had  reached  the  neighbourhood  of  Caesarea  Philippi. 
There,  He  once  more  went  aside,  in  some  lonely  spot  among  the  rich 
wooded  valleys,  for  solitary  prayer.  Before  He  returned  to  the 
Twelve,  He  had  determined  to  delay  no  longer  a  full  self -revelation: 
to  throw  aside  the  veil,  and  openly  assume  the  Messiahship  which 
had  long  been  silently  ascribed  to  Him  in  Hi;3  little  circle,  and  aa 
silently  accepted,  without  a  formal  and  definite  iissumption. 

"■Whom  do  men  say  that  I,  the  Son  of  Man,  am?"  sutEced  to  in- 
troduce the  momentous  topic.  The  answer  showed  how  little  He 
had  been  understood,  and  how  utterly  the  fixed  national  idea  of  a 
Messiah  had  darkened  the  general  mind.  "  Some  say  with  Antipas, 
the  spirit  of  John  the  Baptist  has  entered  Thee,  and  that  Thou  work- 
est  through  it,  or  that  Thou  art  John  liimself,  riren  from  the  dead, 
and  appearing  under  another  name ;  son  le  that  Thou  art  Ellas,  who, 
like  Enoch,  has  never  died,  but  was  taken  up  bodily  to  heaven,  and 
has  now  returned  in  the  body  as  [RIalachi  predicted,  to  prepare  for  the 
Messiah;  some  that  Thou  art  Jeremiah,  come  to  reveal  the  Ark  and 
the  sacred  vessels  which  he  hid  in  Mou'it  Nebo,  and  thus  inaugurats 
the  approaching  reign  of  the  Messiah;  or  one  of  the  prophets,  sect 
from  the  other  world  by  God,  as  a  herald  of  the  Coming  One."  They 
could  not  add  that  any  regarded  Him  as  the  Messiah.  His  refusal  to 
appeal  to  force,  and  head  a  political  revolution,  had  caused  an  almost 
universal  repudiation  of  the  thought. 

Jesus  expressed  neither  sorrow  nor  displeasure  at  such  an  utter 
failuie  to  recognize  Him  ia  His  true  Character.    He  had  been  the 


THE  LI"FE  OF  CHRIST.  551 

ilubject  of  the  keenest  interest  and  discussion,  from  Ilis  felt  relation 
to  the  Expected  One,  and  this,  of  itself,  promised  a  rich  result,  when 
Jiis  followers,  after  His  departure,  directed  the  minds  of  m«n  to  a 
dearer  conception  of  the  Messianic  Kingdom.  He  Himself  knew 
v'hom  He  was,  and  was  unaffected  by  any  popular  judgment.  But 
I  'e  had  now  to  obtain  from  the  lips  of  the  Twelve  thernselves, — the 
s;  >ecial  witnesses  of  His  life  and  daily  words, — a  higher  confession, 
w  hich  He  knew  they  only  needed  a  question  from  Him  to  utter 

fUdly.  "But  whom  say  ye  that  I  am?"  Instantly  from  the  lips  of 
i  3ion  Peter,  the  impulsive ,  tender,  loving,  rock-like  disciple,  camo 
all  that  the  full  heart  of  his  Master  waited  to  hear.  "  Thou,  my  Mas- 
ter and  Lord,"  said  he,  doubtless  with  beaming  joy,  "Thou  art  the 
Christ — Antali  Meschicha — the  Son  of  the  living  God."  Thus,  in  the 
ou;  skirts  of  the  heathen  toAvn  dedicated  to  the  deilied  Augustus,  Jesus 
wa.'.  proclaimed,  with  no  preparatory  circumstance,  in  the  privacy  of 
a  s  iiall  circle  of  Galilaean  fishermen,  as  the  King  of  the  Universal 
Israel:  here,  a  fugitive  whose  only  earthly  crown  was  to  be  the  one 
of  thorns,  He  assumed  publicly  the  empire  of  all  the  world,  as  the 
Messdah  of  God. 

The  greatness  and  significance  of  this  confession  of  Peter's,  made 
in  the  name  of  tlie  Twelve,  cannot  be  exaggerated.  It  was  a  striking 
adva;ice  towards  realizing  the  great  truth  of  the  Incarnation,  and  the 
clear  intelligence  would  one  day  follow  the  open  and  ardent  utterance 
of  tliB  heart.  Hitherto  Jesus  had  revealed  Himself  chiefiy  as  the 
"  Son  of  Man,"  and  "the  Son  of  God;"  but  He  now  received  from 
those  who  had  been  constantly  with  Him,  as  a  faint  acknowledg 
ment  of  the  conviction  wrought  by  His  life,  and  words,  and  mighty 
works,  the  formal  inauguration  as  the  Messiah-King  of  a  spiritual  and 
deathless  empire.  Nathanael  had  anticipated  the  great  confession,  in- 
deed, at  the  opening  of  His  ministry,  and  the  disciples  had  recognized 
Him  as  the  Son  of  God,  on  that  wild  night  when  they  found  that  the 
form  walking  ou  the  waves  was  not  the  spirit  of  the  storm,  but  their 
loving  Master,  and  when  the  very  winds  and  waves  were  seen  to 
obey  Him.  But  the  time  was  not  then  ripe  for  His  definite  Installa- 
tion as  Messiah,  and  the  incidents  passed  off.  Simon,  also,  had  cheered 
His  troubled  soul,  when  the  great  secession  of  the  disciples  took  place 
at  Capernaum,  by  an  anticipation  of  His  confession  at  Caesarea 
Philippi,  but  He  had  waived  it,  as  it  were,  aside.  Now,  however.  He 
formally  accepted  what,  hitherto.  He  had  silently  allowed;  for  the 
hour  had  come. 

"Blessed  art  Thou,  Simon  Barjona,"  said  He;  "Flesh  and  blood 
hath  not  revealed  this  to  you,  for  you  have  not  learned  it  from  my 
lowly  outward  form,  and  it  has  come  to  you  from  no  human  teach- 
ing; My  Father  in  Heaven  has  thought  you  worthy  to  have  it  re- 
vealed to  you."  It  was,  indeed,  an  amazing  utterance.  The  Twelve 
had  been  the  daily  witnesses  of  the  human  simplicity  and  poverty  of 
liis  life,  His  honielessness,  His  weary  wanderings  aioot,  and  all  the 


553  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

circumstances  of  His  constant  humiliation ,  ■which  might  have  couo- 
terbalanced  the  great  memories  which  their  privileged  intimacy  h  id 
afforded,  and  obscured  their  spiritual  significance.  These  Lift 
months  had,  moreover,  surrounded  Him  with  all  the  depreciations  of 
a  fugitive  life.  Yet  they  had  broken  through  the  hereditary  national 
prejudice  of  their  race,  with  whom  tradition  and  absolute  ijniforn  ily 
in  religious  things  had  an  inconceivable  power, — they  had  disre- 
garded the  judgment  of  their  spiritual  rulers  and  leaders;  risen  al  ova 
the  utmost  ideas  of  those  around;  and  had  seen,  in  their  lowly  re- 
jected Master,  the  true  Lord  of  the  new  kingdom  of  God.  Nc  r  is 
the  fact  less  wonderful  that  the  life  and  words  of  Jesus,  seen  iLvtr, 
closely,  should  have  created  such  a  lofty  and  holy  conception  of  His 
spiritual  greatness,  amidst  all  the  counteractions  of  outward  fact  and 
daily  familiarity.  In  spite  of  all,  He  was  the  Malka  Meschicha--thG 
King-Messiah — to  those  who  had  known  Him  best. 

The  ardent,  immovable  devotion  of  Peter,  the  first  to  owm  his 
Master  as  Messiah,  as  he  had  been  first  in  all  other  utterances  of 
trust  and  reverence,  won  for  itself  an  illustrious  tribute  from  J  csus. 
The  weary,  sad  heart,  that  had  so  much  to  grieve  it,  had  been  tilled 
for  the  time  with  a  pure  and  kingly  joy  at  the  proof  thus  given.,  that, 
at  last,  a  true  and  solid  beginning  had  been  made.  He  had,  doubt 
less,  long  yearned  for  a  time  when  the  Twelve  would  be  ad^■anced 
enough  in  spiritual  things  to  let  Him  disclose  His  utmost  thoughts 
and  ultimate  designs,  and  this  time  had  now  come.  He  had  never 
yet  spoken  of  the  future  government  or  organization  of  the  New 
Kingdom,  as  a  visible  communion,  and  did  not  propose  to  lay  down 
any  detailed  laws  even  now.  He  hastened  to  tell  Peter,  however, 
that  this  society, — His  Church  or  congregation,  "called  out"  from 
the  world  at  large,  would  be  entrusted,  ^'ter  His  decease,  to  him.  As 
buildings  in  the  country  around  were  founded  on  a  rock,  that  the 
floods  and  storms  might  not  overthrow  them,  so  it  would  he  raised 
on  the  rock-like  fidelity  shown  by  him  in  his  great  confession;. 

Turning  to  him,  He  continued,  "I  have  something  to  say  chat  con- 
cerns thee.  Thou  art  to  me,  as  when  I  first  saw  you, — Petros; — tl;e 
the  rock  (petra)  which  I  will  make  the  foundation  stone,  when  my 
Church,  in  which  ray  followers  will  be  enrolled,  is  to  be  built.  In  its 
building  you  will  do  me  the  greatest  service,  like  the  stone  on  which 
all  others  rest,  itself  resting  on  the  firm  rock  beneath — which  is  ]\ly- 
self.  On  you  and  such  rock-like  souls,  it  will  rise,  but  on  you  first; 
and  the  gates  of  death  will  be  powerless  against  it,  for  it  shall  outlive 
the  grave  and  reach  on  into  eternity.  Uuopening  though  the  gates 
of  the  grave  be,  they  shall  open  wide  to  let  forth  my  followers  to  the 
resurrection  of  the  just,  nor  shall  the  powers  of  evil  be  able  to  over- 
turn the  new  society  thus  gathered.  I  have  called  you  the  rock  on 
which  I  shall  raise  my  Church — I  call  you  also  the  steward,  to  whom 
the  charge  of  it  is  entrusted.  As  such  I  shall  give  you,  after  my 
ascent    to    heaven,  tlie  keys  of   it,  to   admit    such  as  you  think 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  553 

TTortliy,  both  Jews  and  heathen,  and  to  shut  out  those  whom  you 
think  unfit.  I  commit  to  you,  moreover,  the  government  and  disci- 
phne  of  its  membership:  whatever  you  forbid  as  unbecoming  my 
kingdom,  or  as  untitling  for  membership  in  it,  shall  be  as  if  forbidden 
by  me,  myself,  in  heaven;  and  whatever  you  permit,  as  not  contrary  to 
its  welfare,  or  not  excluding  from  it,  shall  be  as  if  I,  myself,  per- 
inittfd  it,  from  above.  It  will  be  left  to  your  decision,  which  will  be 
recognized  before  God,  what  may  be  forbidden,  as  a  hindrance  to 
entry  into  my  Church  on  earth,  or  unworthy  of  it;  and  what  maybe 
permitted,  as  not  barring  from  its  membership."  How  Peter  exer- 
cised this  honour  in  the  Apostolic  Church  was  hereafter  to  be  seen, 
when  he  rose  as  spokesman  of  the  eleven  in  the  election  of  a  twelfth: 
when  he  spoke  for  them  on  the  Day  of  Pentecost,  before  the  multi- 
tude, and  by  his  constant  mention  as  chief  and  foremost  of  the  Apos- 
tles. Jesus  was  almost  immediately  to  extend  the  same  dignity  and 
authority  to  the  whole  of  the  twelve,  but  Peter  had  just  precedence 
in  recognition  of  his  worth  and  character.  The  figments  of  Roman 
creation,  by  which,  from  this  tribute  to  his  love  and  enthusiasm,  a 
vast  structure  of  priestly  arrogance  and  usurpation  has  been  raised, 
need  no  notice  in  this  place. 

The  New  Society  was  at  last  formally  constituted,  and  provision 
made  for  its  government  and  continuance  after  its  founder's  death. 
Henceforth,  lie  moved  in  the  circle  of  the  Twelve  as  the  recognized 
Messiah  of  whom  they  were  the  future  designated  heralds. 

But  the  approaching  end  of  the  great  drama  could  not  be  left  un- 
told. Jerusalem  was  the  one  spot  in  which  alone  the  work  of  Jesus 
could  be  completed.  Galilee  had  been  only  the  place  of  preparation. 
The  Temple  and  its  ministering  priests,  the  Rabbis  and  the  schools, 
were  in  the  Holy  City.  David  had  reigned  there,  and  there  must  the 
Messiah  be  declared,  to  vindicate  the  honour  of  God,  and  proclaim 
the  new  spiritual  theocracy  in  the  centre  of  tlie  religious  world.  His 
work  in  Galilee  was  virtually  over,  for  though  not  finished,  it  was 
hopelessly  paralyzed  and  checked.  He  might  return,  but  it  would 
avail  nothing  against  the  conspiracy  that  everywhere  faced  Him.  But 
in  Jerusalem  His  work  was  both  to  begin  and  to  complete.  He  must 
go  to  the  Capital,  for  Galilee  was  in  great  measure  closed  against  Him. 
He  had  assumed  the  ]\Iessiahship,  and  He  must  needs  proclaim  it 
openly  before  His  enemies  in  their  stronghold.  He  knew  that  only 
death  awaited  Him,  but  that  death  had  been  foreseen  in  the  eternal 
counsels  of  God  as  the  mysterious  atonement  for  the  sins  of  the 
world. 

It  would  have  been  premature  to  have  spread  abroad  the  momen- 
tous incident  of  the  ascription  and  formal  acceptance  of  the  title  of 
Messiah.  The  Twelve  nuist  needs  know  the  great  truth,  but  the 
multitude  must,  for  a  time,  be  left  to  their  own  fancies.  He  was  to 
be  preached  as  a  crucified  and  risen  Saviour,  not  as  a  Jewish  Messiah, 
aud  this  could  not  be  till  the  end  had  come.     Nor  did  the  Twelve  as 


554  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

yet  understand  the  divine  plan  of  salvation  clearly  enough,  and  tho 
Jews,  moreover,  might  have  taken  advantage  of  the  preaching  for 
seditious  movements.  So  imperative  was  temporary  secrecy,  indeed, 
that  He  gave  the  strictest  injunctions  that  no  man  should  be  told  wliat 
had  happened. 

The  idea  of  a  suffering  Messiah  was,  however,  so  wholly  foreign 
to  all  prevailing  conceptions,  that  it  was  indispensable  tliat  the  catas- 
trophe at  Jerusalem,  foreseen  by  Jesus  from  the  first,  but  now  near 
at  hand,  should  be  made  familiar  to  the  Twelve,  as  part  of  the  all- 
wise  purpose  of  God  in  the  development  of  the  new  spiritual  kingdom. 
It  has  been  a  disputed  point  whether  any  of  the  Rabbis  of  Christ's 
day  had  thought  of  the  Messiah  as  destined  to  suffer  and  die.  Be- 
3"ond  question  some  had  applied  to  Him  the  passages  of  Isaiah,  which 
speak  of  the  servant  of  God  as  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  but  it 
is  equally  certain  that  the  idea  had  not  only  found  nogeneral  accept- 
ance, but  was  entirely  opposed  to  the  feeling  of  the  nation.  From 
this  time,  therefore,  Jesus  began  sj^stematically  to  prepare  the  Twelve 
for  His  approaching  violent  death,  returning  to  the  sad  topic  at  every 
opportunity;  that  a  truth,  so  disagreeable  and  so  contrary  to  theii 
lifelong  ideas,  might  gradually  become  familiar  to  them;  and  that 
they  might  come  to  feel  that  it  was  in  accordance  with  the  divine 
plan  of  His  kingdom.  He  had  spoken  of  it  before,  but  now  threw 
aside  all  vagueness,  and  impressecl  it  on  them  with  the  utmost  dis- 
tinctness; doubtless,  explaining  from  their  own  Scriptures,  as  He  did 
afterwards  to  the  disciples  at  Emmaus,  how  "it  was  necessary  that 
Chri.st  should  suffer  these  things,  and  then  enter  into  His  glory."  To 
revolutionize  fixed  belief  is  never  easy,  for  the  will  has  to  be  per- 
suaded as  well  as  the  understanding.  Hitherto,  their  minds  had  not 
been  prepared  for  such  a  shock,  and  even  yet,  as  we  shall  often  see, 
they  were  very  slow  to  give  up  their  preconceptions,  and  realize  what 
seemed  so  contradictory. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  to  mistake  the  warnings  of  their 
Master,  however  hard  it  might  be  to  reconcile  them  with  their  own 
ideas.  "He  must  go  to  Jerusalem, "  He  said,  "and  suffer  manythings 
of  the  elders,  and  chief  priests,  and  scribes,  and  be  killed,  and  after 
three  days,  rise  again. "  But  so  far  were  the  Twelve  from  compre- 
hending such  an  announcement,  that  Peter,  too  impulsive  to  wait  for  an 
opportunity  of  telling  how  much  it  distressed  him,  could  not  restrain 
his  feelings.  True  to  his  character,  he  forthwith  took  Him  by  the  hand, 
and  led  Him  aside,  to  remonstrate  with  Him,  and  dissuade  Him  from 
a  journey  which  would  have  such  results.  "  God  keep  this  evil  far 
from  Thee,  my  Lord  and  Master,"  said  he.  "  You  must  not  let  such 
things  happen.  They  will  utterly  ruin  the  prospects  of  your  kingdom, 
for  they  match  ill  with  the  dignity  of  the  Messiah.  Ii  there  be  any 
danger  such  as  you  fear,  why  not  use  j^our  supernatural  power  to 
preserve  yourself  and  us.  It  is  not  to  be  endured  that  you  should 
suffer  such  indignities. "   It  was  the  very  same  temptation  as  the  arch 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  555 

enemy  ■had  set  before  Him  in  the  wilderness:  to  employ  His  divine 
power  for  His  own  advantage,  instead  of  using  it,  with  absolute  self- 
surrcndar,  only  to  carry  out  the  will  of  His  Father.  But,  as  ever 
bcforj,  it  was  instantly  repelled.  His  quick,  stern  answer  must  have 
made  Peter  recoil  afraid.  "Get  thee  behind  me,"  said  He,  "out  of 
my  siojht,  thou  tempter;  thou  art  laying  a  snare  for  me;  thy  words 
shew  that  in  these  things  thou  enterest  not  into  tlie  thoughts  and  plans 
of  God.  but  considerest  all  things  only  from  the  ideas  of  men,  with 
tlieir  dreams  of  ambition  and  human  advantage."  Peter  still  fancied 
that  Jesus  would  lie  an  earthly  monarch,  audi  that  the  proper  course 
to  take,  under  the  circumstances,  was  to  oppose  force  with  force.  He 
bad  yet  (o  learn  that  the  kingdom  of  his  Master  was  to  be  established 
by  suffering  and  self-denial. 

It  was  a  moment  unspeakably  solemn.  Even  the  few  faithful  ones, 
and  their  very  Corypbajus, — their  leader  and  mouthpiece — while  hail- 
ing .lesus  as  the  Mess-iah,  clung  to  the  old  national  ideas,  and  could 
not  reconcile  them  with  His  suffering  and  dying.  He  had  rebuked 
the  temptation  which  appealed  to  Him  as  a  man,  so  strongly,  to  take 
the  ease  and  glory  which  invited  Him,  and  to  abandon  the  path  of 
sorrow  and  lowliness,  which  might  be  the  spiritual  life  of  the  world, 
but  was  His  own  humiliation  and  martyrdom.  It  had  been  driven 
away  from  His  stainless  soul,  like  darkness  from  the  sun,  but  its 
power  in  the  minds  even  of  the  Twelve,  was  only  too  clear.  The 
truth,  in  all  its  repugnancy,  must  be  forced  on  them  more  clearly  than 
ever,  that  they  might  no  longer  continue  with  Him  if  it  offended  them; 
for  He  would  receive  none  as  His  disciples  who  did  not  cheerfully 
embrace  a  life  of  self-denial  and  absolute  devotion,  even  to  the  sacri- 
fice of  life,  for  His  sake;  with  no  prospect  whatever  of  earthly  re- 
ward. Nor  would  He  even  accept  any  one  willing,  from  a  mercenary 
spirit,  to  suffer  here  that  He  might  receive  a  reward  hereafter;  for 
thougli  such  a  reward  w\as  promised  to  those  who  were  faithful  to  the 
end,  absolute  sincerity  was  required  in  His  service.  It  must  be  the 
grateful,  spontaneous  expression  of  true  love  and  devotion. 

Even  in  such  an  outlying  district  as  that  of  Cssarea  Philippi, 
numbers  of  the  population — ^for  there  were  many  Jews  in  the  region 
— had  gathered  to  hear  and  see  Him  and  were  near  at  hand  at  the 
moment.  The  test  required  of  tbe  Twelve  was  no  less  imperative  for 
these:  the  "floor"  mu.st  be  thoroughly  "fanned  and  cleansed"  from 
all  self-deception  or  designed  hypocrisy. 

Without  giving  Peter  time,  therefore,  to  excuse  bimself ,  and  leaving 
bim  to  the  shame  of  his  reproof,  Jesus  called  the  people  and  the 
Twelve  round  Him,  and  continued  the  subject  on  which  He  had  be. 
gun  to  speak. 

"I  must  needs  suffer,"  said  He,  "before  I  enter  into  my  glory,  but 
so  must  all  who  would  be  my  followers.  If  any  man  propose  to  be 
my  disciple,  he  must  literally  follow  me  in  my  path  of  humiliation 
and  sorrow .     Whatever  w  oiild  hinder  absolute  devotion  siid  self -sac- 


558  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

rifice  must  be  given  up.  He  must  make  Me  his  one  aim.  All  fliat 
Etands  in  the  way  of  undivided  lo.valty  to  Me — the  love  of  ease,  of 
pleasure,  and  even  of  life— must  be  surrendered.  The  hopes  and 
prospects  which  engage  other  men  must  be  abandoned,  and  in  their 
etead  he  must  daily  take  up  the  sufferings  and  self-denials  which 
come  on  him  for  my  sake,  and  bear  them  as  a  man  condemned  to 
death  bears  the  cross  on  which  he  is  to  die.  I  have  set,  and  shall  set 
him  the  example  I  require  him  to  follow.  Any  one  who  thinks  he 
can  be  my  disciple,  and  enter  into  my  kingdom  hereafter,  and  yet 
bear  himself  so  in  this  evil  time  as  to  escape  suffering  and  enjoy  fife 
and  its  comforts,  deceives  himself.  If  he  seek  this  life  by  denying 
my  name,  as  he  must  needs  do  in  this  age  to  escape  persecution,  he 
will  lose  life  eternal.  But  he  who  is  willing,  for  my  sake,  to  sacrifice 
his  natural  desire  for  pleasure  and  ease,  and  even  to  give  up  life  itself, 
if  required,  for  my  name,  will  receive  everlasting  life  when  I  come  in 
my  kingdom.  Hard  though  this  seem,  it  is  the  wisest  and  best  thing 
you  can  do  to  comply  heartily  with  it.  What  has  a  man  in  the  end 
if,  by  denying  me  for  his  worldly  interests,  he  gain  even  the  whole 
world,  and  lose  that  life  which  alone  is  worthy  the  name?  Unpre- 
pared for  the  eternal  life  of  my  kingdom,  and  without  a  share  in  it; 
with  his  breath  he  loses  not  only  all  that  he  has,  but  himself  as  well. 
What  gain  here  will  re]my  him  for  the  loss  of  the  life  hereafter? 

"  I  say  this  on  good  grounds,  and  with  absolute  truth.  For, 
though  now  oijjy  a  man  like  yourselves,  I  shall  one  day  return  in  a 
very  different  form,  with  the  majesty  of  my  Father  in  "heaven,  and 
accompanied  by  legions  of  angels,  to  recompense  every  one  accord- 
ing to  his  works.  In  that  day  each  true  disciple  will  be  rewarded 
according  to  his  loving  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  for  my  sake,  and 
will  be  received  by  me,  as  the  Messiah,  into  my  kingdom.  But  I 
shall  be  ashamed  of  any  one,  and  count  him  unfit  to  enter  that  king- 
dom, who  for  love  of  life  and  ease,  or  for  fear  of  man,  or  from  shame 
of  my  ]iresent  lowly  estate,  or  of  my  cross,  has  wanted  courage  and 
heart  to  confess  me  openly,  and  separate  himself,  in  my  name,  from 
this  sinful  generation.  It  may  be  hard  for  you  to  think,  as  you  see 
me  standing  here  before  you,  that  I  shall  one  day  come  in  heavenly 
majesty;  but  that  you  may  know  how  surely  it  will  be  so,  I  shall 
grant  to  some  of  you,  now  present,  a  glimpse  of  this  majesty,  not 
after  my  death,  but  while  I  am  still  with  you,  that  they  may  see  me, 
the  Son  of  Man,  in  the  glory  in  which  I  will  come  when  I  return  to 
anter  on  my  kingdom," 


CHAPTER   XLVIL 

THE     TRANSFIGURATION. 

Jestts  had  now  utterly  broken  with  the  past.  Hitherto  He  had 
been  slowly  educating  the  Twelve  to  right  conceptions  of  Himself 
and  His  gi-eat  work,  and  in  doing  so  had  had  to  oppose  their  stub- 
born prejudice,  enlighten  their  ignorance,  illustrate  His  meaning  by 
significant  acts,  resist  the  sophistry  and  superficial  literalism  of  the 
Rabbis,  and  lead  the  way  to  a  higher  spiritual  ideal  and  life  by  His 
own  daily  example  and  words.  They  had  now  been  in  His  society, 
however,  for  over  two  years,  and,  at  last,  had  risen  to  a  more  just 
estimate  of  His  dignity  and  of  the  nature  of  His  work.  He  was 
henceforth  free  from  the  anxiety  which  had  been  inevitable  so  lono- 
as  nothing  had  been  definitely  accomplished  towards  the  perpetuity 
of  His  kingdom;  for  the  confession  of  Peter,  in  the  name  of  liis 
brethren,  was  the  assurance  that  that  kingdom  would  outlive  His 
own  death,  and  spread  ever  more  widely  through  an  unendin"- 
future.  The  joy  of  victory  filled  His  soul,  though  the  cross  lay  in 
the  immediate  future.  Henceforth  He  bore  Himself  as  soon  to  leave 
the  circle  with  whom  He  had  dwelt  so  long;  now,  preparing  them  for 
His  humiliation  by  showing  its  divine  necessity;  now,  uttering  His 
deepest  thoughts  on  the  things  of  His  kingdom";  now,  kindling  their 
hearts  by  visions  of  the  joy  that  would  spread  over  all  nations 
through  the  Gospel  they  were  to  preach.  The  future  alone  filled  His 
heart  and  mind. 

His  gladness  of  soul  at  Peter's  confession  had,  like  all  human  rap- 
tures, been  tempered  by  shadow.  He  had  read  the  hearts  of  the 
Twelve,  and  saw  that,  though  they  had  approached  the  truth  in  their 
conception  of  the  Messiah,  they  were  still  Jews,  in  linking  with  it 
the  expectation  of  an  eartlily  political  kingdom,  with  its  ambitions 
and  human  satisfactions.  They  had  risen  above  the  difficulties  that 
blinded  the  nation;— the  thought  of  Nazareth — Galilee— human  re- 
lationship—lowly position — human  wants— rejection  by  the  Rabbis 
—familiar  intercourse  with  the  "  unclean"  multitude,  and  much  be- 
side, that  had  been  a  stumbling-block  to  others;  but  it  was  hard  for 
them,  in  the  presence  of  one  who,  to  outward  appearance,  was  a  man 
like  themselves,  to  realize  that  He  was  the  only-begotten  Son  of  God, 
and,  like  His  Father,  divine. 

The  announcement  that  He  was  to  enter  into  His  glory  as  Messiah, 
by  suffering  shame  and  death,  not  only  shocked  airtheir  preconcep- 
tions; they  could  not  understand  it.  and  were  sorely  discouraged. 
They  needed  to  be  cheered  in  their  despondency,  and  led  gradually 
to  accept  the  disclosure  of  His  approaching  humiliation.  His  pronv 
iiw  that  som«  of  them,  before  their  d«ath,  should  see  His  kingdom 


558  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

come  with  power,  was  doubtless  treasured  in  their  hearts ;  but  they 
little  thought  its  fultilment  was  so  near. 

Six  days  passed;  or  eight,  including  the  first  and  last  days  full, 
doubtless,  of  sad  and  giave,  as  well  as  joyous,  thoughts:  sad  that 
their  Master  spoke  of  suffering  violence,  and  death:  grave  that  He 
should  not  only  have  dashed  all  their  hopes  of  a  national  regenera- 
tion, but  should  have  painted  their  own  future  in  colours  so  sombre; 
yet  joyous,  amidst  all,  in  vague  anticipations  of  the  predicted  spirit- 
ual glory  of  the  New  Kingdom,  of  which  they  were  to  be  heralds. 
Little  by  little  they  would  be  sure  to  catch  more  of  His  spirit,  from 
daily  intercourse  with  Him,  and  learn  imperceptilily  how  the  purest 
joy  and  the  noblest  glory  come  from  self-sacrificing  love;  how,  in 
the  highest  sense,  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive.  Wc  are 
told  nothing  of  this  sacred  interval,  but  may  well  conjecture  how  it 
passed. 

The  scene  of  the  Transfiguration,  like  that  of  nearlj^  all  other  inci- 
dents in  the  life  of  our  Lord,  is  not  minutely  stated.  St.  Luke, 
indeed,  calls  it  "The  Mountain,"  hut  gives  it  no  closer  name.  It 
seems,  however,  certain,  that  the  tradition  which  from  the  days  of 
St.  Jerome  has  pointed  to  Mount  Tabor  as  the  locality,  is  incorrect. 
The  summit  of  that  hill — an  irregular  platform,  embracing  a  circuit 
of  half  an  hours  walk,  was  apparently  from  the  earliest  ages  fortified, 
and  Josepluis  mentions,  about  a.d.  GO,  that  he  strengthened  the  de- 
fences of  a  city  built  on  it.  Picturesque,  therefore,  though  the  hill 
looks,  as  the  traveller  approaches  it  over  the  wide  Plain  of  Esdraelon, 
it  could  not  have  been  the  spot  Avhere  Jesus  revealed  His  glory,  for  it 
could  not  offer  the  seclusion  and  isolation  indicated  in  the  gospels. 
Nor  is  there  any  reason  to  think  that  the  Twelve  and  their  Master 
had  left  the  neighbourhood  of  Ca^sarea  Philippi,  for  St.  Mark  ex- 
pressly mentions,  that  they  did  not  start  for  Galilee  till  at  least  the 
day  after. 

It  was,  doubtless,  therefore,  on  one  of  the  spurs  of  Hermon,  "the 
lofty  mountain,"  near  which  He  then  found  Himself,  that  the 
Transfiguration  took  place.  Brought  up  among  the  hills,  such  a 
region;  with  distant  summits,  white  in  spots  with  snow,  even  in 
summer;  its  pure  air;  and  the  solitude  of  woody  slopes  and  shady 
valleys,  must  have  breathed  an  ethereal  calm  and  deep  peaceful  joy, 
seldom  felt  amidst  the  abodes  of  men,  on  the  wearied  and  troubled 
spirit  of  our  Lord. 

Taking  the  three  of  His  little  band  most  closely  in  sympathy  with 
Him,  and  most  able  to  receive  the  disclosures  that  might  be  made  to 
them,  He  ascended  into  the  hills  towards  evening,  for  silent  prayer. 
The  favoured  friends  were  Peter — the  rock-like — His  host  at  C'aper- 
naum  from  the  first;  and  the  two  Sons  of  Thunder,  John  and  James; 
loved  disciples  both,  but  John,  the  younger,  nearest  his  Master's 
heart  of  all  the  Twelve,  as  most  hke  Himself  in  spirit.  They  had 
been  singled  out,  already,  for  similar  especial  honour,  for  they  oiiiy 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  559 

had  entered  the  death -chamber  in  the  house  of  Jairus,  and  they  were, 
hereafter,  to  be  the  only  witnesses  of  the  awful  sorrow  of  Geth- 
semano. 

Eveuins;  fell  while  Jesus  poured  out  His  soul  ia  high  communion 
wltli  His  Father,  and  the  three,  liaving  finished  their  nightly  devo- 
tions, had  wrapped  themselves  in  their  abbas  and  lain  do'.vn  on  the  j 
grass,  to  sleep  till  called.  Meanwhile  their  Master  continued  in  / 
prayer.  His  whole  soul  filled  with  the  crisis  so  fast  approaching.  He 
had  taken  the  three  with  Him,  to  overcome  their  dread  of  His  death 
and  repugnance  to  the  thought  of  it,  as  unbefitting  the  Messiah;  to 
strengthen  them  to  bear  the  sight  of  His  humiliation  hereafter;  and 
to  give  them  an  earnest  of  the  glory  into  which  He  would  enter  when 
He  left  them,  and  thus  teach  them  that,  though  unseen.  He  was, 
more  than  ever,  mighty  to  help.  He  was  about  to  receive  a  solemn 
consecration  for  the  cross,  but,  with  it,  a  strong  supp<^)rt  to  His  soul 
in  the  prospect  of  such  a  death.  He  was  a  man  like  ourselves,  and 
His  nature,  now  in  its  high  prime,  and  delighting  in  life,  must  have 
shrunk  from  the  thought  of  dying.  The  prolonged  ar^^ony  and  shame 
of  a  death  so  painful  and  ignominious,  must  have  clouded  His  spirit 
at  times;  but,  above  all,  who  can  conceive  the  moral  suffering  that 
must  have  lain  in  the  thought  that,  though  the  Holj  One,  He  was  to 
be  made  an  offering  for  sin;  that,  though  filled  with  unutterable  lovo 
to  His  people.  He  was  to  die  at  their  hands  as  tl.eir  enemy;  that, 
though  innocent  and  stainless.  He  was  to  suffer  as  a  criminal;  that, 
though  the  beloved  Son  of  God,  He  was  to  be  condemned  as  a  blas- 
phemer? As  He  continued  praying.  His  soul  ros'^  above  all  earthly 
sorrows.  Drawn  forth  by  the  nearness  of  His  Hf  avenly  Father,  the 
divinity  within  shone  through  the  veiling  flesli  till  His  raiment 
kindled  to  the  dazzling  brightness  Of  light,  or  of  the  glittering  snow 
on  the  peaks  above  Him,  and  His  face  glowed  wit  h  a  sunlike  majesty. 
Amidst  such  an  effulgence  it  was  impossible  the  three  could  sleep. 
Roused  by  the  splendour,  they  gazed,  awe-struck,  at  the  wonder, 
when  ]o!  two  human  forms,  in  glory  like  that  ol  the  angels,  stood  by 
His  side — Moses  and  Elijah — the  founder,  ami  the  great  defender 
of  the  Old  Dispensation,  which  He  had  come  at  once  to  supersede 
and  to  fulfil.  Their  presence  from  the  upper  world  was  a  symbol 
that  the  Law  and  the  Prophets  henceforth  g  ive  place  to  a  higher 
Di.spensation ;  but  they  had  also  another  missi  m.  They  had  passed 
through  death,  or  at  least,  from  life,  and  kne  \v  the  tri\uni)h  that  lay 
beyond  mortality  to  the  faithful  servants  of  Grod.  Who  could  speak 
to  Him  as  they  of  His  decea.se,  which  He  si  lould  accomplish  at  Je- 
rusalem, and  temper  the  gloom  of  its  anticij  lation?  Their  presence 
spoke  of  the  grave  conquered,  and  of  the  ele  rnal  glory  beyond.  The 
empty  tomb  under  Mount  Abarim,  and  tb  e  horses  and  chariot  of 
Elijah,  dispelled  all  fears  of  the  future,  and  in.stantly  banished  all 
human  weakness.  That  His  Eternal  Father  should  have  honoured 
and  cheered  Him  by  such  an  embassy  at  su/  -h  a  time,  girt,  His  soul  to 


S60  THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  joyful  acceptance  of  the  awful  task  of  redemption.     Human 

agitation  and  spiritual  conflict  passed  away,  to  return  no  more  in 

their  bitterness  till  the  night  before  Calvary.     His  wliole  nature  rose 

,   to  the  height  of  His  great  enterprise.     Henceforth  His  one  thought 

■    was  to  finish  the  work  His  Father  had  given  Him  to  do. 

Meanwhile,  the  three  Apostles,  dazzled,  confused,  and  lost  in  won- 
der, gazed  silently  on  the  amazing  sight,  and  listened.     But  it  is  not 
given  to  earth  to  have  more  than  brief  glimpses  of  heaven.     Moses 
and  Elijah  had  erelong  linished  their  mission,  and  were  about  to  re- 
turn to  the  presence  of  God.     Could  they  not  be  induced  to  stay 
awhile?    Peter,  ever  first  to  speak,  and  hardly  knowing,  in  his  con- 
fusion, what  he  said,  would  at  least  try  to  prolong  such  an  interview. 
"Master,"  said  he,  to  amplify  his  words,  "it  is  good  for  us  to  be 
here;  let  us  gather  some  branches  from  the  slopes  around,  and  put  up 
three  booths,  like  those  of  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles ;  one  for  Thee, 
one  for  Moses,  and  one  for  Elijah."     The  cares  and  troubles  of  his 
w^andering  life,  and  all  his  gloomy  forebodings  for  his  Master  and 
himself,  had  faded  away  before  such  brightness  and  joy,  and,  in  his 
fond  child-like  simplicity,  he  dreamed  of  lengthening  out  the  delight. 
The  Almighty  had  come  down  of  old,  to  Mount  Sinai,  in  blackness, 
and  darkness,  and  tempest;  but  now,  a  bright  cloud  descended  from  the 
clear  sky,  like  that  from  which  He  had  of  old  spoken  to  Moses  at  the 
door  of  the  Tabernacle,  and  overshadowed  Jesus  and  the  two  heavenly 
visitors,  filling  the  three  Apostles  with  fear,  as  they  saw  it  spread  round 
and  over  their  Master,  and  those  with  Him.     It  was  the  symbol  of 
the  presence  of  God,  for  He,  also,  had  drawn  nigh  to  bear  witness  to 
His  Eternal  Son.     It  was  not  enough  that  Moses  and  Elijah  had  hon- 
oured Him^ — a  voice  from  the  midst  of  the  cloud  added  a  still  higher 
testimony — "This  is  my  beloved  Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased; 
hear  ye  Him."     Sucb  a  confirmation  of  the  great  confession  of  Peter 
was  never  to  be  forgotten.     Almost  a  generation  later,  when  he  wrote 
his  second  Epistle,  the  remembrance  of  this  night  was  as  vivid  as 
ever.     ' '  We  were  eye-witnesses, "  says  he,  ' '  of  His  Majesty.     For  He 
received  from  God  the  Father  honour  and  glory,  when  there  came 
such  a  voice  to  Him  from  the  excellent  glory,  'This  is  my  beloved 
Son,  in  whom  I  am  well  pleased;  hear  ye  Him.'    And  this  voice 
■which  came  from  heave  a,  we  heard,  when  we  were  with  Him  in  the 
holy  mount."     The  brightness  of  a  vision  so  amazing  lingered  in  the 
memory  of  those  who  be  held  it  to  the  latest  day  of  their  hves. 

Sore  afraid,  the  three  fi^U  on  their  faces,  for  who  could  stand  before 
God?  But  the  Voice  had'  come  and  gone,  and,  with  it,  the  Cleud  and 
the  visitors  from  the  eten  lal  world ;  and  Jesus  was  once  more  alone. 
Calming  their  fears  by  a  gentle  touch,  He  bade  them  "arise  and  not 
be  afraid,"  and  they  fouc  d  themselves  once  more  alone,  Master  and 
followers,  Avith  the  stars  over  them,  and  the  silent  hills  around.  The 
divine  glory  had  faded  fi  om  His  countenance,  and  His  robes  were 
once  more  like  their  own,  b  ut  they  could  never  forget  in  what  Majesty 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  561 

they  had  seen.  Him;  never  forget,  in  His  humiliation,  that  they  had 
heard  Him  called  "the  beloved  Son,"  by  the  lips  of  the  Eternal  Him- 
self; nor  could  they  ever  hesitate  whom  to  obey  when  they  had  seen 
Moses  and  Elins — representatives  of  the  Law  and  the  Prophets — with- 
draw before  Him,  and  had  heard  Him  proclaimed  from  the  Cloud  of 
the  Presence  f,s  far  higher  than  tliey.  God  Himself  had  said,  in  ex- 
press words,  or  in  effect,  "He  who  is  now  with  you  alone,  whose 
heavenly  dignity  you  have  seen.  He  whom  you  daily  see  in  His  wont- 
ed lowliness,  is  the  same,  even  in  this  humiliation,  as  when  in  the 
bosom  of  th(t  Father — 'My  Son,  who  pleases  me  always.'  Hence- 
forth receive  the  Law  from  His  lips  alone;  henceforth,  let  all  men 
hear  Him  only;  He  is  the  Living  Voice  of  the  unseen  God." 

It  was  now  morning,  and  the  nine  were  awaiting  the  return  of  theii 
Master  and  His  friends.  What  the  conversation  was  between  Jesus 
and  the  three;,  as  they  descended  from  the  mountain,  is  not  told  us. 
There  was,  once  more,  freedom  to  speak,  though,  doubtless,  they  did 
so  with  a,  strange  reverence,  hardly  venturing  to  talk  of  what  they 
had  seen  and  heard.  Nor  could  they  relieve  their  minds  by  telling 
the  wonders  of  the  night  to  the  others  of  the  Twelve,  for  even  the}'' 
were  so  little  prepared  for  such  disclosures,  that  Jesus  commanded 
that  the  vkion  should  be  told  "to  no  man,  till  the  Son  of  Man  be 
risen  from  Uie  dead." 

It  illustrates  the  difficulty  Jesus  had  to  overcome,  before  new  re- 
ligious ideas  could  be  familiarized  to  the  minds  even  of  those  under 
His  continuous  teaching,  that,  though  the  three  had  often  heard  of 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead  directly  or  indirectly  from  Jesus  Him- 
self, they  were  at  a  loss  to  know  what  the  words  meant,  as  He  now 
used  them,  and  disputed  among  themselves  about  them.  He  had 
told  the  Jews  that  if  they  destroyed  the  Temple  of  His  body,  He 
should  raise  it  again  the  third  day ;  and  only  a  week  before  the  Trans- 
figuration, oil  the  day  of  Peter's  memorable  utterance,  He  had  used 
almost  the  \ery  words  which  perplexed  them  now.  But  though 
thrice  repeat<3d,  they  were  still  dark  and  mysterious. 

The  resurrection  from  the  dead  was,  indeed,  an  article  of  the  cur- 
rent Jewish  ( heology,  but  it  was  so  taught  by  the  Rabbis,  that  the 
three  found  it  hard  to  reconcile  their  previous  ideas  with  the  lan- 
guage of  Jesus.  They  had  heard  from  some  of  the  preachers  in  the 
synagogues,  that  Israel  alone  would  rise;  from  others,  that  the  resur- 
rection would  include  godly  heathen  also,  who  had  kept  tliL'  seven 
commands  given  to  the  sons  of  Noah;  from  some,  that  all  the  iicatlicn 
outside  the  holy  land  would  be  raised,  but  only  to  shame  aud  ever- 
lasting contempt  before  Israel;  while  still  others  maintaired,  that 
neither  the  Samaritans,  nor  the  great  mass  of  their  own  nation,  who 
did  not  observe  the  precepts  of  the  Rabbis,  would  have  part  in  the 
resurrection.  But  if  there  was  confusion  as  to  who  should  rise 
again,  there  "^vas  still  more  contradiction  between  what  they  had 
always  heard  before,  of  the  occasion  and  time  of  the  resurrection; 


563  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  the  words  that  had  fallen  from  Jesus.  They  had  teen,  trained  to 
believe  that  all  Israel  would  be  gathered  from  the  four  quarters  of 
the  earth  at  the  coming  of  the  Messiah,  and  that  the  ^ead  would  be 
raised  immediately  after.  But  before  this  resurrectionj  wlijch  waold 
ihus  inaiigurate  the  reign  of  the  Messiah,  Elias  was  first  to  come,  and 
they  still  clung  to  this  idea,  in  spite  of  all  that  Jesus  tad  said  to  re- 
move it.  They  had  always,  moreover,  heard  the  synapoguft  preach- 
ers say  that  the  holy  dead,  when  thus  raised,  were  to  take  iiai  t  in  the 
kingdom  of  the  Mes.siah,  at  Jerusalem,  and  once  more  bQcome  fellow- 
citizens  with  the  living. 

At  the  mention  of  the  resurrection,  therefore,  the  thought  iiistaintlTr 
rose  in  their  minds,  how  it  couid  take  place  when  Elias  had  not  yet 
appeared,  and  how  Jesus  could  speak  of  Himself  alone  at  rising  from 
the  grave,  and  that  on  the  third  da}^.  It  was  clear  there  must  be 
some  contradiction  between  His  words  and  what  they  had  always 
been  taught.  What  could  He  mean  by  this  rising  from  the  dead?? 
Only  He  could  answer.  To  solve  the  point  they  asked  Eim,  "How 
is  it  our  Rabbis  say  that  Elias  must  come  before  the  dead  shall  be 
raised — that  is,  before  the  opening  of  the  reign  of  the  Messiah,  whicli 
the  resurrection  is  to  announce?  You  speak  of  yourself  risiag,  alone,, 
from  the  dead,  and  that  on  the  third  day,  and  say  nothing  aliout  this 
reappearance  of  Elias,  which  our  Rabbis  say  is  to  be  three  days  before 
the  coming  of  the  Messiah.  Is  it  wrong  when  they  teE  us  that  he 
will  stand  and  weep  and  lament  on  the  hills  of  Israel,  over  the  deso- 
late and  forsaken  land,  till  his  voice  is  heard  through  the  world,  and 
that  he  will  then  cry  to  the  mountains,  "Peace  and  blessing  come 
into  the  world,  peace  and  blessing  come  into  the  world!" — "Salvatioa 
Cometh,  salvation  cometh!"  and  gather  all  the  scattered  sens,  of 
Jacob,  and  restore  all  things  in  Israel  as  in  ancient  times?  They  say 
that  Elias  will  turn  the  hearts  of  all  Israel  to  receive  the  Messiak 
gladly;  how  is  this  to  be  reconciled  with  your  saying  that  the  Messiaii 
must  suffer  many  things  of  the  high  priests  and  ruler.i,  and  be  re- 
jected and  put  to  death?" 

"You  are  right,"  replied  Jesus,  "when  you  say  that  Elias  musfi 
come  before  me,  the  Messiah.  The  purpose  of  God,  and  ancient 
prophecy  require  it.  But,  as  I,  the  Son  of  Man,  now  when  I  liave 
come,  have  to  suffer  many  things,  and  be  set  at  nought  ind  xejected, 
as  the  prophets  have  foretold,  although  I  have  given  so  many  proofs 
of  my  heavenly  mission;  so  has  it  already  happened  with  him  who 
was  the  Elias  sent  by  my  Father  to  prepare  my  waJ^  He,  like  my- 
self, has  already  come,  but  tbey  knew  him  as  litlle  as  they  havo 
known  He,  and  they  have  done  to  him  as  their  hearts  wished  I-O 
has  sulftired  even  to  death,  as  I,  the  Messiah,  must  also  sulTer. " 
Words  so  precise  could  not  be  misunderstood.  They  saw  tliat  He 
spoke  of  John  the  Baptist. 

Our  moments  of  exaltation  and  rapture  are  only  passings  and  are 
often  thrown  into  vivid  cootrairt  by  the  shadows  that  constantly  lingec 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  583 

beside  the  light.  Jesus  had  left  the  other  disciples  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  when  He  ascended  it  with  Peter  and  the  sons  of  Zebedec. 
The  night,  with  its  wondrous  vision,  had  passed  away,  and  He  was 
now  returning  to  His  little  band,  who  waited  for  Him  in  a  neich- 
bouring  hamlet  or  village.  The  Jewish  population  scattered  roiind 
Caesarea  Philippi  had  already  heard  of  His  arrival  in  their  parts,  and 
from  various  motives  had  gatheredto  see  and  hear  Him.  Hence  no 
sooner  was  He  noticed  descending  the  slopes,  than  the  whole  multi- 
tude moved  tfi  His  direction  to  meet  Him.  His  sudden  appearance 
Was  opportune.  An  incident  had  just  taken  place,  which  was  stiU 
exciting  no  little  dispute  between  some  scribes  and  the  disciples.  A 
Jew  in  the  crowd  had  a  son— his  only  child — who  had  been  afflicted 
from  birth  with  the  form  of  demoniac  possession  shown  by  epilepsy, 
joined  with  madness  and  want  of  speech.  He  had  brought  him  in 
the  hope  that  Jesus  would  heal  him,  and  the  disciples,  who  had  often 
before  wrought  similar  miracles  when  sent  on  tours  through  the  coun- 
try, had  tried,  in  His  absence,  to  heal  the  boy,  and  had  failed.  It 
■was,  indeed,  a  special  case,  for  the  lad  was  subject  to  violent  convul- 
sions, in  which  he  foamed  at  the  mouth,  and  gnashed  with  his  teeth, 
and  these  had  often  endangered  his  life,  by  coming  on  him  at  times 
when  he  would  have  been  drowned  or  burned  had  not  help  been 
near.  His  whole  body,  moreover,  was  withering  away  under  their 
influence. 

The  failure  of  the  disciples  had,  apparently  been  connected  with 
the  excitement  and  agitations  of  the  last  week.  Peter's  confession 
in  their  name  that  they  believed  their  Master  to  be  the  Messiah,  had 
been  sadly  overcast  by  the  shock  to  all  their  previous  ideas  given  by 
His  repeated  intimations  of  His  approaching  violent  death,  and  that 
a  similar  fate  might  overtake  themselves.  It  had  been  a  week  of 
spiritual  struggle,  which  Jesus  designedly  left  them  to  underijo, 
though  He  knew,  throughout,  that  one  of  them  would  yield  to  the 
trial.  The  nearer  the  time  came  for  the  journey  to  Judea  of  which 
He  had  spoken,  and  the  less  they  could  conceal  from  themselves  that 
their  devotion  to  Him  was  perilous  to  themselves,  the  more  troubled 
and  faltering  grew  their  minds,  and  this  inevitably  affected  them  in 
all  their  relations.  In  such  a  hesitating  and  half-dispirited  frame, 
they  had  no  such  triumphant  faith  as  when  they  had  gone  out  on 
their  first  independent  apostolic  mission  and  diseases  and  evil  spirits 
yielded  to  their  commands,  in  their  Leader's  name.  Hence,  they  had 
the  mortification  not  only  of  failing  to  work  a  cure,  but  of  having  to 
bear  the  cavils  and  sneers  of  the  Rabbis,  who  were  only  too  glad  to 
seize  a  momentary  triumph  at  their  expense. 

Meanwhile,  the  crowd  showed  Jesus  all  outward  respect.  The  re- 
port of  His  wonderful  deeds  elsewhere  had  raised  an  excitement  that 
was  visible  on  every  face.  They  greeted  and  welcomed  Him,  and 
were  impatient  to  hear  what  He  should  say  in  this  matter  between 
Hia  followers,  and  their  own  doctors. 


564  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Turning  to  these,  now  in  the  flush  of  victory,  Jesus  disconcerted 
them  by  the  simple  demand  to  know  the  matter  in  dispute.  But 
though  they  had  been  bold  enough  before  the  simple  disciples,  they 
were  silent  in  the  commanding  presence  of  their  Master. 

Presently,  the  father  of  the  unfortunate  boy  pressed  tlirough  the 
crowd,  catching  fresh  hope  that  the  Teaclier  could,  perhaps,  do  what 
the  disciples  could  not.  Kneeling  before  Him,  he  told  all  that  had 
happened:  how  the  disciples  had  been  willing  to  help,  but  had  failed. 
The  whole  story  kindled  Christ's  sad  indignation.  He  had  been  long 
with  both  disciples  and  people,  and  after  all  His  mighty  acts  and  un- 
wearied teaching,  the  former  had  at  best  a  dark  and  wavering  faith, 
and  the  latter  were  ready  to  reject  Him  entirelJ^     "O  faithless  and 

ferverse generation, "cried  He,  "have  ye,  then,  no  faith  at  all?  Must 
be  always  present  with  you?  Are  all  the  proofs  you  have  had  of 
my  help,  when  absent  from  you  in  body,  forgotten?  Have  not  I 
given  you  power  over  demons,  and  to  cure  diseases,  and  promised  to 
be  with  you,  that  you  might  do  such  wonders?  How  could  you  show 
such  want  of  faith  as  to  doubt  my  promises,  and  think  anything  too 
diihcult  either  to  attempt  or  do,  whether  I  am  present  with  you  or 
not?  Will  you  never  conquer  your  unbelief?  How  long  shall  I 
suffer  you?    Where  is  the  boj'?     Bring  him  to  me. " 

The  boy  was  brought  at  once;  but  his  eyes  no  sooner  met  those  of 
Jesus  than  he  was  seized  with  a  paroxysm  of  his  malady,  and  fell  on 
the  ground,  in  violent  convulsions  and  foaming  at  the  mouth.  In- 
sane, dumb,  and  writhing  on  the  earth:  no  sadder  spectacle  of  the 
kind  could  well  have  been  seen. 

It  was  desirable  that  the  crowd  should  have  the  whole  incident  im- 
pressed on  their  minds,  and  it  was  necessary  for  the  permanent  good 
of  the  agonized  father  himself  that  his  faith  should  be  strengthened. 

"  How  long  has  he  suffered  in  this  way?"  asked  Jesus. 

"From  childhood,  and  often  the  spirit  casts  him  into  the  water  and 
into  the  tire,  to  kill  him.  But  if  Thou  cansi  do  anything  at  all,  have 
compassion  on  me  and  him,  and  help  us." 

'If  Thou  canst?"  replied  Jesus,  repeating  his  words  in  gentle  re- 
buke.— "All  things  are  possible  to  him  that  believes." 

The  intense  emotion  of  the  father  could  restrain  itself  no  longer. 
His  son's  cure  had  been  made  to  turn  on  his  own  contidence  in  the 
Healer,  and  that,  even  if  felt,  might  not  be  deep  enough  to  secure  the 
favour  so  unspeakably  wished.  In  his  distress  he  could  only  break 
out  into  the  pitiful  cry  which  has  risen  from  unnumbered  hearts 
since  his  day,  "  Yes,  I  believe:  help  Thou  mine  unbelief,  if  my  faith 
is  too  weak." 

Tiie  crowd  had  been  closing  in  from  all  sides  on  Jesus  and  the  un- 
happy father  and  son,  and  further  delay  was  to  be  avoided.  Turning, 
therefore,  to  the  boy,  Jesus  addressed  the  demon:  "  Speechless  and 
deaf  spirit,  I  charge  thee,  come  out  of  him,  and  enter  no  more  into 
him."    A  wild  shriek  and  a  dreadful  convulsion  followed,  and  theu 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  563 

the  boy  lay  still  and  motionless,  so  that  he  seemed  dead.  Many,  in- 
deed, said  he  was  dead.  But  Jesus  took  him  by  the  hand,  and,  lift- 
ing him  up,  delivered  him  to  his  father,  amidst  the  loudly-expressed 
wonder  of  the  multitude  at  the  mighty  power  of  God. 

The  disciples,  humbled  by  their  failure,  and  unable,  in  their  self- 
deception,  to  account  for  it,  took  the  first  opportunity,  on  their  gain- 
ing privacy,  to  ask  their  Master  to  what  it  was  owing.  "  It  was 
simply,"  said  Jesus,  "  because  of  your  little  faith;  indeed,  I  may  say 
your  want  of  faith,  for  I  assure  you  if  you  had  steadfast,  unwaver- 
ing faith,  though  ever  so  small,  in  my  help,  and  in  the  power  of  God, 
no  difficulty  would  seem  too  great  for  you  to  remove.  You  know 
how  men  call  overcoming  difficulties  '  removing  a  mountain ;'  I  tell 
you  that  no  mountain  of  difficulty  would  be  so  great — far  less  this 
one  which  foiled  you — that  it  would  not,  at  the  word  of  firm  trust  in 
God,  be  moved  out  of  your  way. "  "As  regards  this  cure, "  He  added, 
"  you  had  to  do  with  a  kind  of  demoniac  possession,  which  especially 
demands  strong  faith,  for  every  attempt  to  overcome  it  without  such 
faith  as  comes  through  prayer,  so  persistent  that  it  neglects  even  the 
needs  of  the  body  for  the  time,  must  be  fruitless.  It  never  is  the 
greatness  of  the  difficulty,  but  only  the  weakness  of  your  faith,  that 
Btands  in  your  way.     Remember  this  in  years  to  come." 

Jesus  did  not  stay  long  in  the  district  of  Ciesarea  Philippi,  but  ere- 
long turned  once  more  towards  Galilee,  probably  taking  the  road  by 
Dan,  across  the  slopes  of  Lebanon,  with  the  wild  reed-forests  of  the 
Huleh  marshes  on  it  s  south  side,  and  on  its  north  the  huge  mountain 
masses  of  Lebanon  and  Herraou,  and  the  broad,  well-watered  sweep 
of  upland  valley  between.  He  would  thus  most  easily  reach  the  hills 
of  Galilee  by  an  unusual  route,  and  escape  the  publicity  of  an  approach 
by  the  ordinary  roads.  It  was  the  last  time  He  was  to  visit  the  scene 
of  so  great  a  part  of  His  public  life,  and  He  felt,  as  He  journeyed  on, 
that  He  could  no  more  pass  from  village  to  village  as  openly  as  iu 
days  gone  by,  for  the  ej^es  of  His  enemies  were  everywhere  on  Him. 
The  time  He  had  previously  given  to  teaching  and  healing  was  now 
devoted  mainly  to  the  special  preparation  of  His  disciples  for  the 
approaching  end.  Now  and  then,  when  special  occasion  demanded, 
He  was  as  ready  as  ever  to  relieve  the  wretched,  or  to  justify  and 
repeat  the  words  which  He  had  so  often  delivered  in  the  synagogues; 
but  He  astially  shunned  notice,  not  wishing,  in  the  words  of  St. 
Mark,  that  any  man  should  know.  Avoiding  the  more  populous 
place3l;  and  seeking  by-paths  among  the  hills,  where  He  would 
meet  few  and  be  little  known,  He  made  His  wa}''  towards  His  old 
home,  Capernaum.  But  He  could  no  longer  show  Himself  anywhere 
as  He  had  done  in  the  days  of  His  popularity,  for  every  word  or  act 
V70uld  have  created  new  excitement,  and  given  a  fresh  ground  for 
accusation.  He  had  resolved  to  go  to  Jerusalem  and  there  meet  His 
fate,  but  He  could  only  do  this  by  guarding  against  anything  which 
might  lead  to  His  arrest  ia  Galilee,  for  ia  th^t  case  Me  would  he  tried 


566  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

and  condemned  by  a  local  court.  Jerusalem  alone  must  see  the  ca 
tastrophe,  for  it  was  the  centre  of  the  nation,  the  headquarters  of  the 
priesthood  and  RabbLs — Plis  enemies — and  His  death  then  would  be 
distinctly  their  work:  their  open  and  formal  rejection,  as  represent- 
atives of  the  nation,  of  the  New  Kingdom,  and  of  Himself  as  the 
Messiah. 

He  stayed  in  Galilee,  therefore,  only  so  long  as  His  purpose  to  go  to 
Jerusalem  permitted,  and  meanwhile  withdrew  from  public  life,  to 
devote  Himself  especially  to  the  Twelve  and  prepare  them  for  His 
death,  of  which  He  seems  to  have  spoken  very  often.  One  of  the 
fragments  of  His  intercourse  with  them,  while  slowly  journeying 
onwards  to  His  own  town,  has  been  preserved  to  us.  "  You  have 
heard,"  said  He,  "how  the  multitudes  express  their  amazement  at  the 
mighty  power  of  God  shown  in  the  miracles  they  have  seen  me  per- 
form, as  in  the  case  of  the  cure  of  the  boy,  after  my  descent  from  the 
mount.  Let  their  words,  in  which  they  have  thus  acknowledged  and 
magnified  my  acts  as  not  less  than  divine,  sink  into  your  memories, 
and  strengthen  and  confirm  your  faith  in  me  as  the  Messiah.  For  I, 
the  Son  of  Man — the  Messiah — whose  mighty  works  you  have  heard 
extolled  so  greatly,  might  easily  have  set  mj^sclf  at  the  head  of  the 
people,  and,  led  them  by  supernatural  power,  as  they  and  their  chief 
men  wish,  to  outward  national  glory.  But  I  will  assuredly  be  deliv- 
ered up  and  abandoned  by  these  very  crowds,  and  given  over  to  the 
authorities,  because  I  will  not  use  my  power  for  any  but  holy  and 
spiritual  ends.  I  will  be  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  my  enemies,  and 
they  will  put  me  to  death,  but  I  shall  rise  again  on  the  third  day. " 

They  were  too  full  of  their  worldly  hopes,  which  still  mingled 
strangely  with  their  vague  recognition  of  their  Master  as  the  Son  of 
God;  too  unwilling  also  to  think  earnestly  on  a  subject  so  unpleasant, 
and  so  opposed  to  their  ideas  of  the  Messiah,  to  understand  what  He 
meant  by  these  sad  forebodings.  He  needed  only  speak  the  word  and 
the  people  would  follow  Him,  and  He  might,  by  His  miraculous  power, 
which  it  seemed  to  them  could  not  be  used  for  a  nobler  end,  set  up  the 
theocracy,  as  even  John,  apparently,  had  expected  He  would.  Such 
language  seemed  part  of  His  dark  sayings,  with  a  secret  meaning 
which  He  would  some  day  explain.  They  would  fain  have  wished 
this  explanation,  indeed,  at  once,  to  calm  their  minds,  but  they  hesi- 
tated to  ask  Him  for  it.  He  might,  perhaps,  if  they  did  so,  tell  them 
something  still  more  unpleasant,  as  He  had  done  lately  to  Peter,  in  a 
similar  case.  Besides,  they  did  not  like  to  think  about  what  they  so 
much  disrelished,  and  turned  from  matters  which  only  filled  them 
.with  gloom  to  others  more  in  keeping  with  their  wishes  and  hopes. 

These  offered  themselves  in  the  distinction  Jesus  often  seemed  to 
make  in  His  bearing  to  one  or  other  of  their  number.  Human  nature 
is  always  the  same,  and  jealousy  was  as  rife  in  those  days  as  now. 
However  impartially  He  might  treat  them,  their  own  characteristics 
Biad«  it  impossible  that  He  shoiild  be  as  intimate  and  confidantial 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  56? 

with  some  a??  "with  others.  In  some  cases,  as  in  the  Trnnsfipiiiration, 
lately,  He  had  thought  fit  to  take  only  a  few  of  them  with  Him,  and 
He  seemed  lately  to  have  put  especial  honour  on  Peter,  while  His 
friendship  for  John  was  closer  and  more  tender  than  for  any  other. 
All  this,  however,  would  have  troubled  the  less  favoured  ones  little 
but  for  their  almost  invincible  belief  that  He  would  soon  proclaim 
Himself  as  the  JVIcssiah  in  the  Jewish  sense,  and  found  a  great  polit- 
ical kingdom.  Everything  was  seen  through  this  preconception,  and 
any  marks  of  preference  were  taken  as  indications  of  future  position 
in  the  expected  revolution.  They  assumed  that,  having  been  chosen 
from  rH  their  countrymen  by  Jesus  as  His  closest  followers,  they  would 
have  the  chief  places  in  the  new  empire  He  was  to  found,  but  there 
was  abundant  room  for  jealousy  in  their  individual  claims  to  this  or 
that  prominent  dignity.  Accustomed  to  discuss  everything  openly, 
they  naturally  fell  into  warm  controversy  as  to  the  just  distribution  of 
the  great  offices  of  stale  among  them,  when  Jesus  should  be  installed 
as  Monarch  of  the  world  at  Jerusalem. 

In  this  dispute,  however,  their  Master  took  no  part.  Nor,  indeed, 
did  they  wish  Him  to  do  so,  for  they  had  fallen  behind,  in  order  that 
He  might  not  hear  them.  They  were  ashamed  to  have  Him  know 
what  occupied  their  thoughts,  so  little  in  harmony  with  His  teach- 
ing and  spirit.  But  He  had  noticed  it  all,  though  He  said  nothing 
for  the  moment.     Meanwhile  tliey  once  more  entered  Capernaum. 


CHAPTER  XL^nil. 

BEFORE    THE    FEAST. 

There  is  something  intensely  human  in  the  return  of  Jesus  to 
Capernaum  in  the  face  of  imminent  danger.  It  had  been  His  home, 
and  He  was  in  all  sinless  regards  a  man.  He  longed  to  see  the  old 
familiar  spots  once  more;  the  hills  behind  the  town,  among  which  He 
had  so  often  wandered;  the  shady  woods,  and  orchards"  and  vine- 
yards, rich  in  foliage,  or  glowing  with  their  ripening  fruit  in  these 
summer  months.  lie  had  often  looked  out  from  them  on  the  spark- 
ling waters,  and,  above  all,  had  met  among  them  the  fcAV  whom  He 
had  gathered  round  Him  in  His  long  sojourn  as  their  fellow-citizen. 
These  He  would  now  fain  strengthen  in  their  faith,  before  leaving 
them  for  ever. 

His  entrance  into  the  town  was  marked  by  an  application  to  Peter 
by  the  local  collectors  of  the  Temple  tax,  for  its  payment  bv  his 
Master.  Moses  had  provided  funds  for  the  erection  of  the  Taber- 
nacle, by  the  imposition  of  a  tax  of  half  a  shekel  on  each  male,  pay- 
able at  the  "numbering  of  the  people," and  this,  since  the  Babylonish 
Captivity,  had  been  required  yea^lJ^  It  was  equal,  nominally,  to 
about  one  and  threepence  of  our  money,  but  really  to  at  least  six 
U  of  c— 19. 


568  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST' 

♦  - 

times  as  nrnch,  and  was  demanded  from  every  Israelite  of  the  age  of 
twenty — even  the  poorest. 

It  was  mainly  from  this  lieavy  tax,  paid  as  a  sacred  duty  by  every 
Jew,  in  wliatever  country,  that  the  Temple  treasury  was  filled  with 
the  millions  of  silver  coins  which  were  so  strong  a  temptation  to  lavv"- 
less  greed.  Crassus,  Sabinus,  and  Pilate,  in  succession,  hud  laid 
violent  hands  on  this  unmeasured  wealth,  and  the  reckless  greed  of 
Florus  in  its  plunder  was  the  proximate  cause  of  the  last  gi'eat  war^ 
which  destroyed  both  Temple  and  city. 

The  Shelilum,  or  "messengers,"  who  collected  this  tax  in  Judea, 
visited  each  town  at  fixed  times.  In  foreign  coimtries  places  were 
appointed  for  its  collection  in  every  city  or  district  where  there  were 
Jews — and  where  were  they  not? — the  chief  men  of  their  commimity 
In  each  acting  as  treasurer,  and  conveying  the  amounts  in  due  course 
to  Jerusalem.  Three  huge  chests,  carefully  guarded  in  a  particular 
chamber  in  the  Temple,  held  the  yearly  receipts,  which  served, 
besides  providing  the  beasts  for  sacrifice,  to  pay  the  Rabbis,  inspectors 
of  victims,  copyists,  lakers,  judges,  and  others  connected  with  the 
Temple  service,  and  numerous  women  who  wove  or  washed  the 
Temple  linen.  It  supplied,  also,  the  costs  of  the  water  supply,  and  of 
the  repairs  of  the  vast  Temple  buildings. 

The  collection  began  in  the  Holy  Land  on  the  1st  of  Adar — part  of 
our  February  and  March — the  month  of  the  "  returning  sun,"  and 
the  next  before  that  of  the  Passover.  By  the  middle  of  it  the  official 
exchangers  in  each  town  had  set  up  their  tables,  and  opened  their 
two  chests  for  the  ta.x  of  the  current  and  of  llie  past  year,  far  many 
paid  the  tax  for  two  years,  together.  They  supplied  the  old  sacred 
shekel,  coined  by  Simon  the  Maccabee,  for  a  trifling  charge,  to  al! 
who  required  it,  for  only  that  coin  was  received  by  the  Temple 
authorities  in  homage  to  Pharisaic  and  national  sentiment.  At  first 
everything  was  leftlo  the  good  will  of  the  people,  but  after  the  25th, 
prompt  payment  was  required,  and  securities,  such  as  an  under  gar- 
ment, or  the  like,  were  taken  even  from  the  pilgrims  coming  up  to 
the  feast. 

It  was  very  likely,  therefore,  that  the  time  of  grace  had  expired 
before  Jesus  reached  Capernaum,  so  that  the  collectors — apparently 
respectable  citizens — felt  themselves  justified  in  broaching  the  ques- 
tion to  Peter — whether  his  Teacher  did  not  pay  the  two  drachmas? 
Perhaps  they  fancied  He  was  of  the  irreconcilable  school  of  Judas 
the  Galihean,  who  would  pay  no  Temple  tax  so  long  as  the  Hol)^  City 
was  polluted  by  the  heathen  Roman.  His  enemies,  indeed,  very  likely 
had  insinuated  that  this  was  the  ease,  to  bring  Him  into  suspicion 
with  government. 

Peter,  ever  zealous  for  his  Master's  honour,  and,  as  usual,  impulsive, 
no  sooner  heard  the  application  than  he  answered  affirmatively,  on 
his  own  authority,  and  forthwith  set  off  to  find  Jesus  and  report  the 
matter  to  Him. 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  569 

The  exact  time  for  payment  had  passed  while  Christ  had  been  away 
from  Capernaum,  and  the  collectors  were,  doubtless,  anxious  to  gather 
all  arrears,  to  take  with  them  to  Jerusalem  at  the  approachingFeast 
of  Tabernacles  in  September.  As  if  to  show  that  not  even  the  most 
insignificant  matter  that  concerned  His  disciples  escaped  Ilis  notice, 
even  when  not  bodily  present  with  them,  Peter  no  sooner  appeared  than 
his  errand  was  anticipated  by  asking  him  his  opinion,  whether,  when 
kings  levy  taxes  or  tolls,  they  exacted  them  from  their  own  children, 
or  only  from  their  subjects? 

"I  think,"  replied  Peter,  "that  only  the  subjects  pay."  "Then, 
of  course,"  replied  Jesus,  "  the  king's  children  are  free." 

He  wished  to  show  that  it  would  have  been  no  failure  of  duty  to 
leave  the  tax  unpaid.  Peter  had  already  owned  Him  as  the  "  Son  of 
God,"  and  it  was  for  the  Temple  of  God  the  impost  was  levied.  It 
might,  therefore,  be  just  and  proper  to  collect  it  from  the  nation  at 
large,  but  it  was  not  fitting  to  ask  it  from  Him.  "  I  am  a  king  and 
a  king's  son ;  far  more  than  any  Roman  or  Herodian  prince — for  I  am 
the  Son  of  God,  as  thou  hast  said,  and  this  tax  is  for  my  Father — 
God — the  Great  King;  for  His  Temple,  and  thus  I  should  be  free." 

But,  while  thus  maintaining  to  His  apostle  His  rightful  immunity. 
He  was  too  prudent  to  urge  it  in  public.  He  was  not  recognized  as 
the  Son  of  God  outside  the  little  circle  of  His  disciples,  but  was  only 
an  Israelite,  like  others,  to  men  at  large,  and,  as  such,  was  under  the 
Law.  It  would  have  given  ground  of  accusation  and  misconception 
had  He  hesitated  to  pay  what  all  Jews  paid  cheerfully,  as  a  religious 
duty. 

"  It  would  not  do  for  me,  nevertheless,"  continued  He,  therefore. 
"  to  seem  to  refuse.  They  would  not  understand  what  I  have  been 
saying  to  you.  Take  your  line,  and  go  to  the  lake;  you  need  not 
wait  till  you  catch  a  number  of  fish  to  make  up  the  amount.  Take 
the  first  that  comes  to  your  hook,  and  you  will  find  in  its  mouth  a 
stater,  which  is  twice  as  much  as  is  needed.  With  it  you  can  pay  for 
me  and  for  yourself." 

Tlie  result  is  not  given,  but  there  can  be  no  question  that  the  com- 
^aand  secured  its  own  fulfilment.  No  lesson  could  have  been  given 
more  suited  to  benefit  Peter  and  his  companions.  It  taught  them 
that,  though  they  were  His  apostles,  they  could  not  claim  exemption 
from  labour  for  their  own  support,  but  yet  quickened  them  to  a  firm 
repose  on  His  watchful  care,  which  could  help  them  in  any  extremity. 

They  remained  for  a  short  time  in  Capernaum,  and,"h:!pi)ily,  we 
have  a  glimpse  of  their  quiet  private  intercourse;  doubtless  tlie  pic- 
ture of  many  such  occasions.  He  had  delayed  allusion  to  their  hot 
discussion  on  the  way' till  the  quiet  of  evening  and  home. 

"  Tell  me, "said  He,  turning  to  one  of  them,  "  al)out  what  were  you 
disputing  among  yourselves  on  the  road?"  But  tlie  question  received 
no  answer,  for  all  were  alike  ashamed  of  their  unworthy  jcalouaie* 
and  ambitious,  and  sat  humbled  and  silent. 


570  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

It  -was  Sn  opportunity  for  impressing  ou  them,  once  more,  the  fun- 
damental characteristic  of  His  kingdom.  Their  daily  work,  as  dis- 
ciples, reminded  tliem  continually  of  their  relations  to  it,  and  it 
already  engiossed  their  thoughts,  but  they  still  failed  to  realize  its 
purely  spiritual  character.  The  ti'ials  waiting  them  rendered  it,  thus, 
the  more  necessary  to  strengthen  and  support  them  beforehand,  by 
correcting  their  misapprehensions,  and  elevating  their  tone. 

In  the"  Sermon  on  the  Mount  they  had  heard,  if  they  could  have 
\inderstood  it,  how  utterly  His  kingdom  contrasted  with  all  their  pre- 
vious ideas.  They  had  been  told,  in  effect,  that  moral  titness  alone 
secured  entrance  to  it,  and  that  every  external  claim;  whether  the 
fulfilment  of  legal  duties,  or  national  privilege,  or  sacred  calling- 
whatever  had,  lutherto,  been  supposed  to  give  a  title  to  membership 
in  the  old  Theocracy,  must  be  abandoned  as  worthless.  The  reign  of 
God,  nov/  proclaimed,  was,  in  fact,  only  the  homage  of  the  soul,  which 
had  prepared  itself,  like  a  purilied  Temple,  by  humble  repentance 
and  holy  life,  to  be  a  habitation  of  His  Heavenly_ Father.  Man  must 
only  receive  from  God:  not  pretend  to  give  to  Him. 

Citizenship  in  the  new  kingdom  of  the  Messiah  was  possible,  only 
when  no  thought  of  claim  obtruded. 

It  A\as  thus^in  effect,  simply  a  reproduction  of  the  spirit  of  Jesus 
Himself  that  was  demanded,  lor  the  great  characteristic  which  gave 
His  life  its  matchless  beauty,  was  His  perfect  divine  humility.  His 
lowly  meekness  had  protected  Him  at  the  opening  of  His  ministry, 
when  tempted  to  self-exaltation:  it  had  subordinated  His  own  will, 
as  by  a  law  of  His  being,  to  that  of  God;  it  had  opened  His  heart  to 
the  poor  of  His  nation,'  cast  out  and  despised  by  the  religious  pride 
of  the  day;  it  liad  made  Him,  throughout,  the  friend  of  the  op- 
pressed, the  lowly,  and  the  wretched;  it  had  led  Him,  of  His  free 
choice,  to  despise  all  worldly  honour,  and  it  was  now  bearing  Him, 
with  a  kinglv  grandeur,  to  the  abasement  of  the  Cross,  that  He  miglit 
open  to  His*  nation,  and  to  mankind,  the  way  to  peace  with  their 
Father  in  Heaven,  and  found  a  kingdom  of  holiness,  truth,  and  love; 
to  ennoble  and  bless  the  present,  and  expand  into  eternal  felicity  in 
the  world  to  come. 

It  was  vital,  therefore,  for  His  disciples,  then,  as  now,  that  they 
should  have  the  same  heavenly  temper.  Without  it,  they  could 
neither  be  efficient  instruments  in  spreading  His  kingdom,  nor  have 
any  share  in  it  themselves,  for  it  was,  itself,  flie  Kingdom— the  reign 
of  God,  in  the  soul.  The  danger  of  self-elevation  had  been  greatly 
increased  from  the  moment  when  Jesus  had  accepted  from  them  their 
formal  sssription  of  the  JMcssianic  dignity,  at  Ca?sarea  Philippi. 
What  seductive  dreams  lay  for  Galila^an  iishermen  in  their  being 
commissioned  by  the  Messiah,  as  His  conlideutial  friends,  and  the 
first  dignitaries  of  His  kingdom!  They  had,  indeed,  heard  Jesua 
speak  ol'  suffering  a  shameful  death,  as  the  immediate  result  of  His 
proclaiming  Himself  as  the  Messiah,  but  -when  the  mind  is  already 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  571 

preoccupied  by  its  own  views,  it  is  incredibly  tiard  to  turn  it  Even 
tlie  most  discouraging  incidents  are  transformed  into  support=i  or  at 
least  argued  aside.  "  Perhaps  Jesus  had  only  spoken  tluis  to  try 
Uiem :  perhaps  it  was  one  of  the  dark  sayinijs  He  used  so  often  " 
Their  future  dignity  in  the  kingdom  had  been  'the  topic  of  constant 
disputes  and  discussions,  ever  since  the  eventful  day  at  Cajsarea 
Philippi  Had  they  not  received  spiritual  graces  and  powers''  For 
what  had  they  gone  through  so  much  toil  and  danger?  The  reward 
could  not  be  far  distant.  When  it  came,  which  of  tliera  should  Lave 
the  hrst  place,  and  be  the  Minister  of  the  New  Reign? 

They  must  be  taught  how  utterly  they  deceived  themselves. 

Jesus  had  sat  down  in  the  house  and'calied  the  Twelve  before  put- 
ting the  question.  As  they  stood  round  Him,— for  disciples  of  a 
Kabbi  always  stood  when  their  masters  sat  down  to  teach  them  — 
His  hrst  Avords  scattered  the  whole  unworthy  dream  of  their  hearts' 

''Whoever  of  you,"  said  He,  "it  matters  not  which,  seeks  to  be 
before  the  other,  and  would  distinguish  himself  in  my  Kino-dom  can 
only  do  so  by  cheerfully  stooping  to  render  even  the  humblest  services 
to  all  tlie  rest.  He  must  show  himself  the  willing  servant  of  all 
by  doing  whatever  he  can  to  serve  the  others.  He  must  seek  and 
hnd  his  greatness  in  being  the  humblest,  and,  therefore,  the  servant 
of  all. 

Such  language  was  well-nigh  incomprehensible  to  men  misled  by 
worldly  pride  and  ambition.  They  were  thinking  of  themselves 
rather  than  of  their  Master;  of  receiving  rather  than  rendering-  of 
selhsh  ease  and  honour,  rather  than  loving  self-sacrifice,  which  He  had 
otten  to  d  them  was  the  condition  of  their  discipleship.  De  therefore 
resolved  to  bring  them  to  a  belter  frame,  and  this  by  an  illustratioA 
rather  than  words.  They  knew,  by  experience,  that  even  His  most 
unpalatable  and  His  darkest  words,  had  a  greater  fulness  of  truth 
than  iheir  imperfect  insiglit  could  realize.  They  had,  doubtless, 
also,  at  times,  misgivings  respecting  their  dreams  of  the  future 
though  they  could  not  as  yet  lay  these  aside.  Some  of  them  had  even 
gone  so  far  as  to  ask  Him  the  particular  dignities  He  intended  for 
each,  that  all  future  strife  might  be  checked  by  an  authoritative  an- 
nouncement. 

Calling  to  Him  a  little-boy  of  the  hou-sehold ;  lifting  him  in  His  arms 
and  pre.^sing  him  fondly  to  His  breast,— as  if  to  show  how  much 
nearer  such  an  one  was  to  Him  than  the  Twelve  standing  at  a  dis- 
tance round,— He  drew  their  attention  to  the  child.  Love  of  children 
and  of  then-  childish  traits,  had  always  marked  Him.  A  child  in  His 
eyes,  was  a  type  of  the  grace  so  dear  to  Him— humility.  It  raises  no 
overweening  claims  such  as  men  advance,  and  accepts  all  its  rela 
tions  in  life  as  it  finds  them;  it  adapts  itself  unconsciouslv  to  the 
lowliest  and  most  ungenial  lot,  and  finds  happiness  in  it.  It  is  the 
embodiment  of  dependence  and  need;  of  having  nothing  and  T«t 
iookins  with  simple  trust  to  a  higher  than  itself  =.-  J  • 


eW  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  Twelve  noted  His  act  with  wonder,  not  knowing  what  it 
meant.     He  now  proceeded  to  explain  it. 

"You  see  this  child,"  said  He;  "I  tell  you  solemnly,  that,  unless 
you  abandon  your  present  worldl}^  ideas  aiul  amljitious  thoughts,  and 
become  as  simi)le  and  humble  as  ft,  and  as  lovingly  dependent  on  God 
as  it  is  on  mau,  you  shall  not  even  enter  my  Kingdom,  far  less  hold 
a  high  place  in  it.  You  see  how  this  child  has  no  thought  but  o} 
perfect  loving  trust  towards  me;  how  it  does  not  pretend  to  give  tir 
worth  of  what  it  receives,  but  opens  its  v/liole  soul  to  me  with  artlesi 
innocence.  Such  sweet  lumiility  must  be  found  in  him  who  would 
seek  to  be  greatest  in  my  ISew  Kingdom.  To  have  the  heart  of  a 
child  is  the  fixed  abiding  condition  of  admission,  of  accepted  service, 
or  of  honour.  This  child  is  willing  to  be  the  least  of  you  all,  and  to 
serve  you  all,  and,  as  I  have  said,  whoever  of  you  is  like  it  in  this, 
is  the  greatest  among  you.  Your  ambition  must  guide  itself  by  this 
rule.  Your  strife  shows  that  you  have  not  j-et  rightlj'  grasped  the 
true  nature  of  my  Kingdom.  It  has  no  external  dignities  of  power 
and  rank,  for  it  is  a  reign  of  principles,  not  a  worldly  dominion.  All 
its  members  are  therefore,  brethren,  on  a  footing  of  perfect  equality. 
Any  one  may,  indeed,  distinguish  himself  beyond  others,  but  not  as 
in  the  Old  Testament  Kingdom,  or  as  in  that  of  the  Messiah  expected 
by  the  nation  at  large,  by  external  honour  and  dignity.  The  honours 
of  my  Kingdom  are  won  only  by  spiritual  likeness  to  myself,  your 
example  and  Master.  Self-denial,  self-sacrifice;  the  surrender  of  per- 
son and  goods  for  the  sake  of  the  brotherhood;  unselfish  love — are  the 
only  path  to  the  highest  place." 

He  had  now  answered  the  question ;  but  the  sight  of  the  child  kin- 
dled another  thought  of  no  less  moment.  "  You  are  looking  for  great 
events,  and  thinking  with  weak  pride,  of  your  claims  as  my  follow- 
ers, and  may  be  tempted  to  slight  and  despise  any  one  as  spiritless, 
and  beneath  you,  who  is  humble  and  unassuming,  like  this  clyld  on 
my  knee.  But  let  me  tell  you,  that  any  one  who  honours  and  re- 
ceives to  his  heart  even  a  single  child-like  soul  which  delights  in 
meekness  and  humility,  as  learned  from  me,  has  done  the  same  in 
spirit,  and  will  receive  a  like  reward,  as  if  he  had  received  me  my- 
self, and  done  me  personal  honour.  And  since  all  that  is  done  to  me 
from  an  honest  heart,  is  homage  done  to  my  Father  who  sent  me.  He 
Himself  will  show  His  approval,  for  even  the  humblest  that  lives,  if 
he  be  my  disciple,  is  great  and  honoured  before  Him. " 

The  use  of  the  words  "  in  my  name"  had,  meanwhile,  recalled  an 
incident  of  then-  recent  journey  to  John,  "the  Son  of  Thunder." 
The  Twelve  had  met,  in  their  way,  one  casting  out  devils  in  the  name 
of  Jesus,  though  he  was  not  one  of  their  company,  and  instead  of 
"receiving"  him,  had  charged  him  to  desist,  because  he  was  not  of 
their  own  number.  John  now  reported  the  matter,  as  if  struck  by 
the  contrast  between  his  own  conduct  and  the  counsel  just  given, 
"Forbid  him  not,"  replied  Jesus, — "One  who,  though  not  of  mj 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  578 

circle,  has  yet  attained  so  strong  a  faith  in  me  that  he  works  mimclea 
through  my  name,  needs  not  be  feared  as  likely,  by  any  sudden 
change,  to  speak  against  me."  The  want  of  forbearance  had  sprung 
from  the  want  of  humility,  for  pride  is  the  special  source  of  impa- 
tience. "  He  who  is  not  against  us,"  continued  Jesus,  "is  for  us." 
He  whom  John  had  treated  so  harshly  had,  at  least,  acted  in  His 
name,  thougli,  perhaps,  with  a  very  imperfect  conception  of  His  true 
dignity,  or  of  the  scope  and  greatness  of  His  work.  But  he  was  very 
different  from  the  blasphemers  who  did  not  shrink  from  speaking  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  as  a  spirit  of  evil.  Moreover,  the  nearer  the  end  ap- 
proached, the  more  needful  it  was  to  root  out  any  signs  of  selfish  or 
haughty  feelings  in  the  Twelve,  and  to  lead  them  to  iook  with  kindly 
eyes  on  even  a  partial,  if  friendly  relationship  to  Him.  He  wislied 
them  to  realize  that  wortliiness  to  rank  in  the  New  Society  was 
shown  by  the  goodwill,  and  trustful,  cliild-like  spirit,  which  led  to 
devotion  to  Him,  rather  than  by  the  measure  of  knowledge  evinced. 
It  was  of  great  moment,  at  this  time,  to  wake  kindly  and  broad- 
hearted  feelings  towards  any,  avIio,  while  acting  apart,  were  yet 
friendly.  Were  He  once  gone,  it  would  be  left  to  His  disciples  to 
continue  His  work,  and  itVould  depend  upon  them  whether  the  So- 
ciety, founded  by  Him,  would  be  really  the  beginning  of  a  new  epoch 
in  religion,  or  only  a  piece  of  new  cloth  sewed  on'an  old  garment; 
whether  it  would  be  a  Jewish  sect  or  a  faith  for  mankind. 

"  No  one  is  to  be  liglitly  esteemed,"  continued  Jesus,  "  who  shows 
you  the  slightest  mark  of  "goodwill  or  friendship,  were  it  only  a  drink 
of  cold  water,  which  all  give  so  readily  in  these  sultry  lands — when 
given  because  you  are  my  disciples.  Even  this  will  be  rewarded  by 
God  as  an  act  worthy  His'  favour.  Nor  are  you  only  thus  honoured. 
So  precious  to  Me  is  the  humble  child-like  spirit  which  you  are  dis- 
posed to  despise,  that  if  any  one,  by  words  or  deeds,  cause  even  one 
such  soul  who  believes,  to  turn  away  from  me;  as  you  Avere  in  danger 
of  doing  when  you  forbade  the  stranger  to  cast  out  devils  in  my 
name;  it  would  be  better  for  him  that  a  huge  ass-mill-stone  were 
hung  round  his  neck  and  he  drowned  in  the  depths  of  the  lake. 
that  he  might  be  saved  from  so  great  a  sin. 

"Alas  for  the  world-wide  sorrow  which  the  sins  of  many  who  will 
call  themselves  mine  will  cause,  by  keeping  men  from  me!  They 
will  judge  of  me  by  these  unworthy  followers,  and  keep  aloof  from 
my  kingdom.  It  cannot,  indeed,  be  otherwise,  for  the  evil  that  is  in 
man  will  make  even  the  name  of  religion  a  scandal.  But  hovt 
awful  the  judgment  that  awaits  him  who  leads  another  from  the  wa-y 
of  hfe! 

"  I  have  said  that  it  would  be  better  for  a  man  to  die  than  that  ho 
should  lead  another  astray.  So,  wliatever  may  lead  you  to  sin,  and 
thus  bring  scandal  on  my  name,  had  much  better  be  put  from  you, 
at  any  cost.  If  anything,  therefore,  however  dear  to  you,  incites 
you  to  sin,  or  keeps  you  from  a  godly  life,  thrust  it  from  you.     II 


574  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  most  precious  members  of  the  body — a  foot  or  a  hand — be  cut 
off,  to  prevent  death  of  the  whole ;  how  much  rather,  at  any  sacrifice, 
whatever  sins  of  thought  or  act,  which,  by  misleading  others,  would 
cause  us  to  lose  eternal  life,  and  be  cast  into  hell-fire,  where  their 
worm  never  dies,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched ! 

"Everyone  cast  into  the  fire,  which  the  prophet  thus  calls  im- 
quenchable — every  one,  that  is,  who  gives  himself  up  to  sin,  .shall 
certainly  suffer  the  wrath  of  God,  and  be  salted  with  fire,  as  the  vic- 
tims on  the  altar  are  salted  with  salt.  But  every  one  whose  humble 
and  steadfast  faith  in  me  has  shown  him  to  be,  as  ii,  were,  a  pure  and 
worthy  sacrifice,  fit.  to  be  laid  on  the  altar  of  God,  will,  on  his  en- 
trance into  the  heavenly  kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  be  salted,  not  with 
fire,  but  with  the  gift  of  higher  grace,  that  he  may  endure  unto  life 
eternal.  Salt  is  of  value  to  prevent  corruption,  and  I  have,  before 
now,  called  you  '  the  salt  of  the  earth ;'  because,  if  you  are  my 
true  disciples,  you  will  arrest  the  corruption  that  prevails  among 
men,  and  make  the  community  sound.  How  dreadful,  however,  if 
you,  the  salt,  lose  your  savour.  How  will  you  regain  it?  If  you 
turn  to  evil,  and,  through  sloth  or  faint-heartedness,  be  imtrue  to 
your  calling,  how  can  your  needful  energy  and  eflficiency  be  restored? 
You  wish  to  be  accepted  at  last  as  pure  and  worthy  offerings  to  God, 
and  to  receive  the  gift  of  heavenly  wisdom,  which  is  everlasting  life. 
To  attain  it,  take  care  to  guard  the  salt  of  true  wisdom  whicTi  has 
been  already  given  you — the  grace  bestowed  on  you  to  be  my  dis- 
ciples. Remember,  moreover,  that  salt  is  the  symbol  of  peace;  be  at 
peace  among  j^ourselves,  and  do  not  dispute  and  argue  as  j-ou  have 
been  doing,  lest  you  lose  the  power  and  fruits  of  my  teaching." 

Jesus  had  for  the  time  digi'essed  from  His  original  subject — the 
humble  and  child-like  among  His  followers — but  now  returned  to  it. 

"Respecting  those  little  ones  of  whom  I  was  speaking — lowly, 
self -distrustful ;  as  weak,  yet,  it  may  be,  in  faith,  as  little  children  in 
strength — I  would  further  say:  Take  heed  that  ye  do  not  slight  or 
contemn  any  one  of  them,  for  I  tell  you  so  greatly  honoured  and  so 
dear  are  they  in  the  sight  of  God,  that  the  humblest  of  them,  for  their 
very  humility,  are  placed  by  Him  under  the  loving  care  of  the  highest 
angels,  who  stand  before  Him,  and  see  His  face  continually.  Glorious 
though  all  angels  be,  only  such  exalted  spirits — the  princes  of  heaven 
— are  thought  worthy  by  God  to  minister  to  them '  and  protect 
them. 

"  To  slight  or  despise  even  one  such  would,  indeed,  be  to  undo,  so 
far,  the  very  end  for  whicli  I  have  come  as  the  Messiah.  You  may, 
by  doing  so,  turn  him  away  from  me,  and  so  cause  his  soul  to  be  lost. 
Much  rather,  if  you  meet  with  an  humble  spirit,  still  weak  in  the 
faith,  which  has  gone  astray,  should  you  do  your  utmost  to  bring  it 
back.  For  what  shepherd  feeding,  it  may  be,  a  hundred  sheep,  in 
our  upland  pastures,  if  one  of  them  stray,  does  not  leave  the  ninety 
aad  nine,  and  set  o£C  into  the  hills  to  seek  for  the  one  that  has  Traa* 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  575 

dcred?  And  if  he  be  so  happy  as  to  find  it,  I  tell  you,  beyond  doubt, 
he  rejoices  more  over  the  one  thus  saved  than  over  the  ninety  and 
nine  that  liad  not  strayed.  In  the  same  way  as  it  grieves  the  slieplierd 
that  eveu  one  of  his  sliecp  sliould  be  lost,  so  it  grieves  my  Father  ia 
Heaven  that  one  of  these  feeble,  simple  souls  should  perish,  and  il 
sorely  displeases  Him  if  it  perish  by  the  neglect  or  fault  of  any  ol 
my  disciples. 

'  •  Let  me  pass  to  a  distinct,  yet  related  subject — the  proper  treat- 
ment of  a  brother  in  the  faith  who  does  you  any  wrong,  bj'  anger, 
envy,  seltishness,  or  in  any  other  way.  Do  not  wait  till  he  who  has 
thus  injured  you  comes  to  }"ou  to  make  amends,  but  go  to  him  by 
yourself,  and  tell  him  his  fault  in  private;  that,  if  possible,  you  may 
get  him  to  own  it  between  you  and  him  alone,  and  thus  the  scandal 
of  difference  between  disciples  spread  no  farther,  and  he  be  won  for 
my  New  Kingdom,  from  which  he  would  have  been  shut  out,  if,  by 
refusing  to  be  reconciled,  he  had  shown  no  repentance.  Seek  hig 
good,  not  your  own  justification  merely:  however  wronged,  think 
less  of  yourself  than  of  his  eternal  salvation. 

"  If,  however,  he  will  not  listen  to  your  kindly  remonstrance  and 
persuasion,  go  a  second  time  to  him,  taking  two  or  three  witnesses 
with  you,  as  Moses  directed  in  other  cases;  if,  perchance,  though  he 
had  not  been  moved  by  your  single  appeal,  that  of  two  or  three  sup- 
porting you,  may  lead  him  to  see  and  acknowledge  his  fault.  Their 
testimony,  besides,  will  prevent  his  denial  of  his  confession,  should 
he  make  one,  and  afterwards  repudiate  it;  while,  if  he  refu.se  to 
listen  and  to  admit  his  fault,  and  the  matter  must  be  brought  before 
the  Assembly,  it  will  support  and  confirm  at  once  the  fact  of  your 
private  visit  for  attempted  reconciliation,  and  his  stubborn  refusal 
to  hear  even  the  two  or  three  brethren  you  took  with  you  on  the 
second  visit. 

"  The  Rabbis  enjoin  that  the  offender  shall  go  to  him  whom  he 
has  injured,  and  own  his  fault,  and  that  if  he  cannot  thus  procure 
forgiveness,  he  shall  take  others  with  liim  and  .'^eek  to  obtain  it;  but 
I  require  tliat  he  who  is  wronged  do  this,  that  he  may  show  his 
liumility,  and  his  patient  love  for  a  guilty  brother. 

"You  knt)W,  moreover,  how  a  stubborn  offender,  who  refuses 
private  amends,  is  at  last  proclaimed  as  such,  in  the  Synagogue  and 
in  tlie  schools.  In  mj^  New  Society,  the  congregation  of  the  new 
Israel — the  Kahal,  or  assembly  of  mj'  followers,  wliich  will,  hereafter, 
be  called  the  Church,  is  to  make  a  third  final  attempt  to  win  the 
guilty  one  to  repentance.  You  are  to  tell  the  facts  to  the  '  congrega- 
tion,' and  ask  their  godly  oflices,  and  they,  through  appointed  repre- 
sentatives, will  then  seek  to  bring  him  to  a  right  frame  of  mind.  If, 
after  all,  he  refuse  to  hear  eveu  the  congregation,  you  are  freed  from 
further  responsibility,  and  are  absolved  from  all  furtlier  religious 
relationship  to  him,  as  you  have  hitherto  thought  yourselves  to  be 
from  the  heathen,  and  from  men  of  vicious  life,  such  as  the  publi- 


576  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

cans.  Not  that  you  are  to  despise  him,  or  refuse  him  the  commou 
oflSces  of  humanity,  as  your  countrymen  do  to  such  classes,  for  j'ou 
jre  still  to  love  and  seek  to  win  him  back,  even  till  the  very  last,  as 
your  Heavenly  Father  does  with  the  untliankful  and  evil. 

'■  Let  every  offender  think  hoAv  solemn  his  position  will  be  if  thus 
obdurate  before  the  congregation.  I  have  already  given  Peter — as 
the  key-bearer  of  my  spiritual  Temple — the  New  Society  I  have 
founded — power  to  forbid  and  allow,  to  enact  and  define,  what  is 
Deeded  for  its  future  government  and  discipline,  and  have  told  you 
that  what  he  ordains,  so  far  as  it  is  in  harmony  with  the  mind  of 
the  Spirit  of  God,  will  be  confirmed  by  me  in  heaven,  as  if  I  were 
still  with  you  on  earth.  This  power  I  now  extend  to  you  all,  my 
twelve  faithful  followers,  and  I  give  j^ou,  as  a  body,  the  same  assur- 
ance of  my  confirmation  of  what  you  appoint  for  the  government  of 
my  Society.  Peter  is,  thus,  only  the  first  among  ccpiais.  If  the 
remedy  I  have  pointed  out  be  insufficient,  as  my  Society  extends,  to 
meet  such  offences,  1  leave  it  to  you  to  devise  and  apply  what  other 
means  may  seem  needed,  as  the  occasion  demands.  And  that  you 
may  feel  how  formally  and  solemnly  I  now,  before  my  departure,  de- 
pute this  power  to  you,  I  tell  j'ou.  further,  that  if  two  of  you  shall 
agree  on  any  matter,  thus  affecting  the  salvation  of  souls  by  the  right 
discipline  of  my  Society,  or  for  other  good  ends,  and  shall  ask  my 
Father  in  Heaven  to  grant  your  desire,  He  will  do  so.  For  where 
two  or  three  of  you  are  gathered  together  in  my  name,  I  am  in  their 
midst,  so  that  you  need  not  doubt  my  promise  that  what  even  so 
few  agree  to  ask  my  Father,  in  matters  pertaining  to  my  kingdom, 
■will  be  granted." 

The  Twelve  had  listetied  to  their  Master  in  reverent  silence,  but 
now  the  ever  self-asserting  Peter,  still  intensely  Jewish  in  feeling,  in- 
terrupted Him  by  a  question  conceived  in  the  narrow  and  formal 
spirit  of  Rabbinisra. 

"Lord,"  said  he,  "our  teachers  tell  iis  that  if  a  person  do  us 
wrong  we  are  to  forgive  him,  a  first,  second,  and  third  time,  but  not 
a  fourth.     What  sayest  Thou?    AVould  seven  times  be  enough?" 

"  I  am  far  from  limiting  my  requirement  to  seven  times,"  replied 
Jesus.  "  So  far  from  that,  if  you  be  of  a  truly  humble  and  child-like 
spirit,  as  you  ought,  you  will  forgive  to  seventy  times  seven — that  is, 
any  number  of  times.  Let  me  show  you  my  thoughts  on  this  point 
by  a  parable." 

"  The  subjects  of  my  kingdom  are  like  the  servants  of  a  certain 
ruler,  with  whom  their  lord  would  make  a  reckoning.  So  he  called 
before  him  his  revenue  collectors — the  gatherers  of  his  taxes  and  tolls, 
and  demanded  a  settlement  from  them.  Among  others,  one  was 
brought  to  him  who  owed  him  ten  thousand  talents — that  is,  thirty 
millions  of  shekels — a  sum  it  was  hopeless  for  him  to  think  of  re- 
paying. When  the  king  heard  how  nmch  he  owed,  he  cried  out 
tiiat  '  lie  wfiiUd  be  paid, '  and  commanded  him  to  be  sold  as  a  slavey 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  577 

yr'ith.  his  wife  and  children,  and  all  that  he  had,  In  payment  of  the 
debt.  On  bearing  this,  the  servant  fell  down  before  him,  beseeching 
him,  'Lord,  have  patience  with  me,  and  I  will  pay  thee  all.'  At  this 
his  lord  was  moved  with  compassion,  and  having  ordered  him  to  be 
unbound,  not  only  gave  him  time,  as  he  had  asked,  but,  knowing  he 
could  never  pay,  forgave  him  the  debt  altogether. 

"This  servant,  liowever,  thus  freely  forgiven,  went  out  and  found 
one  of  his  fellow-servants  who  owed  him  a  hundred  denarii — less 
than  the  seven  himdreth-thousandth  of  what  he  had  himself  owed — 
and  laid  hold  of  him  by  the  throat,  saying  fiercely,  '  Pay  what  you 
owe.'  The  debtor  thereupon  fell  down  at  his  feet,  as  he  had  fallen  at 
those  of  his  lord,  and  besought  him,  '  Have  patience  with  me,  and  I 
will  pay  thee. '  But  he  had  no  pity,  and  cast  him  into  prison,  till  he 
should  pay  the  debt.  His  fellow-servants,  seeing  what  was  being 
done,  Avere  troubled  at  such  liard-hcartedness,  and  at  the  ill-treatment 
of  the  poor  man,  and  came  and  told  their  lord  all  that  had  happened. 
Then  the  lord,  having  called  the  ofEender,  said  to  liim,  '  O  thou 
wicked  servant,  I  forgave  you  all  the  great  debt  you  owed  me,  be- 
cause you  asked  me,  though  you  sought  only  time,  not  forgiveness. 
Should  not  you,  also,  have  had  pity  on  your  fellow-servant,  as  I  had 
pity  on  you? '  And  his  lord  was  indignant,  and  delivered  him  over 
to  the  torturers,  to  deal  with  him  in  the  prison-house  as  they  thought 
fit,  till  he  should  pay  all  that  was  due  to  him. 

"  So,  the  forgiveness  God  lias  gi-anted  you,  of  your  great  debt 
to  Him,  which  you  could  never  pay — the  guilt  of  your  sins — must 
lead  you  from  your  heart  to  forgive  your  brother  man,  not  seven,  but 
any  number  of  times,  the  far  smaller  debt  he  may  owe  you;  for  if  you 
do  not  forgive  him,  the  wrath  of  God  will  burn  upon  you  at  the 
great  day,  and  you  will  be  cast  into  everlasting  punishment." 

The  transcendent  loftiness  of  C^hrist's  spiritual  nature  shines  out 
through  this  whole  episode.  In  His  perfect  humility  He  makes  no 
personal  claims.  As,  on  every  occasion.  He  declares  simplicity  and 
lowliness,  like  that  of  childhood,  the  mark  of  true  discipleship;  asks 
no  higher  or  more  signal  acknowledgment,  as  a  man,  than  was  to  be 
shown  to  all  others;  and  ranks  the  friendly  and  kind  treatment  of 
any  of  His  followers  as  if  done  to  Himself.  He  demands  no  exclu- 
sive honour,  but,  on  the  contrary,  every  childlike  spirit  in  the  king- 
dom of  God  has  in  His  sight  a  priceless  value,  however  slight  the 
instance  by  which  its  character  was  shown.  The  good  deed  done 
to  the  least  of  His  people,  is  considered  as  personal  to  Himself. 
Neither  now,  nor  at  any  time,  does  He  bear  Himself  as  one  to  whom 
all  were  to  bow  as  servants;  He  takes  His  place  in  the  midst  of  tlie 
little  band  round  Him,  as  one  who  shares  with  them  the  highest  and 
holiest  joys.  Within  this  circle  we  ever  tind  Him  strengthening 
and  encouraging  each  to  surrender  him.self  for  the  good  of  the 
rest,  and  to  cheer  and  honour  especially,  the  humblest,  the  least 
esteemed,  the  most   unpretentious;  or,  it  may  be,  the  mere  workers 


678  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■who  could  not  push  themselves  into  notice.  Meek  and  lowly  in 
heart,  He  was  no  less  of  an  infinite  pity.  The  New  Society,  taught 
by  His  example  and  words,  learned  that  they  were  to  reproduce  the 
spirit  of  little  children,  in  that  liitherto  unimagined  grandeur  of 
humility  which  almost  rejoices  to  suffer  because  it  gives  an  oppor- 
tunity to  forgive. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

AT  THE  FEAST  OF   TABERNACLES. 

The  seventh  month,  Tisri,  part  of  our  September  and  October — 
"  the  month  of  the  full  streams,"  and  the  autumnal  equinox,  had  now 
come.  Nisan,  "the  flower  month,"  known  of  old  as  Abib,  ' '  the  ciiring 
month,"  had  seen  the  Passover  pass  without  the  presence  of  Jesus. 
Ijjar,  ''  the  beautiful  montli,"  with  its  blossoming  trees;  Siwan,  "the 
bright;"  Tammuz;  Ab,  "  the  fruit  month;"  and  Elul,  "the  mouth  of 
wine;"  had  gone  by  in  the  journey  to  Tyre  and  Sidon,  and  to  Cassarea 
Philippi.  Jesus  had  now  been  well-nigh  half  a  year  little  better  than 
an  outlawed  fugitive,  hiding,  in  imsuspected  districts,  from  His  ene- 
mies. The  fifteenth  day  of  Tisri  was  the  first  of  the  great  harvest 
feast  of  the  j'ear — that  of  Tabernacles — a  time  all  the  more  joj-ful 
from  its  coming  only  four  days  after  the  Day  of  Atonement — the  close 
of  the  Jewish  Lent.  Galilee  was  no  longer  open  to  Him,  and  the 
Kingdom  was  yet  to  be  proclaimed  in  Jerusalem,  the  haughty  city  of 
the  Temple,  and  of  David.  He  knew  that  to  go  there  would  be, 
sooner  or  later,  to  die;  but,  with  this  cle;u'ly  before  Him,  He  calmly 
resolved,  at  the  summons  of  duty,  to  transfer  the  sphere  of  His  activ- 
ity from  the  remote  and  secluded  security  of  the  north  to  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Rabbis  and  priests.  He  had  come  into  the  world  to 
be  the  Lamb  of  God,  bringing  salvation  to  His  people  and  mankind 
by  the  proclamation  of  the  New  Kingdom,  sealed  with  His  blood; 
and  Jerusalem  alone,  the  seat  of  the  dispensation  He  came  to  super- 
sede, was  the  fitting  scene  for  inaugurating  the  economy  that  was  to 
take  its  place. 

He  was  still  in  Capernaum  when  the  great  caravan  of  ]iilgrims  be- 
gan to  pass  to  the  feast.  His  relations,  who,  as  yet,  had  declared 
neither  for  nor  against  Him,  had,  apparently,  come  over  from  Naza- 
reth to  get  Him  to  go  up  to  Jerusalem  with  them.  They  could  not 
have  felt  any  hostility  to  One  whose  holy  life  had  passed  under  their 
eyes,  but,  like  the  nation  at  large,  they  clung  to  what  they  had  always 
been  taught  by  the  Rabbis,  that  the  Messiah  was  to  restore  Israel  to 
national  glory,  and  to  transfer  rtie  sceptre  of  universal  power  from 
Rome  to  Jerusalem.  In  their  worldly  wisdom  they  could  not  under- 
standHim.  It  seemed  to  them  unwise  tliat  He  should  stay  in  a 
corner  of  the  land,  if  He  wished  to  establish  the  kingdom  of  the  Mes- 
aiah.     The  Rabbis,  as  He  knew,  tauglit  that  it  was  to  be  set  up  iu 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  579 

lenisalem,  and  it  was  clear  that  it  could  be  extended  best  from  the 
Holy  City,  as  a  centre.  Why  did  He  not  go  up  witli  them  now,  t!iey 
asked,  to  the  feast,  that  all  who  were  friendly  to  Ilim,  or  who  might 
iecome  so,  might  see  His  miracles,  and  thus  bs  constrained  to  sup- 
port Him?  "Nobody,"  they  urged,  "who  aimed  at  being  a  great 
national  leader,  as  they  fancied  He  did,  by  His  claiming  to  be  the 
Messiah,  could  hope  for  success  if  He  wrought  all  the  "signs"  which 
were  to  rally  the  people  round  Him,  in  an  out-of-the-way  place  like 
Galilee.  He  had  not  been  at  the  last  Passover,  or  at  Pentecost,  when 
the  people  were  gathered  in  the  Holy  City  from  all  the  land,  and,  in- 
deed, from  all  the  world;  but  He  might,  perhaps,  repair  this  error 
even  j-et,  if  He  went  up  now,  and  showed  His  power  before  the  as- 
sembled myriads  of  Israel.  If  they  accepte'd  Him  as  Messiah,  their 
very  numbers  would  sweep  away  the  heathen  like  chaff  before  the 
wind,  especially  wlien  supported  by  miraculous  help.  It  was  imwise 
to  keep  back  in  this  obscure  and  hidden  district;  He  should  show 
Himself  openly  to  the  Jewish  world,  which  He  could  only  do  in 
Jerusalem." 

"  You  think  the  present  the  fit  moment  for  carrjing  out  my  plans," 
said  Jesus.  "  You  err.  It  is  not  yet  the  divinely  appointed  time  for 
my  doing  this.  You  may  go  up  openly  before  all  Israel,  at  any  time, 
because  you  and  they  are  at  one  in  not  receiving  me.  They  have  no 
reason  to  hate  you,  nor  have  the  priests  and  Rabbis,  their  leaders; 
but  they  hate  me,  because  I,  the  Light  of  the  world — the  true  Mes- 
siah— on  whom  all  should  believe,  am  a  standing  protest  against  them, 
that  they  sin  in  hating  and  persecuting  me,  as  a  transgressor  of  the 
Law  and  a  blasphemer,  because  I  have  witnessed  against  their  cor- 
ruption and  hypocrisy.  They  wish  a  political  Messiah :  I  seek  only 
spiritual  ends.  Go  up,  yourselves.  The  present  time  does  not  suit 
me  to  go  with  you. "  Their  hope  that  He  would  lift  the  family  to  the 
aighest  honour,  by  heading  a  national  Messianic  movement,  had  come 
io  nothing. 

The  object  of  His  delay  was  to  avoid  going  with  the  great  Galilccan 
caravan,  which  entered  the  Holy  City  with  public  rejoicings.  He 
would  be  recognized  at  once,  and  the  m\iltitude,  in  the  excitement  of 
the  time,  might  again  try  to  force  Him  into  political  action.  Pub- 
licity and  popular  enthusiasm  would  have  drawn  the  attention  of 
those  in  power,  and  this  He  at  present  earnestlj'  wished  to  avoid. 
His  Avork  was  not  to  be  rashly  broken  off  by  any  imprudent  act,  for 
He  needed  all  the  opportunities  that  remained,  to  devote  Himself  to 
the  Twelve  and  to  His  other  followers.  He  could  go  up  a  few  days 
iater,  and  thus  avoid  the  caravan.  The  feast  lasted  seven  days, 
closing  with  the  eighth  as  the  greatest,  and  thus,  even  if  He  started 
later,  He  could  mingle  with  the  multitudes,  and  find  out  how  meq 
felt  towards  Him  and  His  work,  and  proclaim  the  New  Kingdom  aa 
He  saw  fit.  The  danger  would  be  averted,  and  His  great  end  better 
served.     It  was  more  in  keeping  with  His  spirit  to  avoid  all  appear- 


580  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ance  of  courting  popularity,  and  to  deliver  His  great  message  of  love 
in  stillness;  leaving  its  reception  to  its  own  charms,  and  to  the  lowly 
humility,  self-denLil,  and  gentleness,  with  which  it  was  delivered. 

Waiting,  therefore,  for  some  days,  till  things  were  quiet,  He  started 
with  the  Twelve,  and  a  number  of  disciples,  for  Jerusalem.  Cross- 
ing Esdraelon,  now  stripped  of  its  harvest,  Engannim,  the  "fountain 
of  gardens,"  saw  Him  once  more  on  Samaritan  soil.  The  caravans 
had  perhaps  gone  over  the  Jordan,  to  travel  down  its  eastern  bank,  and 
thus  avoid  the  pollution  of  the  direct  route  through  hated  Samaria. 

He  had  been  kindly  received  in  the  alien  district  on  His  former 
passage  through  it,  northwards,  but  He  was  now  going  towards 
Jerusalem  instead  of  leaving  it,  and  this  was  enough  to  rouse  the 
bitterness  of  the  Samaritans.  As  was  His  custom.  He  had  sent  on 
messengers  before  Him  to  secure  hospitality  for  the  night,  but  it  was 
at  once  refused.  John  and  James — "the  Sons  of  Thunder" — who 
had  perhaps  been  the  messengers,  were  especially  indignant,  and 
showed  how  little  they  had  profited  by  the  lessons  of  meekness  they 
had  so  long  been  receiving.  With  the  harsh  Jewish  feeling  which 
regarded  eveiy  one  except  a  Jew  as  accursed,  and  hateful  to  God, 
and  sought  to  establish  the  New  Kingdom,  not  by  mildness  and  love, 
but  by  force,  they  would  fain  have  had  fire  called  down  from  heaven 
to  consume  the  unfriendly  village.  They  had  likely  spoken  of  Jesus 
as  the  Messiah,  or,  perhaps.  His  fame  as  such,  may  have  already 
crossed  the  border.  But  the  Samaritans  expected  from  the  Messiah 
that  He  would  restore  the  Temple  on  Mount  Gerizim,  and  instead  of 
that,  Jesus  was  going  up  to  a  feast  in  Jerusalem.  John  and  James, 
however,  could  make  no  allowance.  Elias  had  once  called  fire  from 
heaven  in  his  own  honour:  how  much  more  should  men  perish  who 
had  rejected  the  Messiah.  The  teaching  of  Jesus  had  not  as  yet  soft- 
ened the  fierce  Jewish  spirit  of  the  Twelve.  Fanatical  bitterness  had 
struck  its  roots  into  their  deepest  nature.  How  utterly  were  they 
still  wanting  in  patience  towards  the  erring,  and  filled  only  with  the 
thought  of  wrath  and  destruction !  They  had  not  yet  realized  that 
the  kingdom  of  Jesus  is  one  of  faith  alone:  that  it  cannot  be  spread 
by  compulsion  and  violence,  but  mvist  spring  from  humility  and  love; 
that  it  must  rest  on  free  and  honest  conviction,  and  can  grow  strong 
and  abiding  only  when  a  child-like  spirit  obeys  and  advances  it. 

Deeply  troubled,  and  no  less  offended,  Jesus  turned  towards  the 
fierce  zealots,  and  rebuked  their  foolish  and  cruel  .harshness.  They 
had  heard  Him  say  that  He  came  to  serve,  not  to  reign ;  to  svdfer  for 
others,  not  to  inflict  suffering  on  any;  and  He  had  but  lately  told 
them,  once  and  again,  how  He  was  about  to  give  Himself  up  to 
death  for  the  good  of  the  world.  But  though  their  ears  had  heard, 
and  their  conscience  approved,  their  hearts  had  not  willingly  accepted 
the  intimation,  and  hence  thej'  were  ever  exposed  to  fall  back  into 
Jewish  fanaticism.  Rebuking  them  sternly.  He  taught  them  a  needed 
kssou.  by  merely  passing  to  another  village. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  581 

It  was  hard  for  the  disciples  to  realize  that,  to  be  folloTvers  of 
Jesus,  they  must  surrender  themselves  unconditionally  to  the  will  of 
God,  and  devote  tlK'mselvcs  to  the  woi-k  of  the  Kingdom,  without  a 
lingering  tie  to  the  world  they  had  left.  The  circumstances  demanded 
explicit  statements  of  wliat  disciplesliip  thus  involved,  and  hence, 
when  fresh  applicants  for  the  honour  presented  themselves,  Jesus  was 
more  frank  and  earnest,  if  possible,  than  ever  before,  in  setting  the 
cost  before  them.  A  Samaritan  had  come  forward  asking  leave  to 
follow  Ilim;  as  if  to  show  that  all  were  not  like  the  villagers  who  had 
treated  Him  so  unkindly.  It  may  be  he  had  very  imperfect  ideas  of 
what  his  wisli  implied,  but  Jesus  did  not  leave  him  in  doubt.  He 
told  him  all  His  own  position,  and  all  that  awaited  His  disciples:  that 
He  had  forsaken  house  and  home  for  ever,  and  that  the  birds  of  the 
air,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field,  had  a  lot  to  be  envied  compared  with. 
His. 

The  seeming  harshness  of  His  replies  to  two  others,  perhaps  Sa- 
maritans, who  also  asked  leave  to  follow  Him,  is  explained  by  these 
facts.  From  the  first  He  had  held  out  no  rewards,  but  predicted  only 
privation  and  suffering  to  His  disciples,  but  these  were  closer  at  hand 
now  than  they  had  been  when  He  called  the  Twelve.  To  follow 
Him  had  come  to  mean,  literally,  to  leave  all,  and  to  make  up  one's 
mind  to  the  worst.  He  was  a  mark  for  the  fiercest  hatred  of  those  in 
authority,  and  His  circle  could  not  escape  suffering  with  their  Master. 
The  most  utter,  imqualified  devotion,  the  purest  spirit  of  self-sacrifice, 
were  required.  "Let  the  dead;  those  w^ho  will  not  receive  the  preach- 
ing of  the  Kingdom,  bury  their  dead,"  said  He,  to  one  who  wished 
to  bury  his  father.  "  Surrender  yo'ii'self  utterly  to  God."  Another, 
whose  want  of  the  supreme  resolution  demanded,  showed  itself  in  a 
request  to  be  allowed  to  bid  farewell  to  his  friends,  was  told  that  it 
could  not  be.  "The  prayers,  the  tenrs  of  your  circle  at  home,  might 
shake  your  decision  to  consecrate  yoiirself  wholly  to  the  kingdom  of 
God."  ^ 

It  was  now  many  months  since  the  sending  out  of  the  Twelve  on 
their  first  missionary  journey.  It  had  been  necessary  to  confine  them 
to  strictly  Jewish  ground,  to  avoid  offence,  and  from  tlieir  own  de- 
fective sympatliy  with  other  populations.  Both  difliculties  were 
now,  however,  in  part,  removed:  the  openly  hostile  attitude  of  the 
leaders  of  the  nation  made  it  unnecessary  to  consider  their  preju 
dices;  the  Apostles  had,  in  some  degree,  gained  broader  cliarity,  and, 
above  all,  the  near  approach  of  the  end  made  it  desirable  that  the 
full  grandeur  of  the  iNevv  Kingdom,  as  intended  for  all  men  alike, 
should  be  clearly  shown  liefore  its  founder's  death,  tliat  tliere  might 
be  no  possible  misconception  afterwards.  Jesus  had  always  yearned 
to  proclaim  the  werds  of  life  to  the  different  races  whom  He  saw 
around  Him.  A  boundless  field  opened  itself  for  the  missionary 
labours  of  any  number  of  disciples,  and  He  now  liad  round  Him  a 
iai-ger  number  than  bafore,  whom  He  could  thus  send  out.     He  d^ 


583  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

termined,  therefore,  to  send  out  no  fewer  than  seventy  disciples;  iq 
the  Jewish  opinion,  the  number  of  tlie  nations  of  the  world.  The 
lesson  could  not  l)e  doubtful.  It  was  a  significant  announcement 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  the  history  of  man,  a  universal  religion  was 
being  proclaimed. 

Samaria,  through  which  He  was  passing,  had,  naturaWy,  the  first 
claim  on  the  new  enterprise,  and  that  all  the  more  from  the  proof  of 
its  need  of  spiritual  light,  furnished  by  the  inhospitality  shown  to 
Him  who  was  bringing  that  light  to  its  borders. 

The  Seventy,  separated  into  pairs,  were  detailed  to  carry  the  mes- 
sage of  peace  to  all  the  habitations  of  the  race  they  had  formerly,  as 
Jews,  so  hated.  They  had  grown  up  from  cliildhood  in  the  narrowest 
Pharisaic  spirit,  and  were  still,  in  some  measure,  under  its  spell. 
The  Rabbis  did  not  permit  any  close  intercourse  of  Jews  with  hea- 
then or  Samaritans ;  they  were  forbidden  to  enter  their  houses,  or 
return  their  gTcetings,  and,  still  more,  to  join  them  in  a  common  meal. 
But  the  gi'and  maxims  of  charity  and  love  which  Jesus  had  so  often 
taught,  were  now  to  be  put  in  practice.  Jewish  exclusiveness  was 
to  be  done  away  for  ever,  by  the  proclamation  of  a  Saviour  op 
Mankind.  His  messengers,  therefore,  while  losing  no  time  on  the 
way  by  long  and  formal  salutations,  were  to  bear  themselves  with 
loving  trust  even  among  hostile  populations,  taking  neither  purse,  nor 
wallet,  and  wearing  only  the  sandals  of  the  poor— to  show  their  lowly 
bearing,  and  humble  personal  claims.  The  instructions  given  for- 
mei'ly  to  the  Twelve,  Avere,  in  fact,  repeated ;  instructions  then  as 
amazing  as  if  Hindoo  Brahmins  of  to-day  were  sent  forth  with  orders 
to  care  nothing  for  caste,  and  associate  freely,  and  even  eat,  with  ab- 
horred Pariahs  and  Sudras.  The  Seventy  were  to  join,  without  hes- 
itation or  reserve,  in  the  household  life  of  the  hated  Samaritans,  and 
cat  with  them  at  their  tables!  No  other  condition  of  spiritual 
brotherhood  was  to  be  required  than  that  of  a  believing  reception  of 
the  salvation  through  Jesus. 

Only  one  incident  of  the  journey  of  Jesus  Himself  la  recorded,  but 
it  is  wondrously  significant.  His  repulse  at  the  border  village  had 
changed  His  route,  for  now,  instead  of  going  straight  south.  He 
turned  eastwards,  and  followed  the  road  that  nms  between  Samaria 
and  Galilee,  down  the  ravines,  to  the  fertile  meadows  of  Bethshean 
or  Scythopolis,  where  a  ford  or  bridge  led  over  the  Jordan.  The 
route  stretched  thence,  southwards,  to  Jericho. 

The  calm  rebuke  of  John  and  James  for  their  anger  and  revenge- 
ful spirit,  and  the  return  of  good  for  evil  in  the  sending  forth  the 
'Seventy  to  preach  the  Kingdom  throughout  the  Sam.aritan  region, 
iad  shown  that  the  rudeness  He  had  received  had  rov.  rufiled  His 
spirit.  He  was  now  to  add  another  proof  of  His  serene  and  loving 
nature.  As  Ihey  approached  a  border  ;illage,  a  dismal  spectacle 
was  presented.  Ten  men,  hideous  with  leprosy,  ranged  themselves 
ftt  a  olistanee  from  the  road,  as  similar  suifercrs  still  do,  before  tlieil 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  583 

hnts  at  the  Zion  Gate  at  Jerusalem.  It  was  a  law  in  Samaria  that 
no  leper  could  enter  a  town,  and  lience  the  imfortunate  creatures 
accosted  Jesus  while  He  was  still  outside  the  village.  jVIisery  had 
broken  down  all  prejudrce  of  race  or  faith,  and  had  brought  together 
even  Jew  and  Samaritan,  as  it  still  does  in  the  leper  haunts  of  Jenisa- 
lem  and  Nablous.  The  ten  had  heard  of  Jesus,  and  the  wonderful 
cures  He  had  performed  on  such  as  they,  and  no  sooner  saw  Him 
than  they  broke  out  with  the  common  cry — "Tame!  Tame!  Un- 
clean, unclean!  Jesus,  Master,  have  mercy  on  us."  It  was  a  sight 
that  might  liave  touched  any  heart,  for  it  must  have  been  like  that 
which  still  repeats  itself  to  passers-by  at  the  leper  quarters  else- 
where — a  crowd  of  beggars  without  eyebrows,  or  hair  on  their  faces 
or  heads,  the  nails  of  their  hands  and  feet,  and  even  a  hand  or  a  foot 
itself,  gone  from  some;  the  nose,  the  eyes,  the  tongue,  the  palate, 
more  or  less  wanting  in  others.  As  they  stood  afar  off,  their  lips 
covered  with  their  abbas,  like  mourners  for  the  dead;  for  they  were 
smitten  with  a  liviig  death,  which  cut  them  off  from  intercourse 
with  their  fellows;  the  pity  of  Jesus  was  excited,  and  without  even 
waiting  to  come  near,  sant  hope  to  them  in  the  words,  "Go,  .show 
yourselves  to  the  priests."  They  knew  what  the  command  meant, 
for  no  one  who  was  not  cleansed  could  approach  a  priest,  and  as  the] 
moved  off,  the  disease  left  them.  The  Samaritan  would  have  to  shov 
himself  to  a  Samaritan  pi'iest;  the  nine  Jews  needed  to  go  up  to  Ja 
rusalem  for  an  official  certificate  of  health,  at  the  Temple;  but  it  wm 
the  least  either  the  one  or  the  others  could  do,  when  they  felt  theii 
cure,  to  return,  if  only  for  a  moment,  to  thank  their  benefactor  for  4 
deliverance  from  worse  than  death.  But  the  nine  Jews  were  too  much 
concentrated  on  themselves  to  think  of  this.  Only  one,  the  Samar- 
itan, showed  natural  gratitude,  and  came  back  and  threw  himself  at 
the  feet  of  Jesus,  in  humble  acknowledgment  of  Uie  goodness  shown 
him.  "  Were  there  not  ten  cleansed?"  asked  Chnst;  "  where  are  the 
nine?  Tiie  only  one  who  has  returned  to  give  glory  to  God  is  this 
Samaritan,  whom  Jews  call  a  heathen,  and  an  alien  from  Israel. 
Arise,  go  thy  way,  thy  faith  hath  made  the  whole."  The  Twelve 
had  received  another  "lesson  of  universal  charity. 

The  Feast  of  Tabernacles  was  one  of  the  three  great  feasts  which 
every  Jew  was  recpiired  to  attend.  It  was  held  from  the  fifteenth  of 
Tisri  to  the  twenty-second,  the  first  and  last  days  Iieing  Sabbaths— the 
latter  "the  ^eat  day  of  the  feast.  "  It  commemorated,  in  part,  the 
tent-life  of  Israel  in  the  wilderness,  but  was  also,  still  more,  a  feast 
of  thanks  for  the  harvest,  which  was  now  ended  even  in  the  orchards 
and  vineyards.  Everj^  one  lived  in  booths  of  living  twigs,  branches 
of  olive,  myrtle,  fir,  and  the  like,— raised  in  the  open  courts  of 
houses,  on  roofs,  and  in  the  streets  and  open  places  of  the  city.  All 
carried  in  the  left  hand  a  citron,  and  in  the  right  the  lulab— a  "branch 
of  palm  woven  round  with  willow  and  myrtle.  On  each  of  the  seven 
feast  days  the  priasts  went  out  with  music  and  the  choir  of  Levitea, 


684  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

amidst  the  shouts  of  vast  multitudes,  to  draw  water  in  a  iiolden  ves- 
sel, from  the  spring  of  Silcah;  to  be  poured  out  at  the  time  of  the 
morning  offering  as  a  liltation,  on  the  west  side  of  the  great  altar, 
amidst  great  joy,  singing  and  dancing,  suclk  as  was  not  all  the  year 
besides.  On  the  evening  of  the  first  day  a  grand  illumination,  from 
huge  candelabra  which  shed  light  far  and  near  over  the  citj",  began 
in  the  Court  of  the  Women,  and  torch  dances  of  men  were  kept  up, 
in  the  court,  with  music  and  songs,  till  the  Temple  gates  closed. 

The  Jewisli  authorities  kept  looking  for  Jesus,  for  they  had  counted 
on  His  attending  the  great  national  holiday,  and  thus  coming  within 
their  reach,  but,  to  their  disappointment,  He  appeared  not  to  be  in 
Jerusalem.  So  their  officers  reported.  His  absence  had.  indeed,  been 
noted  by  the  multitude,  and  everywhere  He  was  the  sxibject  of  con- 
versation and  discussion.  The  Rabbis  and  higher  Temple  dignitaries 
had  shown  themselves  so  hostile  to  Him  that  no  one  dared  to  mention 
His  name  except  in  whispers,  for  fear  of  excommunication,  but  He 
was  more  or  less  the  one  engrossing  topic  of  the  bazaars  and  the 
booths  of  the  feast.  Opinions  were  divided.  Some,  who  judged  for 
themselves,  maintained  that  He  was  a  good  man,  and  that  it  would 
be  well  for  all  to  follow  what  He  taught :  others,  and  they,  no  doubt 
the  great  majority,  who  took  their  opinions  from  their  religious 
leaders,  hotly  and  loudly  denounced  Him  as  unsafe  and  dangerous, 
a  breaker  of  the  Sabbath;  for  had  He  not,  on  His  last  visit,  healed  a 
blind  man  on  the  holy  day? 

Meanwhile,  when  the  feast  was  at  its  height,  Jesus  suddenly  niade 
His  appearance  in  the  Temple  porch,  where  the  Rabbis  taught,  and, 
calmly  taking  His  seat,  began  to  teach  the  crowd  that  soon  gathered 
round  Him.  It  is  not  told  us  when  He  had  arrived,  or  whether  Ijc 
lived  for  the  week,  like  the  crowds,  in  a  succah  or  ])ooth  of  His  own, 
or  of  a  friend:  or  whether  He  caiTied  the  lulab  and  citron,  as  others 
did,  round  the  greitt  altar,  or  attended  only  to  the  graver  matters  of 
His  New  Kingdom.  We  only  know  that  He  showed  Himself  o])enly 
in  the  city  and  in  the  Temple  courts,  under  the  very  eyes  of  His 
enemies.  Loyalty  to  His  work  had  demanded  His  delay  in  coming,  for 
His  life  was  still  needed  to  proclaim  the  New  Kingdom  in  Jerusalem 
as  well  as  in  Galilee,  if  it  were  permitted  Him.  He  had  lived  mostly 
in  the  latter,  but  Jerusalem  was  the  religious  centre  of  the  nation, 
and  all  that  happened,  or  was  spoken  publicly  during  one  of  the  great 
feasts,  would  be  wafted,  like  seeds,  to  every  land.  As  a  Jew,  more- 
over. He  had  a  tender  love  for  the  City  of  David,  and  of  a  still  greater, 
His  Heavenly  Father — a  spot  dear  then,  as  now,  beyond  expression, 
to  every  Israelite.  Before  it  was  for  ever  too  late.  He  would  fain 
bring  its  children  to  listen  to  the  things  of  their  peace,  which  He 
alone  could  tell  them. 

The  Jewish  authorities  were  astounded,  and  hardly  knew  what 
course  to  take.  Coming,  themselves,  to  listen  to  the  fearless  intruder, 
Uiey  were  still  more  amazed  at  what  they  heard.     They  could  now 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  •         585 

understand  how  it  had  1)ccn  said  of  Ilim  that  IIo  bore  Himself  as  one 
who  had  authority  direct  from  God;  and  not  like  the  IJahhis.  who 
never  spolie  witliout  (luotiiig  an  autiiority;  and  liow  He  iiad  made  so 
great  a  popular  impression.  Art  and  study  of  olfeet  had  no  ]ilace  in. 
His  discourses;  for  the  copiousness  and  tinish  of  a  mere  rlietorician 
were  wanting.  His  resistless  power  lay  as  much  in  Himself  as  in  His 
words;  His  calm  dignity,  and  His  look  of  mingled  purity  and  tender- 
ness, confirming  all  He  said,  as  by  a  holy  sanction.  He  did  not 
merely  treat  of  general  religious  and  moral  truths,  but  spoke  of 
quickening  facts  and  realities.  The  advent  of  the  Kingdom  of  God, 
its  nature,  and  its  glorious  future,  but  above  all,  His  own  position  in 
it;  as  its  Head  and  King,  as  He  in  whom  the  Father  revealed  Him- 
self, and  in  whom  men  were  to  find  salvation,  were  the  substance  of 
His  addresses.  They  were,  in  fact,  essentially  a  testimonj'  respecting 
Himself,  and  a  self-revelation.  There  were  no  svidden  and  violent 
bursts,  no  brilliant  flaslies,  but  an  atmosphere  of  more  than  earthly- 
peace  rested  over  botii  speaker  and  words,  from  first  to  last.  The 
jnost  amazing  claims  were  uttered,  not  only  without  a  trace  of  self- 
consciousness,  but  with  the  lowliest  luunility.  It  seemed  as  if  all  lie 
said  was  only  wliat  became  Him. 

But  with  all  Ills  humility,  and  in  addition  to  His  transcendent  dig- 
nity, the  fulness  of  His  knowledga  was  no  less  remarkable.  He  was 
intimate!}'  familiar  with  all  the  sacred  books,  and  even  with  the 
honourt'd  extra-canonical  writings.  He  met  and  confuted  opinions 
of  tiie  Rabbis  by  the  s;ibtlest  and  most  original  references  to  Scrip- 
ture; He  pierced  beneath  its  letter  to  the  spirit;  He  distinguished 
with  t!ie  keenest  acuteness  between  the  Law,  as  given  by  God,  in  its 
scope  and  essence,  and  the  Pharisaic  traditions;  and  He  clothed  in 
the  simplest  language,  tlie  profoundest  spiritual  truths  of  both  the 
Law  and  the  Prophets.     Such  a  phenomenon  was  mexplicablc. 

The  authorities,  in  amazement,  could  only  ask  themselves  how  He 
could  have  such  learning,  when  lie  has  never  studied  in  the  schools. 
Where  could  He  have  got  this  power  of  liandling  the  Scriptures  like 
a  great  Rabbi?  He  was  a  Ga'.ihean,  and  had  never  attemled  any 
Teacher.  Like  the  old  prophets  He  must  have  been  "taught  of 
God,"  and  it  was  evident  that  the  people  did  not  hesitate  to  recognize 
Him  as  one,  though  tlie  olficial  classes  were  fain  to  decry  Him,  and 
knew  the  effect  of  a  harsh  and  contemptuous  name.  ' '  How  could  a 
common  man  like  this,"  said  they,  "  who  has  never  been  educated  as 
a  Kabbi,  possibly  luulerstand  the  Scriptures?"  Against  their  con- 
sciences, they  tried  to  depreciate  both  Him  and  His  teaching. 

Had  they  shown  only  curious  or  friendly  wonder,  Jesus  would, 
perhaps,  have  remained  silent.  But  it  was  different  when  they  were 
trying  to  excite  doubt  and  susiiieion  against  Himself  and  His  "words, 
as  it  was  clear  tliey  were  doing  from  what  He  saw  ami  heard.  A 
deputation  from  the  authorities  having  at  last  given  the  opportunity 
of  reply  by  a  direct  interrogation,  lie  seized  it  at  once.     "Beyond 


586  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

doubt,"  said  He,  to  paraphrase  His  words  slightly,  "I  have  not 
learned  in  your  schools  what  I  teach.  But  my  doctrine  is  not  a  mere 
invention  of  my  own :  it  is  not  mine  at  all,  but  His  who  has  sent  me. 
I  only  repeat  what  He  instructs  me  to  make  known  in  His  name. 
You  speak  as  if  religious  truth  were  a  mere  matter  of  tedious  study. 
But  it  is  to  be  learned  by  obedience,  rather  than  from  books,  as  your 
own  Wisdom  of  Sirach  tells  you,  '  He  that  keepeth  the  law  of  the 
Lord  gettetb  the  understanding  thereof.'  It  needs  a  heart  willing  to 
be  taught  of  God  to  comprehend  it ;  a  heart  at  one  with  God,  and 
eager  to  do  His  will,  however  contrary  to  one's  owu:  He  whose  soul 
has  no  love  of  truth,  no  oneness  with  God,  cannot  recognize  His 
truth  even  when  he  hears  it.  If  you  had  true  love  to  God  and  desired  ' 
to  know  His  revealed  will,  and  to  carry  it  out  in  your  lives,  you 
would  know  from  whom  I  have  received  the  doctrine  I  teach,  by  its 
power  to  purify  and  calm  the  heart,  and  by  the  hopes  it  gives  for  the 
world  to  come.  That  I  do  not  advance  a  doctrine  of  my  own  inven- 
tion is,  moreover,  clear  from  this,  that  if  I  did  so  I  should  seek  my 
own  honour  and  advantage.  But  if  I  seek  no  honour  for  myself,  but 
only  for  Him  by  whom  1  have  been  sent,  it  shows  that  I  am  worthy 
of  trust.  To  strive  only  for  the  glory  of  God  is  in  itself  a  proof  of 
being  His  true  mouthpiece  and  messenger,  and  I  leave  you  to  say 
whether  tliis  docs  not  apply  to  me.  Have  I  ever  sought  honour  from 
men  and  not  rather  the  honour  of  my  Father  alone?  Have  I  not 
always  professed  to  have  received  all  from  my  Father?  I  have  had 
no  personal  end,  and  it  is,  therefore,  incredible  that  I  should  be  a 
deceiver,  seeking  to  lead  men  astray." 

The  cavil  of  the  Rabbis  thus  answered,  Jesus  forthAvith  took  the 
offensive.  "IIou  charge  me,"  said  lie,  " vath  not  knowing  the  Law: 
you  do  not  kccx>  it.  You  boast  of  your  zeal  for  it,  and  affect  indigna- 
tion for  my  having,  as  you  assert,  broken  it  by  healing  a  blind  man 
on  the  Sabbath;  an  indignation  so  real  that  you  would  put  me  to 
death  if  you  could.  But  this,  itself,  is  a  violation  of  the  Law,  for  the 
Law  commands  love  to  our  neighbour  above  even  the  Sabbath,  and 
that  should  be  my  jxn-fect  defence."  He  knew  that  the  authorities 
had  never  forgiven  Him  His  answer,  at  His  former  visit,  to  their 
charge  of  having  broken  the  Sabbatli  by  the  miracle  at  the  pool  of 
Bethesda,  and  that  they  were  plotting  His  death,  even  now,  on  ac- 
count of  it. 

Meanwhile,  the  crowd,  perhaps  knowing  less  than  He  of  the  secret 
designs  of  the  hierarchy,  or  affecting  to  deny  them;  believed,  or 
feigned  to  believe  Ilim  in  no  danger,  and  broke  out  in  angry  repudia- 
tion of  such  a  charge.  They  hadlicard  tlic  Rabbis  often  ascribe  His 
works  to  Ijcclzcbub,  and  fell  back  on  the  blasphemous  slander  as  an 
explanation  of  His  language.  He  must  have  a  devil.  The  Rabbis 
were  right.  lie  was  crazed.  The  evil  spirit  that  spoke  through  Him 
was  trying  to  stir  them  up  against  their  spiritual  guides. 

Without  noticing  the  interruption,  Jesus  continued,  addressing  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  587 

crowd  at  large,  "  Your  leaders  are  plotting  to  kill  me  for  doing  an  act 
of  mercy  on  the  Sabbath.  But  all  of  you  are  in  a  measure  guilty  by 
your  sympathy  with  them ;  shown  in  your  unrighteous  anger  at  me 
on  account  of  it,  on  the  same  ground.  But  that  you  may  see  the  in- 
justice of  your  charge,  let  me  remind  you  or  what  often  takes  place 
in  regard  to  circumcision.  That  rite  was  commanded  by  Moses, 
though  it  dates  from  Abraham,  and  you  are  so  strict  in  performing  it 
at  the  prescribed  time,  the  eighth  day,  that  j'ou  circumcise  a  child 
even  on  the  Sabbath,  if  necessary,  that  the  law  of  Moses  in  this  par- 
ticular be  not  broken.  Do  you  think  the  Sabbath  was  first  given  on 
Sinai,  and  hence  give  the  older  law  of  circumcision  the  preference? 
Or  have  you,  of  j'our  own  accord,  decided  that  in  some  cases  the  law 
of  the  Sabbath  must  give  way  to  other  parts  of  the  law?  You  accept 
the  saying  of  the  Rabbis,  that  '  circumcision  drives  away  the  Sabbath.' 
But,  if  you  perform  circumcision,  with  all  the  work  it  involves,  on 
the  Sabbath,  without  breaking  the  day,  how  can  you  be  angry  at  me, 
if  I  broke  it  by  a  work  of  mercy  so  much  more  beneficial  to  its  object 
as  the  making  a  blind  man  whole  on  it?  Never  judge  hj  appearance, 
but  look  beneath  the  surface  and  jvidge  righteously." 

But  now  some  joined  the  crowd  who  knew  of  the  plots  of  the 
authorities  against  His  life,  and  could  not  understand  how  He  should 
be  allowed  to  teach  thus  openly  without  interference.  His  words  and 
bearing  had  softened  their  prejudice,  and  made  it  seem  possible  that 
the  authorities  had  become  convinced  that  He  was,  in  reality,  the 
Messiah,  and  sanctioned  this  course.  But  the  mere  suggestion,  in  the 
shape  of  a  question,  was  enough  to  raise  a  hot  dispute  among  theo- 
logians so  keen.  "Do  not  the  Rabbis  tell  us,"  said  some,  •'  that  the 
Messiah  will  be  born  at  Bethlehem,  but  that  He  will  be  snatched  away 
by  .spirits  and  tempests  soon  after  His  birth,  and  that  when  He  returns 
the  second  time  no  one  will  know  from  whence  He  has  come?  But 
we  know  that  this  man  comes  from  Nazareth.  Our  chief  men,  if 
they  choose,  may  accept  Him  as  the  Messiah ;  we  will  not. " 

Jesus  was  still  sitting  in  the  Temple  porch,  teaching,  but,  on  hear- 
ing what  was  thus  openly  said  in  disparagement  of  His  Messiahship, 
He  broke  off  His  discourse,  and  called  out  in  a  louder  voice  than  He 
had  hitherto  used,  to  the  noisy  disputants — "You  do  certainly,  in 
your  own  sense,  know  who  I  am,  and  whence  I  come,  but  in  a  higher 
sense  you  know  neither.  I  come  forward  as  the  ^Messiah,  not  of  my- 
self ;  I  am  sent  by  One  whom  you  cannot  truly  know,  .so  long  as  you 
cling  to  your  worldly  ideas  of  the  jNlessiah — by  One  who,  alone,  has 
the  right  and  power  to  send  forth  the  ]\Iessiah,  and  has  done  so  in 
sendinu:  me.  I  know  Him,  though  you  do  not,  for  I  have  come  forth 
from  Him,  and  no  other  than  He  has  sent  me." 

His  hearers  at  once  saw  what  was  implied  in  this.  It  was  no  less 
than  a  claim  to  have  come  forth  from  God,  and  was  equivalent  to 
asserting  divine  dignity,  for  He  said  nothing  of  being  only  an  angel, 
or  embodied  heavenly  spirit,  or  prophet  raised  from  the  dead.    He  Lad 


588  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

once  be  ore,  after  the  very  miracle  for  wliicli  He  li.id  been  so  assailed, 
juslificd  llimsclf  by  saying — "l-V  Father  Y»-orkcth  hitherto,  and  I 
work;"  and  the  Avords  had  soundcci  so  blasphemous,  that  the  author- 
ities had  souc^ht  to  kill  Him,  because  He  had  not  only  broken  the  Sab- 
bath, but  had  said  that"*God  was  His  Father,  making  Himself  equal 
with  God.  The  hostile  part  of  the  crowd  rightly  saw  a  similar  claim 
repeated  now,  and  with  the  wild  fanaticism  of  their  race  in  that  age, 
proposed  to  lay  hold  of  Ilim,  and  hurry  Him  outside  the  city  on  the 
instant,  to  stone  Him,  as  the  Law  against  blasphemy  enjoined.  But 
His  hour  bad  not  yet  come,  and  whether  from  fear  of  the  Galilasans' 
at  the  feast,  or  from  other  reasons,  their  rage  died  away  in  words. 
•  The  fame  of  His  miracles  in  the  north  had  preceded  Him  to  Jeru- 
salem, and  vras,  now,  further  spread  by  the  reports  of  the  Galilean 
pilgrims,  and  deepened  the  effect  of  His  cure  of  the  blind  man  at  His 
last  A-isit — the  very  bitterness  of  His  enemies  having  kept  it  from  be- 
ing forgotten.  Numbers  had  thus  been  impresscrl  in  His  favour, 
even  before  His  appearance  at  the  feast,  and  not  a  few  of  these  were 
now  so  far  Avon  over  by  the  still  higher  evidence  of  His  wondrous 
words,  and  Avhole  air  and  bearing,  that  many  felt  constrained  to  admit 
His  claim  to  be  the  Messiah.  Miracles  had  always  been  held  a  charac- 
teristic of  the  Messiah's  advent,  and  even  the  bitterest  enemies  of 
Jesus  did  not  deny  His  supernatural  power.  It  Avas  evident  tliat  He 
was  rapidly  gaining  ground,  and  the  hierarchy  knew  that  if  lie  rose 
they  must  fall.  If  they  could  arrest  Him,  Avhile  His  adherents  had 
not  as  yet  ventured  on  an  open  movement  in  His  support,  all  might 
be  Avcll.  The  Pharisees,  therefore,  and  the  Sadducean  chief  ]n-iests — 
mortal  enemies  at  all  other  times — hastily  issued  a  Avarrant  to  appre- 
hend Him,  and  sent  some  of  the  Temple  police  to  carry  it  out. 

The  siglit  of  the  Avell-known  dress  of  these  officials,  on  the  out- 
skirts of  ilis  audience,  told  the  Avhole  story  to  the  quick  intelligence 
of  Jesus,  and  Avith  that  readiness  which  ahvays  marked  Him,  He, 
forthwith,  began  a  calm  and  clear  anticipation  of  His  near  death. 

"  I  shall  be  v.ith  you,"  said  He,  "  only  a  short  time  longer,  for  I 
shall  soon  return  to  'my  Father  in  Heaven,  who  sent  me.  Then  the 
days  Avill  come  Avhcn  sore  distress  Avill  fall  upon  this  city  and  land 
for  rejecting  me,  and  you  will  seek  help  and  deliverance  from  the 
Messiah,  that  is,  from  me,  but  ye  will  not  find  me  then.  Persecuted 
and  put  to  death  noAV,  ye  will  then  long  for  me  in  vain,  Avhen  for  ever 
gone  from  you,  for  where  I  shall  then'be  you  cannot  go,  to  fetch  me 
from  thence  as  your  Saviour." 

"What  does  lie  mean?"  asked  those  round;  "v.-ill  He  go  to  our 
Greek  sjieaking  brethren— the  Hellenists  in  Egypt,  or  Asia  Minor,  or 
some  other  of  the  lands  of  the  Gentiles?" 

The  (lay  passed  without  any  attempt  to  apprehend  Him,  nor  was 
He  disturbed  again  during  the  Aveek.  The  last  day  of  the  Feast, 
known  as  "the  Hosanna  Rabba,"  and  the  "Great  Day,"  found  Him, 
as  each  day  before,  doubtless,  had  done,  in  the  Templa  arcades.      H© 


THE  LIFE  OF  CKRIST.  5P0 

had  gone  thither  early,  to  meet  the  crowds  assembled  for  morning 
prayer.  It  was  a  day  of  special  rejoicing.  A  great  procession  of 
pilgrims  marched  seven  times  round  the  city,  with  their  lulabs, 
music,  and  loud-voiced  choirs  preceding,  and  the  air  was  rent  with 
shouts  of  Hosanna,  in  commemoration  of  the  taking  of  Jericho,  the 
first  city  in  the  Holy  Land  that  fell  into  the  hands  of  their  Fathers. 
Other  multitudes  streamed  to  the  brook  of  Siloah,  after  the  priests 
and  Levites,  bearing  the  golden  vessels,  with  which  to  draw  some  of 
the  water.  As  many  as  could  get  near  the  stream  drank  of  it  amidst 
loud  chanting  of  the  words  of  Isaiah — "  Ho,  every  one  that  thirsteth, 
come  ye  to  the  waters,"  "With  joy  shall  we  draw  water  from  the 
wells  of  salvation," — rising  in  jubilant  chants  on  every  side.  The 
water  drawn  by  the  priests,  was,  meanwhile,  borne  up  to  the  Temple, 
amidst  the  boundless  excitement  of  a  vast  throng.  Such  a  crowd 
was,  apparently,  passing  at  this  moment. 

Rising,  as  the  throng  went  by.  His  Spirit  was  moved  at  such  honest 
enthusiasm,  yet  saddened  at  the  moral  decay  which  mistook  a  mere 
ceremony  for  religion.  It  was  burning  autumn  weather,  when  the 
sun  had  for  months  shone  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  early  rains  were 
longed  for  as  the  monsoons  in  India  after  the  summer  heat.  Water 
at  all  times  is  a  magic  word  in  a  sultry  climate  like  Palestine,  but  at 
this  moment  it  had  a  double  power.  Standing,  therefore,  to  give  His 
words  more  solemnity.  His  voice  now  sounded  far  and  near  over  the 
throng,  with  soft  clearness,  which  arrested  all  : — 

"  If  any  man  thirst,  let  him  come  unto  me  and  drink,  for  I  will  give 
Lim  the  living  waters  of  God's  heavenly  grace,  of  which  the  water 
you  have  now  drawn  from  Siloah  is  only,  as  your  Rabbis  tell  3^ou,  a 
type.  He  that  believes  in  me  drinks  into  his  soul  from  my  fulness,  as 
from  a  fountain,  tlie  riches  of  divine  grace  and  truth.  Nor  do  they 
bring  life  to  him  alone  who  thus  drinks.  They  become  in  his  own 
heart,  as  the  whole  burden  of  Scripture  tells,  a  living  spring,  which 
shall  flow  forth  from  his  lips  and  life  in  holy  words  and  deeds,  quick- 
ening the  thirsty  around  him."  He  meant,  adds  St.  John,  that 
this  quickening  missionary  zeal  and  power  would  fi¥st  show  itseif 
after  the  descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  when  He  Himself  had  entered  on 
His  glory.  Streams  of  holy  influence,  like  rivers  of  living  water, 
would  go  forth  from  His  Apostles  through  the  Spirit's  overflowing 
fulness  in  their  souls. 

The  whole  discourse  was  now  ended.  The  impressions  it  had  left 
were  various.  Many  who  had  listened  to  it,  whispered  to  their  neigh- 
bours that  they  were  sure  "This  was  the  Prophet  to  come  before  the 
Messiah."  Others  maintained  He  was  the  Messiah  Himself,  but  this 
opinion  led  to  hot  dispute.  "Does  the  Messiah,  then,  come  out  of 
Nazareth?"  asked  the  incredulous  Rabbinists.  "Does  not  the  Scrip- 
ture say  that  the  Christ  comes  of  the  seed  of  David,  and  from  Beth- 
lehem, the  village  where  David  was?"  But  the  division  in  the  crowd 
was  tlie  safety  of  Jesus,  for  tkose  who  were  fiercest  to  lay  bauds 


MO  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

on  Him  fvs  a  blasphemer  and  Salibath-breaker  were  afraid  to  do  so, 
so  stronsT  <>il  tlie  party  seem  which  supported  Him. 

The  'i  LiMple  police  sent  to  arrest  Him  had  remained  near,  to  the 
close,  to  watch  their  opportunity.  But  the  power  and  majesty  of  His 
discourse,  which  had  spell-bound  so  many  others,  had  overawed  and 
Impressed  even  them,  so  that  they  dared  not  touch  Him,  and  went 
back  to  their  masters  empty-handed.  To  the  angry  demand  for  an 
explanation,  they  could  only  answer,  "  Never  man  spake  as  this  man 
speaks."  The  Pharisees  in  the  Council — the  special  guardians  of  the 
public  orthodoxy — professed  themselves  shocked  at  such  disloyalty 
on  the  part  of  men  entrusted  with  the  commission  of  the  high  eccle- 
siastical court.  "How  can  you  be  so  led  away?  Do  you  not  see 
that  only  some  of  the  ignorant  rabble  believe  in  Him?  Have  any 
men  of  position — any  members  of  the  Council,  or  any  Rabbis — d(me 
so?  They  are  qualified  to  judge  on  such  matters;  but  as  for  the 
rabble,  who  have  accepted  such  a  transgressor  as  the  Messiah,  it  shows 
that  they  do  not  know  tlie  Law,  and  are  therefore  accursed  of  God." 

One  faint  voice  only  was  heard  in  the  Council  in  hesitating  defence 
of  Jesus.  It  was  that  of  Nicodemus — His  visitor  by  night  on  His 
first  appearance.  ' '  I  know,  sirs,  you  are  zealous  for  the  Law,  and 
rightly  condemn  those  who  are  ignorant  of  it.  But  does  the  Law 
sanction  our  thus  condemning  a  man  before  it  has  heard  him,  and 
found  exactly  what  he  has  done?"  He  had  not  moral  courage  to 
take  a  side,  but  could  not  withhold  a  timid  word.  Like  all  weak 
men,  he  found  little  favour  for  his  faint-hearted  caution.  "  Are  you, 
also,  like  Jesus,  out  of  Galilee,"  they  asked,  "that  you  believe  in 
Him;  only  ignorant  Galilreans  do  so?  Search  the  Scriptures,  and 
you  will  see  that  no  Galilsean  was  ever  inspired  as  a  prophet  by  God : 
the  race  is  despised  of  the  Highest,  and  is  it  likely  it  should  give 
Jerusalem  the  Messiah  ?"  \ 

In  their  blind  rage  they  forgot  that,  at  least,  Jonah,  and  Hosea, 
and  Nahum,  were  Galila?ans,  and  they  ignored  the  fact  that  if  the 
followers  of  Jesus  were  mostly  from  the  illiterate  north,  lie  h>:d  .also 
not  a  few  eyeii'=f rom  the  sons  of  bigoted  Jerusalem. 


CHAPTER  -L, 

AFTER    THE    FEAST. 

Al.L  who  attended  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles  were  required  to  sleep 
in  the  city  the  tirst  night  at  least,  but  were  free  afterwards  to  go  any 
distance  outside,  within  the  limit  of  a  Sabbath  day's  journey.  Jesus, 
accustomed  to  the  pure  air  of  the  hills  and  open  country,  and  with 
little  sympathy  for  the  noise  and  merriment,  or  for  the  crowds  and 
confusion,  of  the  great  holiday,  was  glad  to  avail  Himself  of  this 
freedom,  and  went  out,  each  night,  after  leaving  the  Temple,  to  seek 
sleep  in  the  house  of  some  friend  on  the  Mount  of  Olives;  perhaps  to 
that  of  the  family  of  Bethany,  of  which  we  hear  so  much  soon  after 
this.  The  early  morning,  however,  saw  Him  always  at  His  post  in 
the  Temple  courts;  now  in  the  royal  porch;  now  in'the  court  of  the 
women,  through  which  the  men  passed  to  their  own. 

The  vast  concourse  of  people  from  all  countries,  and  the  general 
excitement  and  relaxation  of  the  season,  had  gradually  led  to  abuses. 
Pilgrimages,  in  all  ages,  liave  had  an  indilferent  name  for  their  in- 
fluence on  morals,  and  the  yearly  feasts  at  Jerusalem  were  likely  no 
exception. 

A  large  number  of  people  had  already  gathered  round  Jesus,  Avhen 
a  commotion  was  seen  in  the  women's  court,  where  He  had  sat  down 
to  teach.  A  woman  of  the  humbler  class  had  been  guilty  of  immo- 
rality, and  the  Scribes,  on  the  moment,  saw  in  her  sin  a  possible  snare 
for  the  hated  Galiifean.  It  was  not  their  business,  but  that  of  her 
husband,  to  accuse  her ;  nor  could  she  be  legally  punished,  except  by 
divorce,  if  he,  himself,  were  not  a  man  of  pure  life.  It  Avas  the  cus- 
tom, however,  in  cases  of  difficulty,  to  consult  a  famous  Rabbi,  and 
advantage  was  taken  of  this,  to  entrap  Jesus,  if  possible,  by  asking 
Him  to  adjudicate  on  the  case.  If  He  condemned  her,  and  insisted 
that  she  should  be  stoned  to  death,  it  would  injure  Him  in  the  eyes 
of  the  people,  for  the  Law,  in  this  particular,  had  long  been  obsolete, 
from  the  very  commonness  of  tlie  offence.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  He 
simply  dismissed  lier,  they  could  charge  Him  with  slighting  the  Law, 
for  it  was  still  formally  binding.  To  condemn  her  to  death,  would, 
moreover,  bring  Him  under  the  Roman  law,  as  an  invasion  of  the 
right  of  the  governor. 

Leading  forward  their  trembling  prisoner — unveiled,  and  exposed 
before  the  crowd  of  men— the  bitterest  degradation  to  an  Eastern 
woman— they  set  her  before  Jesus,  and  askedVitli  feigned  humility — 
"Teacher,  this  woman  has  been  guilty  of  sin.  "Now  Moses,  in 
the  Jjaw,  charged  us  that  such  should  be  stoned.  What  is  your 
opinion?" 
Knowing  theix  smooth  dissimulation,  He  instinctively  felt  that  thia 


602  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

mock  respect  was  a  mere  cloak  for  sinister  designs.  '  Yet  the  incident 
threw  Him  into  a  moment's  confusion.  His  soul  shrank  from- the 
spectacle  thus  brouglit  before  Him,  and  in  His  stainless  purity  Ho 
could  not  bear  to  look  on  the  fallen  one.  Stooping  down,  therefore, 
at  once  to  hide  the  blush  He  could  not  prevent,  and  to  show  that  He 
would  have  nothing  to  do  Avith  such  a  matter,  He  began  to  write  on 
the  dust  before  Him — most  likely  the  very  words  He  was  presently 
to  utter.  Had  they  chosen  to  read  them,  they  might  have  spared 
themselves  the  open  exposure  that  followed.  But  they  were  too 
occupied  with  their  plot  to  read  the  Avarning,  and  again  and  again 
repeated  the  question,  to  force  Him  to  answer.  At  last,  raising  His 
face  for  a  moment  and  looking  straight  at  them.  He  said — 

"Let  him,  among  you,  who  is  free  from  sin  of  a  like  kind,  cast  the 
first  stone  at  her,  as  is  required  of  the  chief  witness,  by  Moses. " 

It  was  an  age  of  deep  immoralitj^  and  the  words  of  Jesus  went  to 
their  consciences.  He  had  again  stooped  and  begun  to  write,  as  soon 
as  He  had  spoken,  perhaps  to  remind  them  how  sin,  when  followed 
by  penitence,  is  etfaced  for  ever,  like  characters  written  in  dust. 
Meanwhile,  their  own  bosoms  became  their  judges.  One  after  an- 
other, beginning  at  the  oldest  among  them,  moved  off,  to  the  very 
last,  and  Jesus  was  left  alone,  with  the  Avoman,  in  the  midst  of  the 
croAvd. 

Rising  once  more,  and  finding  only  the  woman  left,  He  asked  her — 

"Woman,  where  are  thine  accusers?  Did  no  one  condemn  thee, 
by  casting  a  stone  at  thee?" 

"No  one.  Lord." 

"Neither,"  said  He,  "shall  I.  I  come  not  to  condemn,  but  to 
save.  I  am  no  criminal  judge,  either  to  sentence  or  acquit.  Go,  re- 
pent of  thy  guilt,  and  sin  no  more. " 

His  enemies  bad  often  murmured  at  the  pity  and  favour  He  had 
shown  to  the  fallen  and  outcast.  They  knew  hoAv  He  had  let  one 
sinful  woman  Avasb  His  feet  Avith  her  tears,  and  wipe  them  Avith  her 
loose  hair;  hoAV  lie  had  eaten  with  publicans  and  sinners,  and  hoAV 
He  even  had  a  publican  among  His  disciples.  They  had  hoped  to 
use  all  this  against  Him,  but,  once  more,  their  schemes  had  only 
turned  to  their  own  shame.  He  had  given  no  opinion  for  the  obso- 
lete law,  or  against  it:  their  oAvn  consciences  had  set  the  offender 
free. 

This  incident  past,  He  began  His  discourse  again  to  those  round 
Him.  He  still  sat  in  the  court  of  the  Avomen,  or,  as  it  Avas  sometimes 
called,  "the  treasury,"  from  the  thirteen  brazen  chests  for  offerings, 
with  their  trumpet-like  mouths,  opening  through  the  wall  of  its 
buildings.  Tlie  court  Avas  the  great  thoroughfare  to  that  of  the 
Israelites,  which  Avas  reached  from  it  by  the  fifteen  steps  leading  to 
the  great  gate. 

In  the  address  of  the  day  before,  He  had  spoken  of  Himself  as  alone 
having  the  Avater  of  life  for  the  thirst  of  the  soul.     "To  give  water 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  593 

to  drink,"  "was  a  common  phrase  for  teaching  and  explaining  the 
Law,  and  hence  its  meaning,  when  used  by  our  Lord,  was  familiar  to 
all  His  hearers.  Water,  in  such  a  climate,  was  the  first  necessary  of 
life,  and  flowing,  or  living,  waters  pictured,  at  once,  every  image  of 
joy  and  prosperity.  But  the  mighty  light,  filling  the  heavens — the 
first-born  creation  of  God — lifts  the  thoughts  from  individual  benefit 
to  that  of  the  whole  race,  for  light  is  the  condition  and  source  of  all 
else,  alike  to  nature  and  man.  It  was  the  characteristic  of  Jesus  to 
make  everything  round  Him,  in  creation  or  common  life.  His  texts 
and  illustrations.  The  shouts  of  the  multitude,  as  they  brought  up 
the  golden  vessel  of  water  from  Siloam,  had  introduced  the  discourse 
on  tlie  living  waters.  Round  the  court  in  which  He  now  sat,  rose 
the  great  candelabra,  in  whose  huge  cups  the  illuminations  of  the 
feasts  were  kindled,  that  banished  night  from  the  citj',  and  in  whose 
brightness  the  multitudes  found  darkness  changed  to  day,  and  these 
He  now  used  as  a  text. 

Pointing  to  them,  and,  from  them,  to  the  glorious  sun,  just  risen 
over  the  Mount  of  Olives,  and  shining  with  dazzling  splendour  on 
the  white  houses  of  the  city  and  the  marble  and  gold  of  the  Temple 
walls  and  gates.  He  began  a  new  discourse,  in  language,  which,  from 
the  lips  of  a  Jew,  was  a  direct  claim  to  be  the  Messiah. 

"  I  am  the  Light  of  the  World,"  said  He — "  that  is,, of  the  whole 
race  of  man !"  Such  words  from  One  who  was  humility  itself — One 
acknowledged  by  all  to  have  unbounded  supernatural  power  at  His 
command,  )'et  so  self-restrained  that  He  neves  used  it  for  His  own 
advantage,  and  was  so  unassuming  and  lowly  that  even  the  weakest 
and  poorest  felt  perfectly  free  to  api>roach  Him — were  uttered  with  a 
calm  dignity  which  vouched  their  truth.  "  In  me  dwells  divine 
truth,"  He  continued,  "  and  from  me  it  shines  forth,  like  the  light, 
to  all  mankind.  He  who  becomes  my  true  disciple,  and  follows'me 
sincerely,  will  no  longer  walk  in  the  darkness  of  ignorance  and  sin, 
which  is  the  death  of  the  soul,  but  in  the  light  of  everlasting  life, 
given  to  the  children  of  the  Messiah's  kingdom." 

Some  partisans  of  the  Rabbinical  party,  who  remained  to  watch 
Him,  listened  with  eager  attention  to  every  word.  Enraged  at  the 
failure  of  the  last  attempt  to  entrap  him,  what  they  had  now  heard, 
which  was  far  beyond  what  any  prophet  had  ever  claimed  for  him- 
self, deepened  their  bitterness. 

"  You  make;  yourself  judge  in  your  own  favour,"  said  they.  "You 
require  us  to  believe  you,  on  your  own  word.  It  is  too  much  to  ask. 
A  man's  witness  on  his  own  behalf  is  worthless." 

"  I  do  not  make  myself  witness  in  my  own  favour,"  replied  Jesus. 
"Your  rule  does  not  apply  to  me,  for  1  speak  not  for  myself  alone, 
but  as  the  mouthpiece  of  Him  from  whom  I  came,  and'  to  whom  I 
shall  soon  return.  If  you  knew  who  He  was,  you  would  be  forced 
to  receive  His  testimony  to  me.  But  you  do  not  know  Him,  and 
tlierefore  you  reject  it,  for  you  know  neither  v.'Ueuce  I  came  uor  whither 


594  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

I  shall  return.  I  know,  and  mnst  know,  best,  whosa  messenger  I  am, 
and  what  commission  He  has  given  me.  You  have  no  right  to  accuse 
me  as  a  deceiver,  for  you  are  not  in  a  position  to  judge  of  me,  since 
you  know  notliing  of  my  mission.  You  look  at  me  with  jaundiced 
eyes,  and  judge  only  by  my  lowly,  outward  appearance,  and  are  thus 
misled.  I,  by  myself,  jvidge  neither  in  my  own  favour,  nor  against 
any  one,  for  I  have  come  not  to  condemn,  but  to  save.  If,  indeed, 
in  any  case,  I  seem  to  judge,  as  in  this  instance  respecting  my  com- 
mission, it  is  not  I,  alone,  who  do  so,  but  I  and  my  Father  who  has 
sent  me  judge  together,  and  thus  the  judgment  mu.st  be  true.  I  am 
not  alone ;  the  Father  who  sent  me  is  with  me,  and  thus,  even  by 
your  own  Law,  by  which  the  testimony  of  two  men  is  received  as 
true,  that  which  I  offer  for  myself  is  more  than  sufficient,  for  I  ofEer 
you  my  own  word,  and  no  one  can  couAiict  me  of  imtruthfulness, 
and  also  the  witness  of  my  Father.  He  witnesses  for  me  by  the  very 
truths  I  utter,  and  by  the  miracles  you  admit  I  perform." 

"Where  is,  then,  this  second  witness,  Thy  Father?"  retorted  His 
adversaries.  "We  do  not  see  Him.  He  must  be  here,  if,  as  you  say. 
He  is  a  witness  for  you?"  He  had  too  often  spoken  of  God  as  His 
Father  to  permit  of  any  mistake  as  to  His  meaning,  but  they  affected 
to  misunderstand  Him.  With  perfect  calmness,  Jesus  replied,  "You 
ask  who  is  my  Father,  and  do  not  know  me,  myself.  I  cannot  an- 
swer you  till  you  have  juster  conceptions  of  me.  If  j^ou  looked  at 
me,  qiy  teaching,  and  my  deeds,  in  a  right  light,  you  would  know 
who  my  Father  is,  for  He  reveals  Himself  in  me.  But  your  hearts 
are  now  so  prejudiced,  that  you  would  not  understand  what  I  might 
tell  you,  either  of  myself  or  of  Him,  were  I  to  attempt  it. " 

These  were  bold  words  in  such  a  place ;  the  very  stronghold  of  His 
enemies;  but  as  He  finished  and  rose  to  depart,  no  one  laid  hands  on 
Him.     His  hour  was  not  yet  come. 

A  fragment  of  another  discourse  delivered  like  this  m  the  Temple, 
on  one  of  the  following  days,  has  been  preserved.  The  immediate 
circumstances  preceding  are  not  recorded,  but  there  must  have  been 
another  dispute  with  His  enemies.  A  fresh  attempt  to  win  them,  fol- 
lowed; with  solemn  warnings  of  the  results  of  their  finally  rejecting 
Him. 

"The  time  approaches,"  said  He,  in  effect,  "when  I  shall  leave 
you,  and  when  I  am  gone  you  will  seek  me,  that  is,  you  will  cry  out 
for  the  Messiah,  but  in  vain,  and  will  look  for  Him  without  success; 
you  will  fain  be  delivered  from  the  calamities  that  will  come  on 
you;  but  you  will  die,  unpardoned  and  unsanctified,  with  j'our  sins 
on  your  souls, — die  here,  and  die  for  ever;  for  your  seeking  me,  that 
is,  the  Messiah,  will  not  be  from  faith  and  repentance,  but  only  a 
despairing  cry  for  deliverance  from  temporal  distress.  You  cannot 
hope  to  be  able  to  go  up  to  heaven,  to  find  and  bring  me  down  aj 
your  Saviour.     I  shall  be  gone  from  you  forever." 

"  Will  He  kill  Himself?"  asked  one  of  the  bitterest  among  the  by- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  595 

•landers,  with  blasphemous  irony.  "In  that  case,  certainly,  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  follow  Him,  or  willing,  either,  to  where  He  will  go!" 

Taking  no  notice  of  the  coarse  insulting  jest,  Jesus  went  on  to 
point  out,  calmly,  and  with  surpassing  dignity,  that  they  spake  as 
they  did  only  because  they  could  not  comprel)^ nd  Him  or  His  say- 
ings, coming  as  He  did  from  above.  "You  spring  from  the  earth,  I 
from  heaven ;  your  natures  and  hearts,  in  keeping  with  your  origin, 
are  without  the  higher  wisdom  and  divine  life  of  ^hose  who  are  born 
of  God.  You  have  the  thoughts  and  ideas  of  this  age:  I  speak  those 
of  the  New  Kingdom  of  God.  It  was  on  this  ground  I  said  to  you, 
that  you  would  die  in  your  sins,  for  only  faith  in  me,  as  the  Messiah, 
can  raise  those  who  are  not  born  from  above,  gross  fleshly  souls, 
born  only  of  the  flesh,  to  higher  divine  life,  in  time  and  eternity. 
If  you  do  not  believe  that  I  am  He,  you  shall  certainly  die  in  your 
sins." 

' '  I  am  He, "  was  the  sum  of  Jehovah's  self -proclamation  in  the 
Old  Testament,  and  it  was  now  repeated,  in  its  lofty  majesty,  by 
Jesus,  of  His  own  IVlessianic  dignity.  He  could  assume  that  the 
fyuestioa  of  the  Messiah  was  the  ever-present  and  supreme  thoughl 
of  all  His  hearers.  The  one  point  was  whether  He,  or  another  yet  t<J 
come,  were  the  Expected  One. 

The  Rabbinists  perfectly  understood  Him,  but  would  not  acknowl- 
edge that  they  did  so,  and  asked  Him  contemptuously,  "Who  art 
Thou,  then?" 

' '  I  am  what  I  have  said  from  the  beginning  of  my  ministry  I  was, — 
how  can  you  still  ask?  I  have  much  to  say  respecting  you,  much  espe- 
cially to  blame ;  but  I  refrain,  and  confine  myself  to  my  immediate 
mission, — to  proclaim  to  mankind  what  I  haVe  received  from  Him 
who  sent  me. "  Strange  as  it  might  seem,  though  He  had  used  similar 
terms  so  often  that  the  allusion  to  God  was  generally  recognized  at 
once,  His  hearers  did  not  in  this  instance  understand  Him. 

Seeing  their  hesitation,  He  continued, — "  Had  you  acknowledged 
me  as  the  Messiah,  you  would  have  understood  what  I  have  said  of 
my  Father.  But  when  you  have  crucified  me,  you  will  know  that  I 
am  He,  and  that  I  never  act  alone,  but  .speak  only  what  I  have  heard 
from  my  Father,  before  I  came  into  the  world.  My  glory,  which 
will  be  revealed  after  I  die,  will  force  you  to  realize  this."  He 
referred  to  the  future  descent  of  the  Holy  Spirit  after  His  resur- 
rection,— the  miracles  of  the  Apostles,  the  spread  of  His  kingdom, 
the  judgment  of  God  on  the  nation,  and  His  final  return  in  the 
clouds  of  heaven  at  the  last  day.  "  My  Father  who  sent  me,"  He 
continued,  "has  not  left  me  alone,  though  you  do  not  see  Him,  but 
have  before  you  only  a  lowly  man,  in  the  midst  of  enemies;  He  is 
ever  with  me,  for  I  do  always  the  things  that  please  Him." 

These  lofty  words  must  have  been  wondrously  borne  out  by  His 
whole  air,  and  by  the  calm  truth  and  heavenliness  of  His  tone  and  looks ; 
for,  instead  of  revolting  His  hearers   by  the  contradictiou  between 


596  THE  LIFE  OF  CHPJST. 

claims  so  awful,  and  Him  who  made  them,  which  we  instinctively 
feel  there  must  have  been,  had  they  been  uttered  by  sirfful  men  like 
ourselves,  they  won  many  to  believe  in  Him,  there  and  then,  as  the 
Messiah. 

It  is  impossible  ngt  to  feel  that  such  words  were  a  distinct  claim 
of  absolute  sinlessness,  on  which  no  mere  man  could  for  a  moment 
venture.  Yet  in  His  mouth  they  seemed  only  the  fitting  expression 
of  evident  truth.  Nor  is  it  possible  to  exaggerate  theirimportance. 
When  we  remember  how  entirely  His  whole  life  was  devoted  to  the 
enforcement  of  the  purest  morals  even  in  the  domain  of  thought  and 
conscience,  they  acquire  a  significance  that  awes  the  mind.  Such  an 
absolute  purity  implied  the  keenest  discrimination  lietween  good  and 
evil,  holiness  and  sin.  "To  please  God,"  Mas  with  Him  no  empty 
phrase,  but  implied  a  divine  holiness  in  the  very  fountains  of  being; 
pure  as  the  light  of  a  morning  without  clouds.  Yet  His  language 
respecting  Himself  was  always  the  same.  The  greatest  saints  are 
most  ready  to  bewail  their  unworthiness,  but  He  never  for  a  moment 
humbles  Himself  before  God  for  sin ;  never  asks  pardon  for  it;  and 
not  only  makes  no  approach  to  expressing  a  sense  of  needing  repent- 
ance and  forgivenes-.^,  but  calmly  takes  on  Himself  the  divine  pre- 
rogative of  forgiving  the  sins  of  men.  The  Ideal  of  humility,  and 
truth,  and  holy  life.  He  must  liave  known  His  own  spiritual  state  with 
exact  fidelity,  for  the  passing  of  even  an  unworthy  thought  over  such 
a  soul,  would  have  instantly  clouded  its  peace  and  joy.  Yet,  with 
this  perfect  self-knowledge,  tie  could  calndy  claim  that  His  Father 
saw  in  Him  only  His  own  image  of  perfect  holiness,  which  alone  can 
l^lease  Him. 

The  overpowering  impression  produced  on  His  hearers,  was,  how- 
ever, too  sudden  and  superficial  for  permanence. 

Resimiing  His  discourse,  tlierefore.  He  continued, — addressing 
those  who,  for  the  moment,  in  spite  of  themselves,  believed  on  Him, 
— "  If  your  present  professions  be  deep  and  lasting,  and  you  continue 
permanently  in  the  same  mind:  acknowledging  me  as  the  Messiah, 
and  carrying  out  my  teaching  in  your  hearts  and  lives,  you  will  be 
my  disciples  indeed.  You  will  then,  by  experience,  know  the  power 
and  worth  of  the  divine  truths  of  my  Person  and  teaching,  for  my 
words  are  the  truth,  and  the  truth  will  make  you  free." 

He  spoke,  of  course,  of  spiritual  freedom :  of  emancipation  from  a 
sinful  life  by  the  elevating  and  purifying  influence  of  their  new  faith; 
bxit,  like  Nicodemus  witli  the  new  birth,  or  the  Samaritan  woman 
with  the  living  water,  or  the  Twelve  with  the  leaven  of  the  Pharisees, 
they  \mderstood  the  word  only  of  political  liberty,  and  in  a  moment 
showed  how  little  they  understood  their  new  Master's  spirit.  Their 
fierce  Jewish  pride  was  instantly  in  a  blaze, 

"Free!  what  do  you  mean?"  said  they.  "  We  are  the  descendants 
of  Al)raham;  the  race  to  whom  God  gave  the  promise  of  being  the 
first  of  nations — His  chosen  people.    We  have  never  been  in  bondage 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  597 

to  any.  What  do  j'ou  mean?"  They  conveniently  forgot  the  epi- 
sodes of  Egypt  and  Babylon,  and  thought  of  the  shadow  of  political 
liberty  they  enjoyed  under  the  prudent  Romans,  by  the  retention  of 
their  own  laws,  as  in  the  protected  States  of  India  under  Britain.  It 
was  an  offence  punishable  with  excommunication  for  one  Jew  to  call 
another  a  slave,  and  part  of  their  morning  prayer,  even  when  under 
a  foreign  yoke,  ran  thus — Blessed  be  the  Lord  our  God,  King  of  the 
Universe,  who  has  made  me  a  free  man." 

But  Jesus  answered — "With  all  earnestness,  let  me  tell  you  that 
every  one  who  commits  sin  is  under  the  power  of  sin — a  slave  under 
that  of  his  master.  I  speak  of  spiritual  liberty,  not  of  political.  You 
have  need  of  the  help  I  can  and  will  give  you,  if  you  desire  to  free 
yourself  from  this  moral  slavery — the  bondage  to  j'our  own  sinful 
inclinations  and  habits.  You  are  slaves  in  the  great  household  of 
God,  not  sons,  and  the  slave  has  no  claim  to  remain  always  in  the 
household:  it  is  in  the  power  of  his  lord  to  sell  him  to  another,  or  to 
put  him  out,  when  he  pleases.  All  men,  whether  Jews  or  others,  are 
sinners,  and  as  such,  .slaves  of  their  sin,  and  must  be  made  free,  before 
they  can  claim,  as  you  do,  to  belong  of  right  to  the  household  of 
God.  He  will  not  treat  the  slaves  of  sin  as  His  sons,  but  will  turn 
them  out  of  His  kingdom  as  a  lord  drives  out  an  unworthy  slave. 
But  I,  the  Son  of  God,  abide  in  God's  household,  as  His  Son,  for 
ever,  and,  hence,  if,  by  the  truth  I  proclaim,  and  the  grace  I  secure 
you,  I  free  you  from  slavery  to  .sin,  you  will  be  really  free;  not  out- 
wardly only,  and  in  name,  as  now.  Were  I  not  to  be  always,  as  His 
Son,  in  the  household  of  God,  my  Father — you  might  doubt  my 
power,  or  fear  because  of  my  absence;  but  my  presence  there  for 
ever  gives  you  perfect  security  that  the  freedom  I  offer  will  be  reaj 
and  abidinj;.  I  know  that  j'ou  are  descended  from  Abraham,  but  it 
is  only  in  a  bodily  sense.  If  you  were  his  spiritual  sons,  you  would 
believe  in  me;  but,  now,  in  spite  of  your  passing  belief,  I  see  that  you 
have  turned  against  me  already,  and  gone  back  to  those  who  would 
kill  me.  Need  1  say  that  you  act  tluis  only  because  my  teaching  had 
no  real  hold  on  your  hearts?  I  have  told  you  what  I  have  seen  when 
I  was  still  witli  m}'  Father;  but  you  act  according  to  the  teaching  of 
your  father." 

"Our  father,"  interrupted  some,  "Is  Abraham," — for  they  saw 
that  He  meant  something  else.  "  If  ye  Avere  in  the  true  sense,"  re- 
plied Jesus — "not  in  mere  outward  descent — the  sons  of  Abraham, 
you  would  imitate  Abraham ;  to  do  so  is  the  only  descent  from  him 
of  worth  before  God.  But  you  seek  to  kill  nie — a  man  who  has 
spoken  to  you  the  truth,  whicli  1  have  received  from  God  for  your 
good:  because  it  humbles  your  pride  and  self-righteousness.  Abra- 
ham would  never  have  acted  thus.  He  received  and  rejoiced  in  the 
truth  as  revealed  to  him,  though  it  was  far  less  clear  than  ray  words 
have  made  it  to  you.  The  fact  is,  I  repeat,  with  unutterable  sadness, 
you  act  as  your  father  teaches  you." 


698  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  out  a  number  at  a  time.  "You  say 
that  Abraham  is  not  our  father — who  is  our  father,  then?  Do  you 
mean  that  Sarah,  our  mother,  was  unfaithful  to  Abraham,  and  that 
he  was  only  in  name  our  father,  not  in  fact?  We  have  only  one 
father,  n,ot  two,  as  they  have  who  are  born  from  adultery,  and  if  you 
deny  it  is  Abraham,  it  must  be  God." 

"If  God  were  your  father,  you  would  love  me,"  quietly  replied 
Jesus,  ' '  for  I  am  the  Very  Son  of  God,  jDroceeding,  in  my  Being, 
from  Him,  and  descending  from  heaven  to  mankind.  I  have  not 
come  from  any  personal  and  private  act  of  my  own,  but  as  the  Mes- 
siah sent  forth  by  the  Father.  You  cannot  -understand  what  I  say, 
because  your  hearts  are  so  gross  that  you  have  no  ears  for  my  teach- 
ing: it  is  dark  to  you  because  you  are  morally  blind.  So  far  from 
being  the  spiritual  children  of  Abraham,  far  less  of  God,  you  are 
children  of  the  devil;  and,  true  to  your  nature,  ye  copy  your  father.. 
From  the  beginning  of  the  human  race  he  was  a  murderer,  and  put 
away  the  truth  from  him,  because  there  is  no  truth  in  him.  The 
devil  is  a  liar  by  nature,  and  lives  in  lies,  and  knows  nothing,  in  his 
heart,  of  truth,  and  hLs  children  are  liars  like  their  father — that  is, 
they  thrust  away  the  truth  from  them,  as  you  are  doing  now. 

"  Because  I  speak  the  truth,  and  do  not  seek,  like  Satan,  to  win 
you  to  evil,  by  flattering  j^our  self-deception  and  sins,  you  do  not  be- 
lieve me.  Yet,  would  I  deceive  you  ?  Who  of  j'ou  can  convict  me 
of  sin?  But  if  I  be  sinless,  I  can  have  no  untruthfulness — no  lie — 
in  me,  and,  therefore,  what  I  speak  must  be  truth  and  truth  only. 
Hence  I  am  right  in  saying  you  cannot  be  the  children  of  God,  for  he 
that  is  of  God  hoars  God's  words — that  is,  hears  me,  for  I  speak 
the  words  of  God.  That  you  are  not  really  the  children  of  God, 
though  you  call  yoiurselves  such,  explains  why  you  do  not  believe 
in  me. " 

' '  That  proves  what  we  said  of  you, "  interrupted  some  of  the 
crowd.  "  Such  language  about  your  own  nation  shows  that  we  were 
right  in  saying  that  you  were  a  Samaritan — an  enemy  of  the  true 
people  of  God,  and  possessed  with  a  devil." 

"I  have  not  a  devil,"  replied  Jesus;  "I  honour  my  Father  by 
these  very  words,  for  they  tend  to  the  glory  of  God.  As  He  has  taught 
me,  so  I  teach  you,  when  I  say  that  the  wicked  are  servants  and 
children  of  the  devil.  Yet,  though  I  speak  not  from  my  own 
authority,  but  that  of  God,  you  do  me.  His  messenger,  the  great  dis- 
honour of  saying  I  have  a  devil.  But  I  shall  not  attempt  to  refute 
the  slander,  for  I  care  nothing  for  either  your  approval  or  praise. 
There  is  one  here — my  Father — who  cares  for  my  honour,  and  will 
judge  those  who  contemn  me.  Would  that  none  of  you  expose 
yourselves  to  His  wrath!  May  you  rather  receive  from  Him  life 
eternal!  Once  more,  let  me  repeat,  He  that  believes  in  me,  and 
obeys  my  words,  shall  never  taste  death." 
^  As  usual,  the  hearers  put  a  material  sense  on  thesQ  words,  and  un- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  599 

v 
flerstood  them  of  natural  death;  talving  it  as  a  proof  of  their  assertion 
that  He  had  a  devil— that  He  could  promise  any  one  that  he  should 
never  die,  '*  Even  Abraham  died,"  tliov  contin'ued,  "and  so  did  the 
prophets.  Whom  do  you  make  yourself?  You  put  yourself  above 
all  men.  even  the  greatest.  Abraham  could  not  ward  off  death 
nor  could  the  prophets.     Do  you  chiim  to  be  greater  than  they?" 

"If  I,  for  mere  desire  of  glory,"  replied  Je'sus,  "were  to  boast  of 
bemg  greater  than  Abraham,  such  glory  would  be  idle.  If  what  I  have 
said  tends  to  exalt  me,  it  is  not  I  wlio  honour  myself,  but  my  Father 
by  whose  authority  I  act  and  speak  that  honours  me— my  Father  of 
whom  }'ou  say  He  is  your  God.  If  you  fail  to  .see  how  He  constantly 
does  so,  It  is  because,  in  spite  of  your  calling  yourselves  His  people 
you  have  not  known  Him.  But  I  know  Him,  as  only  His  Son  can' 
If  I  were  to  say  that  I  did  not  know  Him,  and  speak  His  Words  L 
should  be  like  yourselves,  untruthful;  but  I  both  know  Him,  and 
keep  all  His  commands,  for  my  whole  life  is  obedience  to  Him.  ' 

"  But  that  you  maj-  know  that  I  really  am  greater  than  even  Abraham 
—the  Friend  of  God— let  me  tell  you  that  Abraham,  when  he  received 
with  such  joy,  the  promise  that  the  IMessiah  should  come  from  his 
race,  and  bless  all  nations,  was  rejoicing  that  he  would,  hereafter 
from  Heaven,  see  my  day,  and  he  has  seen  my  appearing,  from  his 
abode  in  Paradise,  and  exulted  at  it." 

Tlie  crowd,  gross  as  usual,  understood  these  words  of  Abraham's 
earthly  life,  and  fancied  that  Jesus  was  now  claiming  to  have  been 
ahve  so  long  ago  as  the  time  of  Aliraham,  and  to  have  known  him 

"It  is  two  thousand  years  ago  since  Abraham's  day  "  broke  in  a 
voice,  "and  you  are  not  fifty  years  old  vet;  do  you  mean  to  sav  vou 
have  seen  Abraham?"  "  ''  •' 

"I  mean  to  say,"  replied  Jesus,  "far  more  than  even  that      Let 
me  tell  you,  with  the  utmost  solemnity,— before  Abraham  was  born 
I  Aal  ' 

This  was  the  very  phrase  in  which  Jehovah  had  announced  Him- 
self to  Isreal  in  Egypt.  It  implied  a  continuous  existence  from  the 
beginning,  as  if  the  speaker  had  claimed  to  be.  Himself,  the  Uncreated 
J^.ternal  Abraham  had  come  into  being,  but  He  had  existence  in 
Himself,  witnout  a  beginning. 

His  hearers  instantly  took  it  in  tliis  august  meanincr,  and  Jesus  the 
Truth,  made  no  attempt,  then  or  afterwards,  to  undeceive  them 
Ltterly  turned  against  Him,  they  rushed  hither  and  thitlier  in  wild 
fanaticism,  for  stones,  with  whicli  to  put  Him  to  d-ath  as  a  blas- 
phemer. Many  of  those  used  in  the  building  of  parts  of  the  Temple 
still  incomplete,  lay  in  piles  at  dilferent  parts.  But  Jesus  hid  Him^ 
self  among  the  crowd,  some  of  whom  were  less  hostile,  and  in  tiie 
contusion,  passed  out  of  the  sacred  precincts,  to  safety. 


L  of  c— 20. 


CHAPTER   LI. 

THE   LAST   MONTH   OP   THE  YEAR. 

Prudence  aemaudcd  that  .lesus  should  for  a  time  withdraw  from 
Jerustilem  after  tlie  outbreak  of  murderous  fanaticism  in  the  Temple 
courts,  and  He  would  be  the  more  inclined  to  this  because  Judea  had, 
as  yet,  had  so  small  a  share  in  His  ministry.  The  unmeasured  relig- 
ious pride  which  had  resisted  any  impression  in  His  first  lengthened 
visit,  might  possibly  j'ield,  in  some  cases,  after  the  incidents  of  His 
work  in  Galilee  and  Jerusalem,  and  doubtless  did  so;  perhaps,  ia 
more  instances  than  we  suspect.  But  whatever  the  success,  He  could 
not  leave  the  special  home-laud  of  Israel  without  one  more  attempt 
to  win  it  to  the  New  Kingdom  of  God.  Hence  the  next  months,  till 
after  the  Feast  of  Dedication,  in  December,  were  spent  either  in  Je- 
rusalem or  Judea. 

In  these  last  weeks  of  His  life  .Jesus  found  a  home,  from  time  to 
time,  in  the  bosom  of  a  village  family  in  Bethany,  on  the  east  side  of 
the  Mount  of  Olives.  When  He  first  came  to  know  them  is  not  told: 
perhaps  they  were  among  the  few  fruits  of  His  former  sojourn  in 
Judea;  possibly  the  family  of  him  who  is  known  in  the  Gospels  as 
Simon  the  Leper ;  one  of  the  converts  of  the  early  Judean  labours,  ia 
gratitude  for  his  miraciilous  cure.  Bethany  is  easily  reached  from 
Jerusalem.  The  flight  of  steps  on  the  east  side  of  the  "Temple,  before 
the  Golden  Gate,  led  to  the  quiet  valley  of  the  Kedron.  A  bridge 
over  the  sometimes  dry  channel  of  the  stream  opened  into  a  camel 
path,  rising,  past  Gethsemane,  in  a  slow  and  gentle  ascent  over  the 
brow  of  the  hill  which  lies  between  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  that 
which  Pompey  had  defiled  by  his  camp;  called,  from  this,  the  Hill  of 
Offence.  To  save  distance,  however,  a  footway  ran  from  Gethsemane 
over  the  top  of  Olivet,  and  this,  travellers  a-foot,  like  Jesus,  for  the 
most  part  preferred  to  the  other  easier  but  more  circuitous  roacL 
Descending  the  eastern  slope,  a  few  steps  led  from  the  bare  hill-side, 
with  its  scattered,  prickly  shrubs,  to  a  sweet  dell,  rich  in  fig,  almond, 
and  olive  trees,  through  which  wound  a  road,  here  and  there  cut  out 
in  the  side  of  the  hill.  Ascending  the  east  end  of  the  dell,  Bethany 
lay  close  in  sight,  only  three-quarters  of  an  hour's  distance  from  Je- 
rusalem, but  hidden  from  it  by  a  spur  of  the  Mount  of  Olives.  The 
ruins  of  a  tower  rise,  now,  over  the  highest  point  of  the  village,  but 
they  are  of  later  date  than  the  days  of  our  Lord.  The  houses,  white- 
,Tashed  and  flat-roofed,  lie  hidden  among  the  surroimding  heights, 
amidst  green  fields  and  trees  of  many  kinds;  all  the  more  charming, 
as  the  eastern  side  of  Mount  Olivet,  the  background  to  the  picture, 
is  much  more  barren  and  dreary  than  the  western. 

In  this  sequestered  spot,  on  the  edge  of  the  great  wilderness  «f 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  6M 

Judea,  Jesus  found  a  delightful  retreat  in  the  vine-covered  cottage  of 
Martha  and  Mary  and  their  brother  Lazarus.  Loving  and  beloved,  it 
always  offered  a  peaceful  retirement  from  the  confusion  and  danger 
of  the  Temple  courts,  or  the  still  more  exhausting  circuits  of  His 
wider  southern  journeys.  It  was  the  one  spot,  so  far  as  we  know, 
that  He  could  call  home  in  these  last  months,  but  it  was  apparently 
the  sweetest,  and  most  like  home,  He  had  ever  had. 

The  ho\isehold  consisted  of  two  sisters,  and  a  brother — Martha, 
Mary,  and  Lazarus — names  which  mark  tlie  transition-character  of 
the  times;  for,  while  "Martha"  was  the  unchanged  native  equivalent 
of  "lady,"  "Llary"  and  "Lazarus"  were  Greek  forms  of  the  old  He- 
brew "Miriam"  and  "Eleazer."  May  we  trace,  in  this  superiority 
to  narrow  conservatism,  a  liberality  in  their  parents,  which  led  both 
them  and  their  children  to  receive  the  Galila^an  teacher  so  readily  and 
so  fondly?  They  had  evidently  been  disciples  before  this  last  stay  in 
Judea;  likely  from  the  time  of  their  now  dead  father,  who  had, 
doubtless,  often  talked  over  his  doubts  or  reasons  for  loving  trust,  la 
their  company. 

Martha  appears  to  have  been  the  head  of  the  little  household,  and 
may  have  been,  as  many  have,  believed,  a  widow.  The  family  seems 
to  have  had  a  good  social  position,  and  to  have  been  above  the  aver- 
age in  circumstances.  The  character  of  the  two  sisters  shows  itself 
vividly  in  the  first  notice.  Martha  shares  the  piety  of  her  sister,  but 
fails,  at  first,  to  rise  to  such  a  high  conception  of  the  nature  and  dig- 
nity of  their  wondrous  Friend  as  her  sister,  and  is  busied  with  the 
practical  cares  of  life  to  an  extent  that  seems  to  Him  excessive.  Ami- 
ably anxious  for  the  comfort  of  her  guest,  she  is  absorbed  in  every 
detail  of  hospitality  which  she  thinks  likely  to  please  Him,  while 
Mary  sits  at  His  feet,  to  listen  to  His  words  and  watch  His  every  look. 
The  busy,  motherly  Martha,  seeing  Mary  thus  seemingly  idle,  feels  a 
passing  jealousy  and  annoyance,  imworthy  of  her  calmer  self — for  a 
word  to  her  sister  would  doubtless  have  been  enough — and  comes 
impatiently  with  a  complaint  to  Jesus,  not  free  from  irreverence. 
"Lord,"  says  she,  "do  you  not  care  that  my  sister  has  left  me  to  do 
all  the  work  alone?  If  you  speak  to  her,  she  will  help  me."  As  if 
to  imply  that  she  would  pay  no  attention  to  Martha's  words. 

The  gentle  calmness  of  Jesus,  too  grateful  to  both  for  their  loving 
tenderness  to  overlook  the  good  in  each,  had  only  the  tenderest  reply. 
"Martha,  Martha,"  said  He,  "my  wants  are  easily  satisfied,  aud it  is, 
besides,  better,  like  Mary,  to  choose  the  one  thing  needful  above  all 
— supreme  concern  for  the  things  of  God — for  they  alone  can  never 
be  taken  from  us."  Of  Lazarus,  before  his  death,  we  only  know  that 
his  spirit  and  temper  were  such  that  Jesus  made  him,  in  an  especial 
manner,  His  friend. 

An  incident  of  this  period  is  preserved  by  St.  Luke.  In  one  of  our 
Lord's  journeys  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Jerusalem,  a  Rabbi,  skilled 
in  the  Mosaic  Law;  and,  as  such,  a  public  teacher  and  interpreter  of 


602  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  Rabbinical  rules,  rising  from  his  seat  among  his  students,  as  Jesua 
passed,  resolved  to  sliow  his  Misdom  at  the  expense  of  the  hated 
Galilfean;  and  trap  Him,  if  possible,  into  some  doubtful  utterance. 
"Teacher,"  asked  he,  "what  shall  I  do  to  inherit 'eternal  life?  We 
know  what  the  Rabbis  enjoin,  but  what  sayest  Thou?" 

"What  is  written  in  the  Law?"  replied  Jesus,  "  how  readest  thou? 
For  the  law  of  God  alone  can  determine  such  a  matter." 

Quoting  a  passage  which  every  Jew  repeated  in  each  morning  and 
.g-p-ening's  prayer,  and  wore  in  the  little  text-boxes  of  his  phylactery, 
he  answered  glibly,  "Thou  shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy 
heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul,  and  with  all  thy  strength,  and  with  all 
thy  mind,  and  thy  neighbour  as  thyself." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Jesus.     "Do  this,  and  you  shall  live." 

The  answer  hardly  left  room  for  auj-thing  further;  but  the  ques- 
tioner Avould  not  be  balked  of  an  opportunity  of  showing  his  acute- 
ness,  and,  perhaps,  of  drawing  Jesus  into  a  difficulty.  No  command 
was  so  plain  as  not  to  furnish  subjects  for  dispute  to  hair-splitting 
theologians  of  his  class;  and,  in  this  case,  there  had  been  endless 
wrangling  in  the  Rabbinical  schools  on  the  definition  of  the  word 
"neighbour."  Jesus,  moreover,  as  was  w^ell-known,  held  very  broad 
views  on  the  subject;  views  utterly  heterodox  in  the  eyes  of  the 
schools.  Determined  not  to  let  conversation  drop,  the  questioner, 
therefore,  opened  it  afresh. 

"But  you  have  not  told  me,"  said  he,  "who  is  my  neighbour. 
Pray  do  so,  else  I  may  fail  in  my  duty. " 

Instead  of  answering  him  directly,  Jesus  replied,  in  the  fashion  of 
the  Rabbis  themselves,  by  a  parable,  which  I  amplify,  for  its  clearer 
understanding. 

"A  certain  man,"  said  He,  "went  down  from  Jerusalem  to  Jericho. 
You  know  the  way,  so  steep,  wild,  and  dangerous;  well  called  the 
Bloody  Road,  for  who  can  tell  how  many  robberies  and  murders  have 
happened  on  it  in  these  unsettled  times,  when  the  country  is  full  of 
men  driven  from  their  homes  by  oppression  and  misery?  As  he  went 
on,  a  band  of  robbers  from  the  wild  gorges  through  which  the  road 
sinks,  rushed  out  upon  him ;  stripped  him,  for  he  was  a  poor  man, 
with  only  his  clothes  to  take  from  him;  beat  him  when  he  resisted; 
and  then  made  off,  leaving  him  half  dead. 

"As  he  lay,  bleeding,  insensible,  and  naked,  on  the  rough  stones,  a 
priest,  who  lived  at  Jericho,  like  so  many  more,  and  had  finished  his 
course  at  the  Temple,  went  past.  He  Avas  busy  reading  the  copy  of 
the  Law,  which  all  priests  carry  with  them;  but  as  he  came  near  and 
saw  the  wounded  and  seemingly  dying  man,  he  hastily  crossed  over, 
and  passed,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  afraid  of  defiling  himself 
by  blood,  or  by  the  touch  of  one  perhaps  unclean. 

"  Soon  after,  a  Levite,  also  from  the  Temple,  came  by,  and  he, 
when  he  saw  the  injured  man,  stepped  over  to  him,  and  stood  for  a 
time  looking  at  him,  but  presently  crossed  the  road  again,  as  if  he 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  '808 

had  been  polluted,  and  went  on  in  all  haste,  lest  the  like  should  hap- 
pen to  himself. 

"But  a  Samaritan,  travelling  that  way,  came  where  the  poor  man 
lay,  and,  when  he  saw  him,  was  moved  with  compassion  at  his 
misery;  and  went  to  him,  and,  lighting  from  his  ass,  bound  up  his 
wounds,  after  pouring  oil  mixed  with  wine  on  them,  to  assuage  the 
pain,  and  soften  the  injured  parts;  and  set  him  on  his  own  beast, 
never  thinking  who  he  might  be  he  was  helping;  Avhether  Jew, 
heathen,  or  fellow-countryman;  or  of  his  own  danger  in  such  a  spot; 
and  brought  him  to  the  khan,  which,  you  know,  stands  at  the  road- 
side, amidst  the  bare  walls  of  rocks,  three  hours  from  Jerusalem. 
There  he  had  every  care  taken  of  him,  and  stayed  with  him,  tending 
him  througli  the  night.  His  own  business  forced  him  to  leave  him 
next  day ;  but  before  doing  so,  he  went  to  the  keeper  of  the  khan,  and 
gave  him  two  denarii,  telling  him  to  take  care  of  him,  and  adding, 
that  if  more  were  needed,  he  would  give  it  when  he  came  back. 

"Which  of  these  three,  do  you  think,  was  neighbour  to  him  that 
fell  among  the  robbers?" 

The  Rabbi,  true  to  his  national  hatred,  would  not  utter  the  hated 
■word,  "the  Samaritan."  "He  that  had  mercy  on  him,  no  doubt," 
said  he. 

"Go  and  do  thou  in  like  manner,"  replied  Jesus,  and  left  him;  if 
humbled  and  mortified;  it  is  to  be  hoped,  a  wiser  and  better  man. 

A  fragment  of  the  familiar  instructions  of  these  months,  by  which 
Jesus  daily  trained  His  disciples,  is  preserved  to  us  by  St.  Luke.  He 
had,  at  an  earlier  period,  given  the  Twelve  and  His  other  hearers,  a 
model  of  prayer  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount,  but  now,  one,  perhaps 
of  the  later  disciples,  asked  for  a  form  of  prayer  such  as  other 
Rabbis,  and  as  John,  gave  their  followers.  With  the  gentle  repe- 
tition we  so  often  find  in  the  Gospels,  Jesus,  forthwith,  once  more 
recited  the  model  He  had  already  given,  and  took  advantage  of  the 
request,  to  enforce  the  value  of  prayer  by  similar  assurances  of  answer 
from  God  as  He  had  given  before.  In  one  detail,  however.  He 
varied  His  language,  by  adding  a  brief  and  pointed  parable. 

"You  know,"  said  He,  "how  it  is  with  men.  If  any  of  you  have 
a  friend,  and  go  to  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and  call  through 
the  door,  '  Friend,  lend  me  three  loaves,  for  a  friend  of  mine  has  just 
come  to  my  house  from  a  journey ;  the  weather  was  so  hot,  he  could 
not  start  till  the  cool  of  the  daj';  this  has  made  him  so  late;  and  I 
have  nothing  to  set  before  him ;'  most  likely  he  whom  you  thus  dis- 
turb will  say  to  you  from  within,  'Trouble  me  not;  the  door  is 
locked  for  the  night,  and  my  children  are  with  me  in  bed,  and  I 
cannot  wake  them.  I  cannot  get  up  and  give  you  what  j'ou  ask.' 
Yet,  if  you  refuse  to  leave  and  keep  renewing  your  request,  he  will, 
in  the  end,  rise  and  give  j-ou  as  manj'  loaves  as  you  need,  yielding 
to  your  importunity ,"what  he  would  not  do  for  you  as  his  friend. 

"  If,  now,  selfish  men  listen  to  those  who  tbus  will  not  take  a  deiud, 


804  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

how  mucli  Jnore  surely  wilJ  the  Cod  of  love  listen  to  humble  and 
persistent  prayer?  Be  sure,  therefore,  that  they  who,  with  earnest, 
believing,  souls,  seek  the  supply  of  spiritual  wants  for  themselves, 
or  others,  will  assuredly  have  their  petitions  heard." 

While  He  was  still  in  Jerusalem  and  its  neighbourhood,  the 
Seventy,  having  fulfilled  their  mission,  made  their  way  back  to  Him. 
Like  the  Twelve,  they  returned  in  great  joy  at  their  success,  and  re- 
ported that  even  the  "devils  had  been  subject  to  them,  through  their 
Master's  name,  though  they  had  received  no  special  power  over  them, 
such  as  He  had  given  to  the  Twelve.  It  was  a  moment  of  calm 
triumph  to  Jesus,  as  the  sure  anticipation  of  infinitely  greater  results 
hereafter.  His  spirit  caught  the  contagion  of  their  gladness,  and 
gloom  and  despondency  were  forgotten  in  the  vision  of  the  future 
triumph  of  the  New  Kingdom — His  one  all-absorbing  thought.  But 
there  was  a  danger  lest  their  very  success  might  injure  them.  The 
consideration  it  had  won  them  might  tend  to  unworthy  pride.  It 
was  needful  to  warn  them,  and  moderate  their  self-confidence. 

"  You  need  not  wonder,"  said  He,  "  that  Satan  is  not  able  to  with- 
stand you.  Long  ere  now,  I  foresaw,  in  spirit,  that  lie  would  fall 
like  a  lightning-flash  from  the  height  of  his  power,  at  my  coming, 
and  the  putting  forth  of  my  might.  He  has  fallen,  now,  to  the  eartli, 
where  his  craft  and  designs  can  b^seen  and  met.  His  sway  is  already 
broken  by  the  new-begun  Kingdom  of  God.  It  has  struck  him  doAvn, 
as  it  were,  from  the  sky,  with  its  secrecy  and  .sudden  surprises;  and 
he  is,  now,  as  if  seen,  and  easy  to  shun.  I  have  broken  his  sceptre, 
and  made  it  possible  for  jou  to  do  what  you  have  done.  Take  heed, 
therefore,  not  to  think  too  much  of  yourselves,  as  if  the  success  were 
your  own.  I  now  give  you  far  greater  power  than  any  you  have  yet 
enjoyed.  You  will,  hereafter,  tread  all  satanic  powers — the  serpents 
and  scorpions  of  hell — under  your  feet,  as  victors  treiid  under  foot 
their  conquered  foes,  and  nothing  will  be  sulfered  to  hinder  your 
triumph  as  my  servants.     You  need  not,  therefore,  fear  Satan. 

' '  Yet  success  over  the  enemy  of  souls  is  not  that  m  which  you 
should  rejoice  most.  It  may  raise  pride,  and  make  you  too  secure. 
Rather  rejoice  that  your  names,  as  my  disciples,  are  in  the  roll  of 
citizens  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven.  It  is  an  infinitely  greater  honour 
than  any  outward  respect  these  wonders  could  ])ring  you." 

The  murderous  outburst,  from  which  Jesus  had  fled,  was  now  a 
thing  of  the  past,  so  that  He  cotild  once  more  venture  into  Jerusalem, 
and  even  into  the  Temple.  The  spacious  porches  were  a  favourite 
haunt  of  the  afflicted  poor,  and  among  these,  of  a  poor  man,  blind 
from  his  birth.  Surrounded  and  followed,  as  usual,  by  a  number  of 
disciples,  Jesus  was,  one  day,  passing,  when  this  man  attracted  His 
notice.  It  is  not  said  that  He  spoke  to  him,  but  the  mere  fact  of  His 
paying  any  heed  to  him,  suggested  a  question  to  some  of  those  round 
Him.  "Rabbi,"  they  asked,  "we  have  been  taught  that  children 
axe  bom  lame,  crooked,  maimed,  blind,  or  otherwise  defectiya — for 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  608 

some  sin  of  their  parents,  or  for  some  sin  committed  by  theraselTea 
before  birth.  Who  sinned,  in  this  case — this  man  or  his  parents— 
that  he  Avas  born  blind?" 

That  there  was  a  strict  system  of  rewards  and  pimishments  during 
the  present  life,  according  to  the  merits  or  sins  of  individuals,  had 
been  the  original  doctrine  of  Jewisli  theology.  It  had  gradually, 
however,  been  modified,  though  still  held  by  the  multitude;  aud  it 
was  superseded  in  the  New  Kingdom  by  the  transfer  of  tinal  retribu- 
tion to  the  future  world.  The  Rabbinical  theology,  sedulously  taught 
in  every  synagogue,  sought  to  reconcile  the  contradiction  between  the 
liereditary  belief  and  the  facts  of  life,  by  laboured  and  unsatisfactory 
theories.  The  words  were  put  into  the  mouth  of  God  Himself,  in 
one  of  the  current  apologues  so  much  in  vogue,  that  "  the  good  man, 
if  prosperous,  was  so,  as  the  son  of  a  righteous  man ;  while  the  unfor- 
tunate good  man  suifered  as  the  son  of  a  sinful  parent.  So,  also,  the 
wicked  man  might  be  prosperous,  if  the  son  of  a  godly  parent ;  but  if 
unfortunate,  it  showed  that  his  parents  had  been  sinners."  It  was 
further  believed  that  a  child  might  sin  before  its  birth,  though  it  is  a 
question  whether  there  was  any  general  idea  of  the  transmigration  of 
souls,  to  account  for  suffering  as  the  punishment  of  sin  in  some  earlier 
existence. 

"The  affliction  of  this  man,"  replied  Jesus,  "has  been  caused 
neither  by  his  own  sin,  nor  by  that  of  his  parents;  but  his  being  bora 
blind  offers  an  opportunity  for  the  display  of  the  divine  power  and 
goodness  in  his  person.  It  is  on  such  sufferers  as  he  that  I  must  show 
the  mighty  worlis  wliich  God  has  given  me,  as  the  Messiah,  to  do.  In 
His  service  I  must  work  unweariedly,  as  He,  my  Father,  Himself 
works.  Like  Him  with  His  work,  I  cannot  intermit  mine  even  on 
this  day,  though  it  be  a  Sabbath.  I  am  like  one  who  cannot  leave 
his  task  till  the  night  comes,  when  no  one  can  work.  The  night  is 
coming  erelong  to  me,  when  I  shall  cease  from  all  such  labours,  as 
the  workman  does  at  the  close  of  daj-.  As  long  as  I  am  in  the  world, 
I  must  be  the  light  of  men :  when  I  depart,  the  light  will  be  with- 
drawn." 

He  might  have  opened  the  ej-cs  of  the  poor  man  by  a  word,  but  a 
great  lesson  was  to  be  taught  His  enemies.  He  wished  to  protest 
once  more  against  the  hypocritical  strictness  of  the  Rabbinical  obsesv- 
aiice  of  Sabbath,  wliicii  so  entirely  destroyed  the  true  signiticance 
of  the  holj  day.  He  would  show  that  it  was  in  full  accordance  with 
t'le  office  of  the  Messiah,  not  only  Himself,  to  do  what  the  dominant 
party  denounced  as  Wokk,  on  the  Sabbath,  but  to  require  it  also 
from  him  wliom  Ho  cured. 

It  was  the  belief,  ni  antiquity,  that  the  saliva  of  one  who  was  fast- 
ing was  of  benelit  to  weak  eyes,  and  that  clay  relieved  those  who 
Buffered  from  tumours  on  the  eyelids.  It  may  be  that  Jesus  thought 
of  this:  at  any  rate,  stooping  to  the  ground,  and  mixing  saliva  with 
some  of  the  dust,  He  touched  the  eyes  of  the  blind  coau  with  it,  aud 


Q06  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

then  sent  him  to  wash  it  off,  in  the  pool  of  Siloam.  It  was  impos- 
sible that  the  clay  or  the  water  could  restore  the  eyesight ;  but  Jesus 
had  once  more  asserted  His  right  to  do  works  of  mercy  on  the  Sab- 
bath; in  opposition  to  the  narrow  pretences  of  the  Pharisees;  and  the 
faith  of  the  man  himself  was  put  to  the  test.  He,  forthwith,  did  as 
commanded,  and  his  sight  was  at  once  made  perfect. 

Full  of  childish  delight  at  the  possession  of  the  new  amazing  sense, 
the  man  must  have  attracted  attention,  even  where  the  change 
wrought  in  his  appearance  prevented  his  being  recognized.  He  was 
well  known  in  the  city  as  a  beggar,  blind  from  his  birth.  Presently, 
some  asked,  doubting  tlieir  senses,  "if  this  were  not  he  who  sat  every- 
day begging?"  "It  is  he,"  said  one.  "It  is  some  one  like  him," 
said  others.  "I  am  he,"  said  the  man.  "How  did  you  get  your 
sight,  then?"  asked  a  number  at  once.  The  man  told  them.  "Where 
is  this  Jesus?"  they  asked  again;  but  he  could  not  tell. 

It  was  clear  that  another  gi-eat  miracle  had  been  performed  by  the 
Teacher  whom  the  authorities  denounced;  and,  hence,  from  whatever 
motive,  the  man  was  taken  before  them.  The  sight  of  him  might 
change  their  feelings  towards  Jesus,  for  even  they  did  not  pretend  to 
deny  the  supernatural  power  of  their  hated  opponent,  though  they 
tried  to  attribute  it  to  the  help  of  the  Prince  of  devils. 

Brought  before  the  dignitaries  of  the  Law  and  Temple,  the  man 
had  to  repeat  the  story  of  his  cure.  The  miracle  could  not  be  denied ; 
but  the  character  of  Jesus  might,  at  least,  be  discredited,  for  it  ap- 
peared that  He  had  dared  to  break  the  Sabbath  both  in  act  and  word. 
"  This  man  is  not  of  God,"  said  some  of  the  Council,  "  for  does  not 
the  Law  expressly  forbid  the  anointing  of  the  eyes  with  saliva  on  the 
Sabbath,  as  trorlc  ?  And,  besides,  no  healing  is  permitted  on  the  Sab- 
bath except  when  life  is  in  danger." 

"  How  could  a  man  that  does  wrong,  work  such  miracles?"  replied 
some  of  the  more  lil)eral-minded.  God  would  never  give  such  power 
to  such  a  person.  There  is  something  special  that  needs  looking  into, 
in  this  case  of  what  you  call  Sabbath-brealdng — before  you  decide  so 
confidently. " 

They  were  hopelessly  divided,  and  at  last,  like  Orientals,  resolved 
to  get  the  opinion  of  the  man  himself.  They  asked  him,  therefore, 
what  he  thought  of  Him  who  had  cured  him.  "  I  think  Him  a 
prophet,"  answered  the  sturdy  confessor.  But  it  would  never  do  to 
admit  this,  for  even  tlic  Rabbis  owned  that  a  prophet  might  dispense 
with  the  laws  of  the  Sabbath. 

The  hostile  party  in  the  Council  were  in  a  strait,  and  would  fain 
deny  the  fact  of  the  miracle  altogether.  They  would,  at  least,  re- 
quire more  evidence  than  the  man's  own  word.  Sending  the  othcers 
for  his  parents,  therefore,  they  had  them  brought  before  them,  and 
asked  them : — 

"  Is  this  your  son,  who,  as  you  say,  was  bom  blind?  How  comes 
be  to  see,  if  that  were  eo?"    But  the  question  brought  no  relief,  for 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  MT 

the  parents  f5lirewdly  refused  to  commit  themselves  beyond  the  bare 
acknowledgment  that  he  was  their  son,  and  that  he  had  been  bom 
bUnd.  "  He  is  of  age— ask  himself,"  added  they.  Kor  was  their 
caution  unjustified,  for  they  had  heard  that  if  any  one  acknowledged 
Jesus  as  the  Messiah  he  would  be  "put  out  of  the  synagogue;"  a 
punishment  involving  the  direst  consequences  socially  and  religiously. 
It  was,  in  fact,  the  lesser  excommunication ;  which  lasted  thirty  days, 
but  miijht  be  lengthened  for  continued  impenitence,  or  curtailed  by 
contrition.  It  shut  a  person  utterly  from  the  synagogue,  for  even  if 
he  entered  it,  he  was  reckoned  as  not  present;  no  mourning  for  the 
dead,  and  no  rite  of  circumcision,  could  take  place  in  his  house ;  and 
no  one  but  his  wife  or  child  could  come  within  four  cubits  of  him. 

The  discomfited  Council  could  only  fall  back  on  the  man  himself. 
"He  must,"  they  told  him,  "take  care  of  himself,  else  they  would 
have  to  deal  with  him.  He  had  better  tel  1  the  whole  truth,  and  con- 
fess what  he  knew  about  this  Jesus,  and  thus  show  that  he  feared  God, 
by  giving  Him  the  glory;  for  we  know  very  well,"  said  they,  "that 
this  man  is  a  sinner."  But  he  was  neither  to  be  brow-beaten  nor 
dragooned,  and  would  not  yield  an  inch  to  either  threats  or  persua- 
sions. "It  is  a  very  strange  thing,"  said  he,  "that  you  talk  about 
Him  so.  I  can  say  nothing  about  His  being  a  sinner;  I  only  know 
that  whereas  I  was  blind,  now  I  see." 

Foiled  once  more,  they  fell  back  on  their  first  question.  "What  is 
it,  you  say,   He  did  to  you?    How  was  it  He  opened  your  eyes?" 


become  His  disciples?" 

The  court  was  not  accustomed  to  be  treated  with  so  little  deference 
and  awe ;  their  pride  and  dignity  were  sadly  flustered,  and  they  for- 
got both  in  their  excitement.  With  the  passionate  heat  of  Orientals, 
they  stooped  to  insult  and  wrangle  with  the  humble  creature  at  their 
bar.  As  they  could  get  nothing  against  Jesus  from  him.  they 
branded  him  as  His  disciple — "  Ton  are  a  disciple  of  this  Galila^an: 
we  are  the  disciples  of  IMoses,  the  man  of  God :  we  know  that  God 
spoke  to  Moses,  but  as  for  this  fellow,  we  know  not  who  has  sent 
Him — it  must  have  been  Beelzebub,  at  best." 

Unabashed,  and  true-hearted,  the  man  was  not  to  be  put  down  by 
either  priest  or  Rabbi.  "Well,  this  is  very  strange,"  retorted  he. 
"  You  say  you  don't  know  who  has  sent  Hini,  and  yet  He  has  opened 
my  eyes!  A  man  who  has  done  that,  must,  as  you  know,  have  come 
from  God,  and  be  no  sinner;  for  every  one  knows  that  God  alone  can 
give  power  to  work  such  a  miracle,  and  He  does  not  hear  sinners,  but 
only  those  who  worship  Him  truly,  and  do  His  will.  So  wonderful 
an  instance  of  the  power  of  God  being  granted  to  any  man  has  never 
been  heard  of,  as  that  which  has  been  granted  to  this  Jesus;  for, 
from  the  begimiing  of  the  world,  such  a  thing  was  never  kfiu»w*i,  aa 


008  THE  LIFE  OF  CHUIST. 

the  opening  of  tlie  eyes  of  a  man  born  blind,  even  by  the  greatest  of 
the  prophets.  There  is  no  such  thing  in  any  part  of  the  Law  or  the 
Prophets.     If  this  man  were  not  from  God,  He  could  do  nothing." 

' '  What !"  screamed  several  voices  at  once.  ' '  You,  a  creature  tainted 
in  your  very  core  with  sin,  before  your  birth,  and  born  with  its  mis- 
erable punishment  on  you, — you,  an  out-and-out  worthless  wretch, — 
do  you  venture  to  teach  us?  You  are  excommunicated."  And  so 
they  cast  him  out  of  tlie  synagogue,  there  and  then. 

The  report  of  this  incident  soon  readied  Jesus.  The  blind  beggar 
was  the  first  confessor  in  the  New  Kingdom,  and  its  Lord  lost  no 
time  in  acknowledging  and  strengthening  one  wlio  had  owned  Him 
fearlessly  before  the  very  Council  itself.  Seeking  him  out,  and  telling 
him  He  had  Iieard  of  His  grateful  fidelity,  He  added — "  You  believe 
on  the  Son  of  God,  do  you  not?"  The  name,  as  that  of  Jesus, 
Himself,  had  net  reached  liim,  but  he  knew  it  as  one  of  the  titles  of 
the  expected  Messiah.  "Who  is  He,  Lord,"  asked  he,  in.stantly, 
"that  I  may  believe  on  Him?"  "Thou  hast  seen  Him,  even  now," 
answered  Jesus,  "and  it  is  He  who  talks  with  thee."  It  was  enough. 
The  healed  one  had  before  him  the  mysterious  Being  whose  power 
towards  himself  had  shown  Ilim  to  be  "  the  messenger  sent  of 
God," — Him  whom  he  had  only  now  confessed.  "  Lord,"  said  he, 
"I  iielieve,"  and  rendered  Him,  forthwith,  the  worship  due  to  the 
Messiah — God's  anointed. 

Meanwhile,  a  crowd  had  gathered,  as  the  beggar,  now  seeing  not 
only  with  bodily  but  spiritual  eyes,  threw  himself  at  His  feet.  It 
was  a  moment  of  deep  emotion.  Addressing  Himself  to  those 
around,  among  whom,  as  usual,  were  some  of  the  ever-watchful  Rab- 
bis, Jesus  seized  tlie  opportunity  for  a  few  more  words  of  warning. 

"I  am  come  into  the  world,"  said  He,  "  fan  in  hand,  to  separate 
the  wheat  from  the  chaff,  and  to  bring  a  judgment-like  division 
among  men.  The  poor  in  spirit  who  feel  their  need  of  divine  truth, 
and  mourn  their  spiritual  blindness,  are  enlightened  by  me,  but  those 
who  think  they  see,  and  fancy  they  know  the  truth,  are  shown  to  be 
blind,  and  are  shut  out  from  my  kingdom,  to  the  blindness  they  have 
chosen." 

"Are  we  blind,  then?"  asked  some  of  the  Rabbis  in  the  crowd. 
He  had  classed  them  as  those  who  fancied  they  alone  saw,  and  their 
pride  was  roused  by  His  venturing  to  speak  of  them,  the  teachers  of 
the  nation,  as  blind — language  so  opposed  to  the  servility  shown 
them  as  a  rule. 

"  Blind?"  replied  Jesus — "  it  would  be  well  if  you  were  so,  for,  in 
that  case,  your  disbelief  in  me  would  not  be  sinful.  It  would  not 
show  a  wilful  resistance  to  divine  truth,  but  only  that  you  had  not 
yet  attained  the  knowledge  of  it.  But  since  you  claim  to  see,  it  makes 
your  unbelief  criminal,  and  deepens  your  guilt,  for  it  is  your  spiritual 
pride  which  leads  you  to  reject  me,  and  thus  keeps  you  from  baHev* 
jug,  and  so  receiving  pardon. " 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  60» 

In  the  East,  as  in  lonely  mountainous  districts  of  our  own  country, 
the  relation  of  a  shepherd  to  his  tlock  is  very  different  from  the  me- 
chanical and  indiflferent  one  of  some  other  parts.  The  loneliness  of 
shepherd  life  in  these  countries  throws  man  and  the  creatures  he  tends 
so  much  together — binds  them  so  to  each  other  by  a  sense  of  com 
panionship,  of  dangers  shared,  and  pleasures  mutually  enjoyed — that 
the  Eastern  shepherd,  like  the  shepherd  of  our  own  mountains,  forgets 
the  distance  between  himself  and  his  flock,  and  becomes  their  friend. 
Nor  is  the  sense  of  dependence  only  on  his  side.  The  sheep  are 
drawn  to  their  shepherd  as  much  as  he  lo  them.  They  are  all  to  each 
other.  They  sliare  in  common  the  silence  and  lonely  magnificence  of 
the  mountains,  or  the  desert.  We  learn  to  love  that  for  which  we 
brave  peril ;  and  the  dangers  of  torrents,  of  robbers,  of  Avolves,  of 
thirst,  or  of  straying  endear  the  flock  for  which  they  are  borne,  to  the 
Oriental;  as  the  dangers  of  winter  storms,  or  mountain  mists,  and 
the  thousand  incidents  of  pastoral  life  in  wild  districts,  do  with  our 
Highland  shepherds. 

Nothing,  therefore,  could  be  more  touching,  in  a  pastoral  country- 
like  Palestine,  than  images  of  care  or  tenderness  drawn  from  shep- 
herd life,  and  such  Jesus  now  introduced  with  surpassing  beauty. 

"I  have  come  into  the  world,"  said  He,  in  effect,  "  to  gather  together 
into  a  great  fold  the  new  Israel  of  God.  He  who  enters  by  the  door 
is  a  true  and  authorized  under-shepherd,  but  any  who  enter  otherwise 
are  not  true  leaders  and  shepherds,  but  are  like  thieves  and  robbers 
who  climb  over  the  wall  for  evil  ends. 

"When  the  true  shepherd  thus  enters  by  the  door,  the  sheep  he 
tends  hear  his  voice,  and  he  calls  them  by  name,  and  leads  them  out. 
And  when  he  has  led  forth  all  his  own,  he  goes  before  them,  as  the 
shepherds  before  their  sheep,  and  his  flock  follow  him,  because  they 
know  his  voice.  And,  as  a  stranger,  who  is  not  the  shepherd  known 
by  a  flock,  as  soon  as  the  sheep  hear  his  voico,  scatters  it  in  alaiTn, 
so,  while  true  shepherds  are  recognized  as  such  by  the  spiritual  Israel, 
pretenders  are  known  by  their  words,  and  shunned."  The  drift  of 
this  parable,  or  allegor}^  was  sufficiently  transparent,  but  those  at 
whom  it  was  pointed  were  too  self-satisfied  to  recognize  it.  They 
declared  it  unintelligible. 

Jesus,  therefore,  felt  Himself  necessitated  to  repeat  the  main 
thought,  and  thus  enforce  it  on  their  attention. 

"  I  see,"  said  He,  "  that  5"ou  do  not  understand  the  parable  I  have 
just  delivered:  let  me  explain  it.  I  tell  you  with  the  utmost  solem- 
nity; I  am  the  one  only  Uoor  of  the  fold  of  the  flock  of  God.  Other 
tcacliers  have  sought  to  lead  you  in  your  day,  but  all  who  have  done 
so,  before  my  coming,  are  like  the  thieves  and  robbers  who  enter  a 
fold  over  the  wall.  I  frankly  tell  you  I  mean  the  priests  and  Rabbis, 
my  enemies.  They  have  refused  to  enter,  through  Me,  the  Door,  and 
have  rejected  me.  But  the  true  sheep  of  God — the  spiritual  Israel — 
have  not  listened  to  them.     Note  well,  as  I  repeat  it,  I,  aloue,  am  th« 


filO  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

door  of  the  true  fold  of  the  flock  of  God.  If  any  one  enter  by  m« 
into  the  fold,  as  a  shepherd  or  teacher  and  leader  of  the  flock,  he, 
himself,  will  be  saved  in  the  world  to  come,  and  preserved  to  lifo 
eternal,  and  will  have  free  entrance  to  the  sheep  here,  to  lead  them 
out  to  pasture.  He  who  does  not  thus  enter  tlirough  me,  seeks  the 
sheep  only  for  selfish  and  evil  ends;  like  the  thief,  who,  avoiding  the 
door,  climbs  over  into  the  fold,  to  steal,  kill,  and  destroy.  I  may  call 
myself,  in  opposition  to  such  false  shepherds,  not  only  the  door,  but 
the  Good  Shepherd,  for  I  have  come,  not  to  destroy  the  flock  of  God, 
but  to  give  them  true  abiding  life  in  my  kingdom,  and  that  with  all 
fulness  and  delight  of  spiritual  joys. 

' '  I  am,  indeed,  the  Good  Shepherd,  for  I  come  to  lay  down  my  life 
for  the  sheep.  But  he  who  is  a  hireling  and  not  a  true  shepherd — he 
who  seeks  to  lead  and  teach  the  flock  of  God,  not  from  love  and  self- 
sacrifice,  but  for  gain — the  hj'pocrite  who  pretends  to  be  a  shepherd- 
sees  the  powers  of  evil  coming  like  a  ravening  wolf,  to  tear  the  flock 
by  persecutions ;  and  flees,  and  leaves  it  to  its  fate,  so  that  they  snatch 
off  many,  and  scatter  all.  He  thus  flees  because  he  is  only  a  hireling, 
thinking  of  himself  and  caring  nothing  for  the  sheep. 

"  I,  once  more,  am  the  Good  Shepherd,  and  no  hireling,  for  I  know 
my  sheep,  and  they  know  me  with  such  deep  communion  of  love  and 
spiritual  life,  as  there  is  between  my  heavenly  Father  and  myself; 
and  I  shall  presently  lay  down  my  life  for  them.  Yet,  not  for  those 
of  Israel  alone.  I  have  other  sheep,  of  other  lands,  and  them  also  \ 
must  lead  into  the  one  fold,  that  there  may  be  but  one  flock,  imder 
me,  the  one  shepherd. 

"But  this  triumphal  issue  can  be  reached  only  by  my  death  and 
resurrection ;  yet  I  rejoice  to  die  thus  for  the  sheep,  since  the  love  of 
my  heavenly  Father  rests  on  me,  because  I  give  myself  for  them.  I 
die  freely,  of  my  own  choice,  a  willing  self-sacrifice.  No  one  takes 
my  life  from  me,  but  I  lay  it  down  of  myself.  I  am  sent  forth  by  my 
Father,  as  the  Messiah,  and,  as  such,  lay  down  my  life  and  take  it 
again;  not  to  carry  out  any  purpose  of  my  own,  but  to  complete  the 
great  plan  of  salvation  God  has  designed.  It  is  in  obedience  to  His 
divine  command  I  thus  freely  give  myself  up  to  death,  and  it  is  to 
complete  the  gracious  plan  of  mercy  towards  the  flock  which  my 
death  will  redeem,  that  I  shall  rise  again  from  the  grave  as  their 
Great  Shepherd,  to  guide  them  to  heaven." 
*  Had  the  bigoted  crowd  known  the  full  significance  of  some  of  these 
words,  they  would  have  risen  against  Jesus  once  more ;  for  the  future 
admission  of  the  heathen  into  the  New  Kingdom  of  God  was  more 
distinctly  intimated  than  ever  before.  As  the  end  of  His  work  drew 
nearer,  the  narrow  prejudices  even  of  the  Twelve  were  ever  more 
constantly  kept  in  view,  and  the  thought  that  the  kingdom  He  was 
founding  must  embrace  all  nations,  daily  enforced. 

But  neither  this  wide  catholicity,  which  a  Jew  would  have  held  as 
treason  to  his  nation,  nor  the  mysterious  allusions  to  His  own  future. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  611 

were  rightly  understood.  The  old  slander  that  "He  had  a  devil,  and 
was  mad  in  consequence,  and  not  wortliy  to  be  listened  to,"  rose 
from  tlie  lips  of  some,  and  the  best  that  even  the  most  liberal  among 
the  crowd  could  say,  was  the  negative  praise — "These  are  not  the 
words  of  one  who  is  possessed."  Besides,  though  a  devil  might, 
fioubtless,  work  some  miracles  through  man  as  its  instiument,  it 
was  impossible  to  believe  that  it  either  would  or  could  work  one 
so  beneficent  and  stupendous  as  the  opening  of  the  eyes  of  the  bora 
blind. 


CHAPTER  LII. 

A   WANDERING   LIFE. 

It  was  now  near  the  end  of  Khislev — the  cold  month — equivalent 
to  part  of  our  November  and  December.  The  twenty-fifth  of  tlie 
month,  which,  according  to  Wieseler,  fell,  this  j'ear,  on  tlie  20lh  De- 
cember, was,  with  the  next  seven  days,  a  time  of  universal  rejoicing: 
for  the  Dedication  Festival,  in  commemoration  of  the  renewal  of  the 
Temple  worship,  after  its  suspension  under  Antiochus  Epiphanes, 
was  held  through  the  week. 

Jesus,  ever  pleased  to  mingle  in  innocent  joys,  and  glad  to  seize  the 
opportunity  for  proclaiming  the  New  Kingdom,  which  the  gatherings 
of  the  season  afforded,  once  more  returned  to  Jerusalem  to  attend  it. 
He  had  been  in  the  neighbourhood  since  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles, 
nearly  three  months  before,  and  this  visit  would  be  the  last,  till  His 
final  entry,  to  die. 

The  weather  had  been  wet  and  rough,  so  that  He  was  fain  to  avail 
Himself,  like  the  crowds,  of  the  shelter  of  the  arcade  running  along 
the  east  side  of  the  Temple  enclosure;  known  as  Solomon's  porch, 
from  a  fragment  of  the  first  Temple,  left  standing  by  Nebuchad- 
nezzar. 

The  rain  drove  the  people  from  the  open  courts,  and  Jesus,  like 
others^was  in  the  Porch,  apparently  without  His  disciples.  The  time 
was  fitted  to  wake  the  old  temptation  of  ambition,  had  it  had  any 
charms.  How  easily  might  He  eclipse  the  hero  of  all  this  rejoicing, 
and  by  His  supernatural  power  achieve  victories,  compared  with 
which  those  of  Judas  Maccabaeus  would  be  nothing !  But  He  had  far 
nobler  aims. 

The  Pharisaic  party,  themselves,  may  have  had  such  secret  thoughta 
in  connection  with  Him.  Be  this  as  it  may,  they  now  suddenly  came 
and  began  to  ask  Him  if  He  would  not,  at  last,  relieve  their  minds  by 
some  direct  and  express  declaration  whether  He  were  the  Messiah  or 
not.  It  may  be.  He  could  read  in  their  looks  that  He  needed  only  to 
speak  a  word  to  have  their  support,  and  He  knew  that  both  they 
and  the  nation,  at  such  a  time,  were  ready  to  flame  into  universal  en- 
Uiuaiaam  for  any  leader  who  would  undertake  to  lead  them  against 


«S  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Home.      But  earthly  ambition   had   no    attractions  for  His  pure 
spirit. 

"We  have  waited  long  and  anxiously,"  said  they,  "for  some  de- 
cisive word.     If  Thou  art  the  Messiah,  tell  us  openly." 

"I  have  already  told  you,"  answered  Jesus,  "both  by  the  witness 
of  the  miracles  I  have  done  in  my  Father's  name,  and  in  words;  but 
you  have  not  believed  me,  because,  as  I  said  not  long  ago,  you  are  not 
my  disciples,  or,  as  I  love  to  call  them,  my  sheep.  If  you  had  been, 
you  would  have  believed  in  me.  You  may,  yourselves,  see  that  you. 
are  not  of  my  flock,  for  those  who  are  so  listen  to  my  voice,  and  I'l 
know  them,  and  they  follow  me,  as  sheep  kno"W'  and  listen  to  the  voice 
of  their  shepherd,  and  are  known  by  him,  and  follow  him.  Nothing, 
indeed,  can  be  lUore  close  and  abiding  than  my  relations  to  them,  for 
I  lead  them  not  to  mere  earthly  good,  but  give  them  eternal  life,  and 
am  their  shepherd  hereafter  as  well  as  here;  taking  care  that  they 
«hall  never  perish,  and  that  no  one,  even  beyond  death,  shall  snatch 
them  out  of  my  hand.  Moreover,  being  in  my  hand,  they  are,  in 
effect,  in  that  of  my  Father,  for  He  is  ever  with  me,  and  works  by 
me.  He  gave  them  to  me  at  first,  and  He  still  guards  them,  nor  can 
any  one  snatch  them  from  His  hands,  for  He  is  greater  than  all  the 
powers  of  earth  and  hell.  Wonder  not  that  I  speak  of  their  being 
both  in  my  Father's  hands  and  in  mine,  for  I  and  the  Father  are  One." 

The  excitable,  fanatical  crowd  had  listened  patiently  till  the  last 
words,  which  seemed  the  most  audacious  blasphemy — a  claim  of 
essential  oneness  with  the  Almighty.  In  a  moment  they  were  once 
more  scattered  in  search  of  stones,  with  which  to  kill  Him,  for  what 
Ihey  deemed  His  crime,  and  presently  gathered  round  Him  again  with 
them,  to  fell  Him  to  the  earth.  But  Jesus  remained  undismayed.  "I 
have  done  many  great  works  of  mercy,"  said  He,  calmly,  "which 
show  that  the  Father  is  with  me,  because  they  could  only  come  from 
the  presence  of  His  power.  They  are  enough  to  show  you  that  He 
thinks  me  no  blasphemer.  For  which  of  these  mighty  works  will 
you  stone  me?" 

"We  would  not  think  of  stoning  Thee  for  a  good  work,"  answered 
the  crowd;  "it  is  for  your  blasphemy — that  you,  a  man,  should 
make  yourself  God." 

" Is  it  not  written  in  your  Law,"  replied  Jesus,  "of  the  rulers  of 
Israel,  the  representatives  and  earthly  embodiments  of  the  majesty 
of  Jehovah,  your  invisible  King,  '7  said  ye  are  gods  ? '  If  God  Him- 
self called  them  gods,  to  whom  this  utterance  of  His  came, — and  you 
cannot  deny  the  authority  of  Scripture, — how  can  you  say  of  me,^ 
whom  the  Father  has  consecrated  to  a  far  higher  otEce  than  ruler, 
or  even  prophet — to  that  of  Messiah;  and  whom  He  has  not  only 
thus  set  apart  to  this  great  ofBce,  but  sent  into  the  world  clothed 
with  the  mighty  powers  I  have  shown,  and  the  fulness  of  grace 
and  trutli  you  now  see  in  me, — that  I  blaspheme,  because  I  have  said 
I  am  God'a  Son?     Your  unbelief  in  me,  which  is  tho  around  of  tha 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  61$ 

^arge,  woiild  have  some  excuse  if  I  did  not  pcrfovm  such  works  as 
prove  me  to  have  been  sent  by  my  Father.  But  if  I  do  such  worlis, 
then  believe  tliem,  if  you  will  not  believe  me;  that  you  maj-  thus 
learn  and  know  that  v/hat  I  have  said  is  true — that  the  Father  is  la 
jne,  and  I  in  the  Father." 

They  had  waited  for  a  retractation,  but  had  heard  a  defence.  In- 
stantly, hands  were  thrust  out  on  every  side,  to  lay  hold  on  Him,  and 
lead  Him  outside  the  Temple  to  stone  Him;  but  He  shrank  back 
into  the  crowd,  and  passing  through  it,  escaped. 

Jerusalem  and  Judea  were  evidently  closed  against  Him,  as  Galilee 
had  been  for  some  time  past.  There  seemed  only  one  district  in  any 
measure  safe, — the  half -heathen  territory  of  Perea,  across  the  Jordan. 
The  ecclesiastical  authorities  and  the  people  at  large,  instead  of  ac- 
cepting Him,  and  the  spiritual  salvation  He  offered,  had  become  stead- 
ily more  obdurate  and  hostile.  It  was  necessary  at  last  to  give  up 
all  attempts  to  win  them,  and  to  retire,  for  the  short  time  that_  yet 
remained  to  Him,  to  this  safer  district.  He  chose  the  part  of  it  in 
which  John  had  begun  his  ministrations;  perhaps  in  hopes  of  a  more 
hopeful  soil,  from  the  cherished  remembrance  of  His  predecessor; 
perhaps  as  a  spot  sacred  to  holy  associations  of  His  own. 

Here,  with  His  wonted  earnestness,  He  once  more  proclaimed  the 
New  Kingdom,  and  was  cheered  by  a  last  flicker  of  success;  for 
crowds  once  more  resorted  to  Him,  many  of  whom  became  His  dis- 
ciples. "John,"  said  they,  "  did  no  miracles,  great  though  he  was, 
but  his  testimony  to  this  Man,  who  was  to  come  after  him, — that  He 
was  greater  than  himself, — is  true;  for  not  only  does  He  teach  us 
the  words  of  truth;  He  confirms  them  by  mighty  wonders,  which 
show  Him  to  be  the  Messiah."  Jesus  was  reaping,  as  Bengel  says, 
the  posthumous  fruit  of  the  Baptist's  work. 

The  quiet  retreat  of  Perea  was,  however,  soon  to  be  broken,  The 
family  of  Bethany,  to  whom  Jesus  owed  so  many  happy  hours,  had 
been  in  health  when  He  left,  but  a  message  suddenly  reached  Him 
from  the  two  sisters,  Mary  and  Martha,  the  very  simplicity  of  which 
still  touches  the  heart:  "Lord,  he  whom  Thou  lovest, — our  brother 
Lazarus, — is  sick."  His  love  thej^  felt  would  need  nothing  more. 
The  messengers  doubtless  expected  that  He  would  have  returned 
with  them  at  once,  but  He  saw  things  in  a  higher  light,  and  moved 
on  a  different  spiritual  plane.  Instead  of  going  with  them  therefore. 
He  dismissed  tliem  with  the  intimation  that  tlie  sickness  would  not. 
really  end  in  death;  but  wt)uld  be  overruled  by  God  to  His  own  glory, 
by  disclosing  that  of  His  Son — Jesus  Himself.  It  was  from  no  in- 
difference that  He  thus  delayed,  though  it  left  His  friends  to  bitter 
disappointment,  and  Himself  to  the  suspicion  of  neglect.  "  He  loved 
Martha  and  her  sister,  and  Lazarus,"  says  John.  But  still  He  delayed, 
in  obedience  to  a  higher  counsel  than  man's. 

The  messengers  had  taken  a  day  to  come,  and  it  would  take  an- 
other for  Jesus  to  go  to  Bethany,  but  though  He  knew  this,  He  »• 


614  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

mained  two  days  more  in  the  place  where  the  sad  news  had  reached 
Him.  On  thethird  day,  however,  He  surpirised  His  disciples,  who 
had  fancieil  that  He  hesitated  from  fear  of  His  enemies,  by  tellin» 
thena  that  He  was  about  to  return  to  Judea. 

"  The  Rabbis  and  priests  -were  seeking  only  the  other  day  to  stono 
Thee,  Rabbi,"  said  they  in  amazement — ''  and  art  Thou  really  going 
hack  into  the  veiy  jaws  of  danger*' 

'■  The  time  allotted  me  by  God  for  my -work,"  replied  Jesus,  "is 
not  yet  done,  and  so  long  as  it  lasts  no  one  can  harm  me.  The  tima 
.appointed  for  a  man,  is  like  the  hours  of  light  given  to  a  traveller  for 
.Lis  journey.  There  is  no  fear  of  his  stumbliiig  in  the  day,  because 
'  he  sees  the  .«ain ;  but  as  he  stumbles  "when  it  has  set,  so  man,  though 
he  walk  safely  till  the  appointed  time  ends,  can  do  so  no  longer  "when 
it  is  over.     Till  mine  is  over,  I  am  safe.'' 

Pausing  a  few  minutes.  He  went  on  to  tell  them  why  He  was  going 
to  Bethany,  in  spite  of  all  danger.  "Our  friend  Lazarus,"  said  He, 
*'  has  fallen  asleep,  but  I  go  that  I  may  awake  him  out  of  sleep." 
"Cnwilling  to  expose  themselves  or  their  Master  to  imnecessary  peril, 
their  wishes  read  in  these  words  a  cause  for  remaining  where  they 
were.  "To  sleep  is  good  for  the  sick,"'  said  they,  thinking  He  spoke 
of  natural  sleep.  But  their  hopes  were  speedily  dashed.  ' "  Lazarus, " 
said  He,  now  openly,  ' '  is  dead,  and  I  am  glad  for  your  sakes,  that  I 
was  not  there  to  heal  him  from  mere  sickness.  The  far  greater  proof 
cf  my  divine  glory,  which  you  wUl  see  in  my  raising  him  from  the 
grave,  would  not  have  been  given,  and  thus  you  would  have  lost  the 
aid  to  still  firmer  trust  in  me,  which  is  so  necessary  now  I  am  so  soon 
to  leave  you. " 

Such  words  might  have  at  once  quieted  their  fears  and  kindled 
their  zeal,  but  they  stUl  saw  in  His  return  to  Judea,  only  a  journey 
to  His  own  death.  Thomas  the  Twin,  at  last  broke  silence — "It 
becomes  us  to  do  all  that  our  Master  commands,  even  when  He  asks 
us  to  risk  our  Uves.  Let  us  go  with  Him,  that  we  maj-  show  our  love 
and  fidelity  by  dying  with  Him."    A  true-hearted  but  sad  man! 

It  is  clear  Uiat' Jesus  feared  violence,  for  as  He  approached  Beth- 
any, He  lingered  outside  the  village,  as  if  to  learn  how  matters  stood, 
before  venUiring  farther.  Xor  was  it  without  cause,  for  notwith- 
standing their  friendship  with  Jesus,  the  family  of  Lazarus,  moving 
in  good  society  as  they  did,  had  many  friends  and  connections  amongst 
those  hostile  to  him,  and  a  number  of  these  had  come  to  pay  the  cus- 
tomary ^"isit  of  condolence  to  the  two  sisters. 

The  four  days  since  the  death  had  Ix'en  sad  ones  in  the  httle  house- 
/hold.  They  had  fasted  all  the  day  after  it,  and  had  since  eaten  noth- 
ing but  an  occasional  e^g,  or  some  lentiles;  for  that  was  the  only  food 
-allowed  mourners,  for  the  first  seven  days.  The  corpse,  which  had 
had  a  lamp  burning  beside  it  from  the  moment  of  death,  as  a  symbol 
of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  had  been  borne  to  the  grave  after  a 
lew  hours ;  an  egg  had  been  broken  as  a  symbol  of  mortality :  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CITRIST.  615 

the  cottage  left  to  the  two  survivors.  The  funeral  procession  had 
been  sad  enough,  with  its  dirge  flutes,  and  wailing  hired  women; 
the  two  sisters  and  their  relation.?  following,  and  then  the  neighbours 
and  friends;  for  it  was  held  a  religious  duty  in  all  wlio  could,  to 
attend  a  corpse  to  the  grave.  At  the  grave's  mouth,  the  men  bad 
chanted  the  sublime  ninetieth  Psalm  in  a  slow  circuit  of  seven  times 
round  the  bier,  on  which  lay  the  dead  ^vrapped  in  white  linen.  The 
long  procession,  headed  by  the  veiled  women,  had  stopped  thrice  on 
the  way  to  the  grave,  while  the  leader  spoke  words  of  comfort  to 
the  bereaved  ones,  and  tender  exhortations  to  passers  by, — "  Comfort 
ye,  comfort  ye,  ye  dear  ones !  Lift  up  your  souls,  lift  up  your  souls ! 
Come  to  me,  all  ye  who  are  of  sad  and  troubled  heart,  and  take 
part  in  the  sorrow  of  your  neighbours. " 

Once  more  in  their  desolate  home,  the  sisters,  with  veiled  heads, 
even  in  their  own  chamber,  and  with  unsandaled  feet,  sat  down  oa 
the  earth,  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  of  at  least  ten  friends  or  professional 
mourners;  with  rent  clothes  and  dust  on  their  heads.  None  spoke 
till  the  bereaved  ones  had  done  so,  but  every  sentence  of  theirs  was 
followed  by  some  word  of  s_\Tnpathv  and  comfort,  and  by  the  wails 
of  the  mourner.-.  And  thus  it  would  be  for  seven  days,  and  had  been 
for  four,  before  Jesus  arrived,  for  many  friends  had  come  from  Je- 
rusalem to  comfort  the  two  sisters. 

Word  was  presently  brought  to  the  house,  that  Jesus  had  come, 
and,  forthwith,  Martha,  true  to  her  character  as  the  more  active  of 
the  two  sisters,  rose  from  the  ground,  where  she  and  Marj-  had  been 
sitting,  and  went  out.  -n-rapped  In  her  mourning  dress  and  deeply 
veiled,  to  go  to  Him;  but  Mary  remained  where  she  was.  for  she  had 
not  heard  the  good  news. 

'"Lord."  said  Martha,  when  she  saw  Him.  "  if  Thou  hadst  been 
here,  my  brother  would  not  have  died." — as  if  she  thousrht.  ''Why 
did  He  then  delay?"'  But  as  she  looked  at  Him  her  faith  revived, 
and  she  added,  ' '  Yet  though  he  be  dead,  I  know  that  God  will  grant 
you  your  utmost  prayer,  even  if  it  be  to  receive  back  Lazarus  from 
the  dead." 

'•  Your  brother  will  rise  again."  replied  Jesus,  in  designedly  ambig- 
uous words,  to  lead  Martha's  faith  from  mere  personal  interest  to 
higher  thoughts.  3ilartha  understood  Him  only  of  the  resurrection 
at  the  lust  day.  in  which  she  felt  assured  Lazarus  would  have  part, 
and  had  hoped  for  .something  so  much  nearer  and  greater,  that  so 
vague  an  answer  di.sappointed  her.  She  could  only  find  words  to 
say,  with  sad  resignation,  that  'she  knew  that  he  would  rise,''  as 
Jesus  had  seemed  To  say,  •'  at  the  last  day." 

It  \va.s  well  she  answered  thus,  for  Jesus  presently  used  her  words 
to  turn  her  from  mere  personal  interests,  to  Himself,  and.  in  doing  so, 
uttered  that  wondrous  sentence  which  has  carried  hope  and  trimnph 
to  millions  of  the  djing  and  the  bereaved,  and  will  do  so  while  time 
uid  mortality  endure.     "  I," — and  no  other  but  I — "  am  the  Besur« 


616  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

rection  and  the  Life.  He  tliat  belioveth  en  me,  though  he  were  dead, 
yet  shall  he  live,  and  whosoever  liveth  and  believclh  on  me  shall 
never  die" — words  which  we  may  paraphrase  thus: — "I  am  He 
whose  is  the  power  to  raise  from  the  (iead,  and  make  alive  for  ever- 
more. He  that  lielieveth  in  me,  though  his  bcdy  die,  will  yet  con- 
tinue to  live  Avithout  lireak  or  interruption — for,  till  the resmiection, 
he  will  he  in  paradise,  and  after  it,  and  by  its  means,  he  \\ill  enter  en 
the  fulness  of  life  eternal.  And  every  one  who  is  still  alive,  and 
believes  in  me,  will  never  die,  in  any  true  sense ;  for  the  death  of  the 
body  is  not  really  death,  but  the  open  gate  into  life  eternal.  Believtst 
thou  this?" 

"  Yea,  Lord,"  sobbed  out  the  stricken  heart.  "  I  believe  that  Thou 
art  the  King-Messiah,  the  Son  of  God,  who  was  to  come  into  the 
■world;"  and  having  made  this  great  confession,  she  went  away  to 
call  her  sister  secretly,  for  fear  of  those  hostile  to  Him  among  her 
own  friends.  "  Mary,"  whispered  she,  "the  Teacher  is  here,  and 
calls  for  thee."     She  would  not  mention  the  name  for  caution. 

It  was  enough.  The  next  instant  Mary  was  on  the  road  to  Jesus, 
who  was  still  outside  the  village,  in  the  place  where  Martha  had  met 
Him.  The  way  to  the  grave  was  in  that  direction,  and  the  friends, 
concluding  she  had  gone  thither  to  weep,  kindly  rose  and  followed 
her,  that  she  might  not  be  left  to  her  lonely  giief.  Jesus  could  no 
longer  remain  hidden,  but  the  presence  of  hostile  witnesses  confirmed 
the  more  strikingly  the  great  miracle  that  was  to  follow. 

Falling  in  tears  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  and  embracing  them,  Mary's 
full  heart  overflowed  in  the  same  lament  as  her  sister's,  for  they  had 
often  spoken  the  same  words  to  each  other;  "Lord,  if  Thou  hadst 
been  here,  my  brother  had  not  died."  The  presence  of  her  friends, 
who  she  knew  were  no  friends  of  His,  hindered  more.  It  was  a 
moment  litted  to  move  even  a  strong  heart,  for  those  around,  with 
true  Oriental  demonstrativeness,  wept  and  lamented  aloud,  along  with 
Mary.  But  the  sight  of  men  who  were  filled  with  the  bitterest  enmity 
to  Himself,  joining  in  lamentations  witii  Mary,  His  true-hcarled  friend 
• — men  with  no  sympathy  for  the  highest  goodness,  but  ready  to  chase 
it,  in  His  person,  from  the  earth,  because  it  condemned  their  cold  re- 
ligious hypocrisy — showing  natural  tenderness  while  such  malignity 
was  in  their  hearts — roused  His  indignation,  so  that  He  visibly  shud- 
dered with  emotion,  and  had  to  restrain  Himself  by  an  earnest  effort. 
Yet  the  cloud  of  righteous  anger  passed  off  in  a  moment,  and  sorrow 
for  His  friend,  and  for  the  grief  of  the  loved  one  at  His  feet,  asserted 
itself.  Silent  tears  trickled  down  His  checks,  for,  though  He  was  the 
Son  of  God,  He  was  no  less  truly  than  ourselves  a  man,  moved  by 
the  sight  of  liuman  sorrow. 

The  group  of  mourners  were  variously  affected ;  the  most  kindly 
remarking  how  dearly  He  must  have  loved  the  dead  man.  that  He 
should  now  weep  so  at  His  death.  But  the  more  malicious  and 
hardened  only  saw  in  His  tears  a  welcome  proof  of  His  helplessness, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  617 

for  had  it  been  otherwise,  could  He  not  as  well  have  cured  Lazarus 
of  his  illness  as  £2;ive  siirht  to  the  blind?  Tlie  healina;  of  the  blind 
man  must  surely"  have  b 'en  a  cheat,  for  certainly  He  would  have 
come  to  Bethany  sooner,  had  He  been  able  to  do  anything  for  His 
sick  friend.  Tlie  muttered  words  reached  the  ears  of  Jesus,  and' 
roused  anew  His  indignation;  and  thus,  with  mingled  anger  and  sor- 
row. He  reached  the  grave. 

Like  most  graves  in  the  limestone  di.striets  of  Palestme,  it  was  a 
recess  cut  in  the  side  of  a  natural  cave,  and  closed  by  a  huge  stone 
fitted  into  a  groove. 

In  this  gloomy  niche  lay  Lazarus,  swathed  from  head  to  foot  m 
loose  linen  wrappings,  and'now  four  days  dead. 

"Take  away  the  stone,"  said  Jesus. 

But  IMartha,  with  her  wonted  matter-of-fact  nature,  slu-ank  at  tho 
words,  for  she  thought  of  the  awful  spectacle  of  her  brother,  now 
ha  tor.ia;.-  to  co-ru'-)ti;)ii.  Clivi-it's  words  about  the  resurrection  had 
takea  a.^av  JMy  hope  of  seeing  Lazarus  alive  again  till  t'le  great  day, 
and  sue  v/ou!d  rather  the  sacred  remains  were  left  undisturbed.  _  A 
gentle  reproof  from  Jesus  was,  however,  enough  to  let  her  leave  Him 
to  His  will.  "  Did  not  I  send  word  to  thee  by  thy  messenger  that  if 
thou  wouldst  only  believe  thou  shouldst  see  the  glory  of  God?"  So 
they  took  awav  the  stone. 

Jesus  had  alreadv,  in  the  stillness  of  His  own  breast,  communed 
with  tlie  Father,  and  knew,  in  Himself  that  His  prayer  that  Lazarus 
might  be  restored  to  life  had  been  heard.  Lifting  up  His  eyes  to 
heaven.  He  now  uttered  His  thanks  that  it  had  been  so.  "  Father,  I 
thank  thee  that  Thou  hast  heard  me— yet  I  knew  that  Tliou  hearest 
me  always,  for  Thy  will  is  ever  mine,  and  mine  is  ever  Tliine.  But 
I  tlumk  Tiiee  thus,  for  the  sake  of  those  who  stand  around,  that  they 
may  be  convinced  that  what  I  do  is  done  in  Thy  power,  and  that  I 
am  assuredly  sent  forth  from  Thee." 

What  followed  is  best  given  in  the  words  of  St.  John.  "And 
when  He  had  thus  spoken,  He  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  Laz.^rus, 
COME  FOUTH.  And  he  that  was  dead  came  forth,  bound  hand  and 
foot  with  grave-clothes;  and  his  face  had  been  bound  about  with  a 
napkin— (that  had  tied  up  Ids  jaw  four  days  before,  when  it  fell,  in 
death).  Jesus  saith  unto  them,  '  Loose  him,  and  let  him  go  (home):'  " 
and  he  who  had  been  dead,  now  freed  from  his  grave-clothes,  himself 
returned  in  the  fulness  of  youthful  strength  and  health  to  the  cottage 
from  which  he  had  been  carried  forth  on  a  bier  four  days  before. 

Of  the  after-history  of  Lazarus,  with  one  momentary  exception,  wo 
know  nothing,  for  none  of  the  numerous  traditions  and  legends 
respecting  hin\  are  reliable.  He  is  said  to  have  been  thirty  years  old 
when  he  was  raised  from  the  dead,  and  to  have  lived  for  tiurty  years 
after;  to  have  been  of  royal  descent;  to  have  ownetl  a  whole  quarter 
of  Jerusalem,  and  t:)  have  been,  by  profession,  a  soldier.  His  bones 
were  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  year  a.d.  890,  with  those  of  Mary 


618  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Magdalene,  in  the  island  of  Cyprus!  and  the  remains  thus  honoured 
were  carried  to  Constantinople.  Other  traditions  take  him  to  Mar- 
seilles, and  speak  of  him  as  the  first  Christian  Bishop  of  that  city. 
But  the  very  extravagance  of  these  legends  shows  their  worthlessness 
as  history. 

The  results  of  the  miracle  were  momentous  to  Jesus  Himself. 
Many  of  the  party  of  the  Rabbis  who  had  come  to  comfort  the  sisters, 
found  themselves  constrained  to  believe  in  one  whose  claims  were 
attested  by  an  act  so  transcendent,  and  so  indisputable.  But  some 
justitied  all  that  Jesus  had  said  of  their  malignity  by  not  only  shut- 
ting their  eyes  to  what  they  were  determined  not  to  admit,  but  by 
playing  the  informer  to  the  ecclesiastical  authorities. 

The  great  ecclesiastical  court  of  the  nation,  known  in  the  Talmud 
as  the  "  Sanhedrim,"  had  been  in  abeyance  for  many  years,  for  there 
is  no  trace  of  it  during  the  whole  period  of  the  Herods,  or  of  the 
Romans.  The  name,  indeed,  occurs  in  the  New  Testament,  but  it  is 
simply  as  the  Greek  word  for  "an  assembly," which  was  adopted  by 
the  Rabbis,  at  a  later  period.  Herod  had  broken  up  the  great  Rab- 
binical council,  and,  henceforth,  the  only  authorities  recognized  as 
the  fountains  of  Jewish  Law  were  the  schools  of  such  Rabbis  as  Hillel 
and  Schammai.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  a  legal  Jewish  court, 
which  had  power  to  enforce  its  decisions.  "The  authority  granted  to 
the  leading  schools  was  only  a  tribute  of  confidence  in  their  sound- 
ness and  wisdom.  Hence,  in  the  days  of  Christ,  there  was  no  legal 
Jewish  court  in  existence,  and  the  criminal  processes  mentionedin 
connection  with  Him,  were  only  acts  of  assemblies  which  the  high 
priest  for  the  time,  the  only  representative  of  the  old  Theocracy  rec- 
ognized by  the  supreme  Roman  authority,  called  together  in  angry 
haste,  informally,  and  which  acted  by  no  judicial  rules  of  procedure. 

Such  an  illegal  gathering  was  summoned  by  the  Sadducean  chief 
priests  and  the  leading  Pharisaic  Rabbis,  to  discuss  what  should  be 
done  respecting  Jesus,  now  tliat  the  incontestable  fact  of  the  resur- 
rection of  Lazarus  had  crowned  all  His  preceding  miracles.  Hav- 
ing no  idea  of  a  Messiah  apart  from  political  revolution,  to  be  inau- 
gurated by  Him,  it  seemed  likely  tliat,  if  something  were  not  done  to 
put  Him  out  of  the  way,  the  excitement  of  the  people,  through  His 
miracles,  would  become  irresistible,  and  lead  to  a  national  rising, 
fiercer  even  than  that  of  Judas  the  Galil8ej\n.  To  the  popular  party 
represented  by  the  Pharisees  present,  this  would  be  no  undesirabla 
issue;  but  the  courtly  Sadducees  shrank  from  any  disturbance,  fear 
ing  that,  in  the  end,  the  Romans  would  crush  it  with  their  legions, 
and,  as  a  punishment,  abolish  the  hierarchical  constitution,  wliichgave 
them  their  wealth  and  position;  and,  with  it,  the  ecclesiastical  and 
civil  laws  which  tlattercd  the  nation  with  an  illusory  independence. 

The  Temple,  and  all  the  far-reaching  vested  interests  bound  up 
with  it,  had  long  existed  only  on  sutferance,  and  would  at  once  perish 
in  the  storm  of  a  national  insurrection;  and  the  nation,  stripped  of  ila 


TSE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  619 

local  laws,  so  vital  to  a  theocracy,  would  be  secularized  into  a  part  of 
Rome,  with  the  liated  imperial  heathen  law,  instead  of  the  laws  of 
God  and  the  Rabbis. 

The  acting  high  priest  at  this  time  was  Joseph  Caiaphas.  He 
had  been  appointed  by  the  procurator  Valerius  Gratus,  shortly 
before  that  Governor  left  the  province,  in  a.d.  25 — when  Jesus 
was  al)out  twent}^  years  of  age :  and  he  continued  to  hold  his  great 
office  till  the  year  a.d.  36,  wlien  he  was  removed  by  the  proconsul 
Vitellius,  shortly  after  the  recall  of  Pilate.  He  was,  in  every  way,  a 
creature  of  the  Romans,  and,  as  sucli,  received  little  respect  from  the 
nation,  though  his  dignity  secured  him  official  authority. 

Rising  in  the  meeting,  which  had  been  hitherto  very  divided  and 
irresolute  as  to  the  wisest  course  to  be  taken,  Caiaphas  begged  to  give 
his  opinion — 

"  You  know  nothing  at  all,"  said  he,  "else  you  would  not  have  so 
much  questioning  and  discussing.  You  have  not  considered  that  it 
is  expedient  for  you,  in  view  of  your  interests  as  priests  and  Rabbis, 
that  this  one  man  should  die,  to  save  Israel,  as  such,  from  tlie  de- 
struction that  threatens  it,  if  you  let  Him  stir  up  a  Messianic  revolt; 
for,  in  that  case,  the  whole  nation  must  perish.  The  Romans  will 
come  with  their  legions  and  close  our  Temple,  annul  our  indepen- 
dence by  abolishing  our  laws,  and  waste  \is  with  fire  and  sword." 

There  could  be  no  misconception  of  words  so  plain.  They  were 
a  distinct  advice  to  those  present  to  put  Jesus  to  death,  as  the  one 
way  to  save  themselves,  and  maintain  things  as  they  were  in  Church 
ancl  State.  Words  so  momentous,  for  they  decided  the  fate  of  Jesus, 
might  well  seem  to  St.  John  no  mere  human  utterance,  but  the  invol- 
untary expression  through  unworthy  lips,  of  the  near  approach  of 
the  supreme  act  in  the  divine  plan  of  merc}^  to  mankind. 

From  that  day  the  death  of  Jesus  was  only  a  question  of  time  and 
opportunity.  Henceforth,  the  Jewish  primate  and  his  suflfragana 
kept  steadily  in  view — in  concert  with  their  hereditary  and  deadly 
enemies,  the  Rabbis — the  arrest  of  Jesus,  and  His  subsequent  death. 
Their  officers,  or  any  one  hostile  to  Him,  might  apprehend  Him  at 
any  moment.  It  was  clearly  no  longer  possible  for  Him  to  show 
Himself  openly,  and  He,  therefore,  retired  with  His  disciples  to  a 
city  called  Ephraim,  now  difficult  of  identification.  It  seems  to  have 
been  in  the  wild  uncultivated  liill-country,  north-east  of  Jerusalem, 
between  the  central  towns  and  the  Jordan  valley.  A  village  now 
known  as  El  Taiyibeh,  on  a  conical  liill,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
whole  eastern  slope  of  the  country,  the  valley  of  the  Jordan,  and  the 
Dead  Sea,  though  only  sixteen  miles  from  Jerusalem,  has  been 
thought  by  Dr.  Robinson  the  site.  It  answers  at  least  in  its  secluded 
privacy,  and  the  ready  access  it  offers  to  the  still  wilder  regions 
beyond. 

Only  a  few  weeks  remained  of  our  Saviour's  life,  and  these  He  had 
to  spend  as  a  fugitive,  to  whom  no  place  was  safe.    He  had,  however, 


620  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  joy  of  seeing  the  old  enthusiasm  of  the  multitudes  revived,  for 
lilatihew  and  Mark  both  speak  of  the  vast  numbers  who  followed 
Him  in  this  closing  period,  attracted,  doubtless,  more  by  the  fame  of 
His  past  miracles,  and  by  continuous  displays  of  the  same  supernatu- 
ral power  towards  the  diseased  of  every  kind,  than  by  His  teaching. 
Yet  there  must  have  been  not  a  few  "sheep"  in  such  vast  gatherings. 
Tlie  clouds  were  parting  as  the  day  closed,  and  were  being  lighted 
with  sunset  colours,  before  the  night  darkened  all. 

From  Ephraim  He  soon  passed  over  the  Jordan,  to  what,  for  the 
moment,  seemed  a  safer  retreat.  The  lesser  excommunication,  which 
had  driven  Him  from  the  synagogues  of  Galilee  and  Judea,  had  per- 
haps expired,  or  the  baun  may  not  have  been  effective  in  Perea;  for 
He  once  more  had  access  to  these  assemblies  on  the  Sabbaths,  and  was 
allowed,  as  before,  to  teach  the  people,  who  were  thus  most  easily 
reached.  It  was  impossible,  however,  that  He  could  long  avoid  col- 
lision with  some  or  other  of  the  countless  Rabbinical  laws,  which 
fettered  every  movement  of  free  spiritual  life,  and,  as  in  the  past,  the 
fanatical  Sabbath  laws  offered  the  first  occasions  of  trouble.  Two 
instances  arc  recorded  by  St.  Luke. 

As  He  was  teaching  on  a  Sabbath  in  the  synagogue  of  one  of  the 
outlying  towns  of  Perea — half  Jewish,  half  heathen — He  noticed  in 
the  audience,  behind  the  lattice  which  separated  the  women  from  the 
men,  a  poor  creature  drawn  together  by  a  rheum.atic  affection,  which 
had  bowed  lier  frame  so  terribly  that  she  could  not  raise  herself  erect. 
As  she  painfully  struggled  into  her  place,  Jesus  saw  her,  and  doubt- 
less read,  in  her  supplicating  looks,  and  in  the  very  fact  that  she  had 
come  to  the  House  of  God  in  spite  of  such  physical  infirmity,  an  evi- 
dence that  she  was  a  fit  subject  for  His  pitying  help.  Rising,  and 
calling  across  the  congregation  to  her,  the  welcome  words  fell  on  her 
cars — "Woman,  thou  art  loosed  from  thine  infirmity."  The  cure  was 
instantaneous.  In  a  moment  she  was  once  more  straight  and  whole, 
after  eighteen  years  of  deformity,  and  her  irrepressible  thanks  to  God 
for  the  mercy  vouchsafed  her,  rang  through  the  synagogue,  and  made 
a  great  commotion. 

The  head  of  the  congregation,  however,  was  a  cold  Rabbinical 
pedant.  Intensely  professional,  he  could  see  nothing  but  an  irregu- 
larity. It  was  the  Sabbath  day,  and  the  Rabbis  had  decided  that  no 
cure  was  lawful  on  the  Sabbath  except  where  death  was  imminent. 
"  Silence,"  cried  he,  indignantly,  "there  are  six  days  in  which  men 
ought  to  work;  it  would  be  much  more  becoming  if  this  person  were 
to  remember  tliat;  and  if  j^ou,  for  your  part,  want  to  be  healed  by 
Him,  see  that  you  come  on  a  week-day,  so  that  He  have  no  excuse 
for  breaking  the  holy  Sabbath,  by  doing  the  work  of  curing  you 
on  it." 

Indignation  flashed  from  the  eyes  of  Jesus,  and  turning  to  the 
speaker,  He  denounced  his  heartless  formalism,  so  utterly  opposed 
to  the  true  religion  of  which  He  was  the  ollicial  representative.   ' '  Ywi, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  621 

and  the  whole  class  who  think  with  you,  are  hypocritical  actors," 
said  He;  "  your  words  prove  it,  for  they  are  contradicted  by  your 
daily  conduct.  Do  you  not  loose  your  asses,  or  your  oxen,  from  the 
mano-er  where  they  are  tied,  on  the  Sabbath,  and  les^d  them  away  to 
wate'r  them?  And  if  so,  ousjht  not  this  woman,  a  daughter  of  Abra- 
ham and  as  such,  one  of  God's  own  people— who  is  of  unspcakably 
ereater  worth  than  any  ox  or  ass,  to  be  loosed  to-day,  though  it  be  tho 
Sabbath,  from  this  bond,  with  which  Satan  has  chained  her,  for  now, 

eiditeen  years?"  .    ,.      .  „,         ,  i  ,. 

There  could  be  no  reply  to  such  a  vindication,  llie  ruler  and  Ins 
party  were  silenced,  and  put  to  shame  before  the  quick-witted  au- 
dience The  worship  of  the  letter  had  received  another  dexidly  blow. 
A  second  incident,  very  similar,  occurred  soon  after.  One  of  the 
leadin"-  Pharisees  had  invited  Jesus  to  dine  with  him  on  the  Sablmth, 
as  the*day  specially  devoted  to  social  entertainments  by  the  Rab- 
bis—with the  sinister  design  of  watching  Him  and  reporting  to 
those  in  authority.  A  number  of  Rabbis  and  Pharisees  had  been  in- 
vited to  meet  Him,  but  they  had  not  yet  lain  down  to  their  meal,  when 
a  man  ill  with  dropsy,  entered  the  open  door  of  tue  house,  with 
others  who  dropped  in.  with  Oriental  freedom,  to  look  on,  and  stand 
about  In  his  case,  no  doubt,  the  motive  of  his  coming  was  that  he 
might  attract  the  notice  of  Jesus.  He  was  afraid,  hoAvever,  to  speak, 
for  fear  of  those  present,  and  patiently  waited  to  see  if  Jesus  would, 
of  His  own  accord,  cure  him.  He  had  not  long  to  wait.  Looking 
at  him  Jesus  turned  to  the  guests  with  the  question  He  had  asked 
before  in  similar  circumstances— "  Is  it  lawful  to  heal  on  the  bab- 
bath  or  is  it  not?"  In  their  consciences  they  could  not  say  it  was 
not  but  few  men  have  the  courage  of  their  opinions,  when  current 
sentiment  runs  the  other  way,  so  they  were  silent.  _  But  silence  was 
a  virtual  affirmative,  for,  if  it  were  wrong,  it  was  their  bounden  duty, 
as  the  public  guardians  of  religion,  to  say  so.  Passing  over,  there- 
fore to  the  swollen  and  wretched  being.  He  put  His  hand  on  him; 
cured  him  at  once,  and  sent  him  away.  Then,  turning  to  the  con- 
fused and  baffled  companv,  He  completed  their  discomfiture  by  an 
appeal  similar  to  that  whidi  He  had  made  in  the  case  of  the  woman 
healed  shortly  before.  "Which  of  you,  let  me  ask,  if  his  son,  or 
even  only  his  ox,  had  fallen  into  a  pit,  would  not  immediately  draw 
him  out,  on  discovering  it-even  on  the  Sabbath?"  No  wonder  that 
nothing  further  was  said  on  the  subject. 

The  couches  on  which  the  guests  reclined  at  meals  were  arranged 
so  as  to  form  three  sides  of  a  square,  the  fourth  being  left  open  to  al- 
low the  servants  to  bring  in  the  dishes.  The  right-hand  couch  was 
reckoned  the  highest,  and  the  others,  the  middle,  and  the  lowest,  re- 
spectively, and  the  places  on  each  couch  were  distinguished  m  ttie 
same  wav,  from  the  fact  that  the  guest  who  reclined  with  his  head^ 
as  it  were,  in  the  bosom  of  him  behind,  seemed  to  be  the  lower  of 
the  two     The  highest  place  on  the  highest  couch,  Tiraa,  thus,  tfie 


622  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.      " 

"cliief  placo;"  and  human  nature,  the  same  in  all  ages,  inevitably 
made  it  ne  eagerly  coveted,  and  as  precedence  was  marked  by  dis- 
tance from  it,  there  was  an  almost  equal  anxiety  to  get  as  near  it  as 
possible.  With  the  vanity  and  self-righteousness  of  a  moribund 
caste,  there  was  no  little  scheming  among  the  Rabbis  for  the  best 
place,  and  much  anxiety  on  the  part  of  the  host  not  to  give  offence; 
for  to  place  a  Rabbi  below  any  one  not  a  Rabbi,  or  below  a  fellow 
Rabbi  of  lower  standing,  or  younger,  was  an  unpardonable  affront, 
and  a  discredit  to  religion  itself.  The  intolerable  pride  that  had 
made  one  of  their  order,  in  the  days  of  Alexander  Jannseus,  seat  him- 
self between  Alexander  and  his  queen,  on  the  ground  that  "  wisdom" 
made  its  scholars  sit  among  princes,  remained  unchanged.  Such 
petty  ambition,  so  unworthy  in  public  teachers  of  morals  and  relig- 
ion, and  so  entirely  in  contrast  with  His  own  instructions  to  His  dis- 
ciples, to  seek  no  distinction  but  that  of  the  deepest  humility,  did  not 
fail  to  strike  the  Great  Guest,  Avho  had  calmly  taken  the  place  as- 
signed Him.  Addressing  the  company — "  You  are  wrong,"  said  He, 
"  in  revealing  your  wishes,  and  obtruding  your  self-assertion  in  such 
a  way.  Let  me  counsel  you  how  to  act.  If  invited  to  a  marriage  feast, 
never  take  the  chief  place  on  the  couches,  lest  some  one  of  higher 
standing  for  learning  or  piety  come,  and  your  host  ask  you  to  go 
down  to  a  lower  place,  to  make  room  for  the  more  honoured  guest. 
Take,  rattier,  the  lowest  place,  when  you  enter,  that  your  host,  when 
he  comes  in,  may  invite  you  to  take  a  higher,  and  thus  honour  you 
before  all.  Pride  is  its  own  punishment,  in  this,  as  in  far  graver 
matters,  for,  whether  before  God  or  man,  he  who  exalts  himself  will 
be  humbled,  and  he  who  humbles  himself  will  be  exalted." 

It  was  an  old  custom  in  Israel  to  invite  the  poorer  neighbours  to  the 
special  meals  on  the  consecrated  flesh  of  offerings  not  used  at  the 
altar,  and  on  similar  half-religious  occasions,  to  brighten  their  poverty 
for  the  moment,  by  kindly  hospitality.  This  beautiful  usage  was,  in 
the  time  of  Jesus,  among  the  things  of  the  past,  for  the  priest  or 
Rabbi  of  His  day  would  have  trembled  at  the  thought  of  being 
defiled  by  contact  with  people  whose  position  made  it  impossible  to 
be  as  scrupulous  in  the  observance  of  the  endless  legal  injunctions 
demanded,  as  themselves. 

The  meal  at  which  Jesus  was  now  present  was  very  possibly  one 
to  which,  in  old  times,  such  very  different  guests  would  have  been 
asked.  Or,  it  may  be,  the  luxury  displayed  drew  the  attention  of 
one  so  simple  in  His  habits.  Not  a  few  neighbours,  in  very  different 
circumstances  from  the  guests,  had  likely  entered,  to  look  on  and 
listen,  but  caste  looked  at  them  askance,  as  if  they  were  an  inferior 
race.  Noticing  this,  our  Lord  addressed  Himself  to  the  host  in  a 
friendly  way : — 

' '  Have  you  ever  thought  what  hospitality  would  yield  you  most 
pleasure?  When  you  wish  on  si^ecial  occasions  to  give  a  dinaer  or 
eupper,  let  jae  toll  you  what  you  w«uld  always  look  back  upoa  with 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST,  633 

the  purest  joy.  Do  not  invite  your  rich  friends  to  it,  or  your  family 
or  kinsmen,  or  well-to-do  neighbours.  They  will  invite  you  in  return, 
and  this  will  destroy  the  worth  of  your  act,  for  which  you  expect  a 
recompense  from  God  at  the  resurrection.  Instead  of  such  guests, 
invite  the  poor,  the  liungiy,  the  lame,  the  maimed,  and  the  blind.  If 
you  entertain  such,  they  will  reward  you  richly  by  their  gratitude, 
and  if  you  have  invited  them  from  an  honest  heart,  as  a  duty,  God 
Himself  will  remember  it  at  the  resuiTection  of  the  righteous. " 

One  of  the  guests  had  listened  attentively.  The  mention  of  the 
resurrection  of  the  righteous,  naturally,  under  the  circumstances, 
raised  the  thought  of  the  heavenly  banquet  which  the  Rabbis  expect- 
ed to  follow  that  event.  "Blessed  are  those,"  said  he,  "who  shall 
eat  bread  at  the  great  feast  in  the  Kingdom  of  God,  after  the  resur- 
rection. It  would,  indeed,  be  well  to  give  such  entertainments  as 
Thou  hast  named,  which  would  be  thus  so  richly  repaid  in  the  world 
to  come." 

This  remark  gave  Jesus  an  opportunity  of  delivering  a  parable 
which  must  have  run  terribly  counter  to  the  prejudices  of  the  com- 
pany. The  spirit  of  caste  that  prevailed  in  the  hierarchical  party, 
and  their  utter  want  of  sympathy  for  the  down-trodden  masses,  were 
abhorrent  to  His  whole  nature.  It  was  daily  clearer  that  the  relig- 
ious and  moral  impulse  by  which  He  was  to  revolutionize  the  world, 
would  never  come  from  Israel  as  a  nation.  The  opportunity  had 
been  offered  and  even  pressed,  but  it  had  been  rejected,  and  hence 
He  was  free  to  proclaim  the  great  truth,  which,  for  a  time,  He  had 
held  back,  that  the  Heathen,  as  well  as  the  Jew,  was  invited,  on 
equal  terms,  to  the  privileges  of  the  New  Kingdom  of  God.  It  was 
specially  necessary  in  these  last  months  of  His  life  to  make  this 
prominent,  that  the  minds  of  the  disciples,  above  all,  might  be  pre- 
pared for  a  revolution  of  thought  so  momentous  and  signal.  He, 
therefore,  now,  took  every  opportunity  of  showing  that  the  invita- 
tions of  the  New  Kingdom,  in  fulfilment  of  the  eternal  purpose  of 
God,  were  to  be  addressed  as  freely  to  heathen  as  to  Israel,  and  that 
the  religion  He  was  founding  was  one  of  spirit,  and  truth,  and  liberty, 
for  the  WHOLE  world.  This  revelation,  so  transcendent  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  race.  He  once  more  disclosed,  had  they  been  able  to  un- 
derstand Him,  at  the  Pharisee's  table. 

"A  certain  man,"  said  He,  as  if  in  answer  to  the  last  speaker, 
"made  a  great  supper,  and  invited  many  guests;  doing  so  early,  that 
they  might  have  ample  time  to  prepare,  and  keep  themselves  free 
from  other  engagements.  When  the  hour  fixed  for  the  banquet 
came,  he  sent  his  servant — as  is  usual — once  more  to  those  invited,  to 
say  that  all  was  ready,  and  to  pray  them  to  come.  But  though  they 
had  had  ample  time  to  make  all  arrangements,  they  were  still  alike  busy 
and  unconcerned  about  the  invitation,  and,  as  if  by  common  agree- 
ment, each  in  turn  excused  himself  from  accepting  it.  'I  have  just 
bought  a  field,'  said  one,  '  and  must  go  and  see  it — I  beg  your  master 


624  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■will  hold  me  excused ' — and  went  off  to  his  land.  '  It  is  impossible 
for  me  to  come,'  said  another,  'for  I  have  just  bought  five  yoke  of 
oxen,  and  am  on  the  point  of  starting  to  try  them.'  A  third  begged 
to  be  excused  because  he  had  only  just  married,  and  therefore  could 
not  come,  as  he  had  a  feast  of  his  own. 

"The  servant  had,  therefore,  to  return  to  his  master  with  this 
sorry  list  of  excuses,  each  of  which  was  a  marked  affront.  '  I  shall 
see  that  my  feast  has  not  been  prepared  for  nothing,'  said  he  to  the 
servant — '  go  out,  at  once,  to  the  streets  and  lanes  of  the  city,  and 
bring  in  all  the  poor,  the  maimed,  the  blind,  and  the  lame  you  can 
find,  that  my  table  may  be  filled.' 

' '  There  was  still  room,  however,  after  this  had  been  done.  '  Go 
outside  the  city  to  the  country  roads  and  hedgeways,'  said  the 
houseliolder,  '  and  gather  any  waifs  and  beggars  you  find,  and  com- 
pel them  to  come  in,  for  my  house  must  be  filled,  and  none  of  the 
men  I  invited  to  my  supper  will  taste  it. '  " 

Had  the  hearers  but  known  it,  this  parable  was  a  deadly  thrust  at 
their  most  cherished  prejudices.  The  priests  and  Rabbis,  leaders  of 
the  nation,  had  been  invited  again  and  again  by  Jesus  and  His  dis- 
ciples, to  the  spiritual  banquet  of  the  New  Kingdom,  but  they  had 
despised  the  invitation,  on  any  excuse,  or  on  none.  The  poor  and 
outcast  people,  the  sinners  and  publicans,  and  the  hated  multitude, 
who  neglected  the  Rabbinical  rules,  had  then  been  summoned,  and 
had  gladly  come,  and,  now,  the  invitation  was  to  go  forth  to  those 
outside  Israel — the  abhorred  heathen — and  they,  too,  were  to  come 
freely,  and  sit  down  at  the  great  table  of  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah, 
with  no  conditions  or  disabilities;  while  they  who,  in  their  pride,  had 
refused  to  come,  were  finally  rejected. 

It  was  the  proclamation,  once  more,  of  the  mighty  truth  which 
might  well  be  too  hard  for  those  who  first  heard  it,  to  understand, 
since  it  is  imperfectly  realized  after  nineteen  centuries — that  external 
rites  and  formal  acts  are  of  no  value  with  God,  in  themselves:  that 
He  looks  at  the  conscience  alone:  that  neither  circumcision  nor  sac- 
rifices, nor  legal  purifications,  nor  rigid  observance  of  Sabbath  laws, 
nor  fasts,  but  the  state  of  the  heart,  determines  the  relation  of  man  to 
God. 

Before  leaving  the  world,  our  Lord  would  put  it  beyond  question 
that  His  religion  knew  no  caste,  or  national  privilege:  that  it  was  in- 
dependent of  the  cumbrous  machinery  of  rite  and  ceremony  which 
had  crushed  the  life  out  of  the  religion  of  ^he  Old  Testament ;  and 
that  it  could  reign,  in  its  divine  perfection,  ia  any  human  heart  that 
opened  itself  to  the  Spirit  of  God. 


CHAPTER  Lin. 

IN   PEREA. 

The  incident  of  the  Sabbath  meal,  in  the  liouse  of  the  Pharisee, 
had  occurred  as  Jesus  was  journeying  by  slow  stages  towards  Jerusa- 
lem. He  had  long  ago  felt  that  to  go  thither  would  be  to  die;  but 
His  death,  in  whatever  part  of  the  country  He  might  be  apprehended, 
■was  already  determined  by  His  enemies,  and  it  was  necessarj'  for  the 
future  of  His  Kingdom  that  He  should  not  perish  obscurely,  like 
John,  in  some  lonely  fortress,  but  with  such  publicity,  and  so  directly 
by  the  hands  of  the  upholders  of  the  Old  Theocracy,  as  to  leave  their 
deliberate  rejection  of  His  teaching  in  no  doubt,  and  to  bring  home 
to  them  the  guilt  of  His  death. 

Yet  He  was  in  no  hurry.  It  was  still  some  time  till  the  Passover, 
and  tie  advanced  leisurely  on  His  sad  journey,  through  the  different 
villages  and  towns,  teaching  in  the  synagogues  on  the  Sabbaths,  and 
anywhere,  day  by  day,  through  the  week.  Meanwhile,  the  miracles 
■which  He  wrought  before  continually  increasing  multitudes  excited 
in  Herod,  the  local  ruler,  the  same  fear  of  a  political  rising  as  had  led 
him  to  imprison  the  Baptist. 

In  spite  of  our  Lord's  earnest  effort  to  discourage  excitement,  by 
damping  every  worldly  hope  or  ambition  in  the  crowds  that  followed 
Him,  and  leaving  no  question  of  His  utter  refusal  to  caiTy  out  the 
national  programme  of  a  political  Messiah,  Herod  was  so  alarmed 
that  he  made  efforts  to  apprehend  Him.  Had  the  throngs  increased 
with  His  advance  from  place  to  place,  as  they  well  might,  so  shortly 
before  the  Passover,  He  would  have  entered  Jerusalem  with  a  whole 
army  of  partisans,  and  compromised  Himself  at  once  with  the  Roman 
authorities. 

He,  therefore,  spared  no  efforts  to  discourage  and  turn  back  to 
their  liomes  those  whom  He  saw  attracted  to  Him  from  other  than 
spiritual  motives.  He  wished  none  to  follow  Him  who  had  not 
counted  the  cost  of  doing  so,  and  had  not  realized  His  unprecedented 
demands  from  His  disciples.  Instead  of  courting  popular  support, 
now  that  His  life  was  in  such  danger,  He  raised  these  demands,  and 
refused  to  receive  followers  on  any  terms  short  of  absolute  self -sur- 
render and  self-sacrifice  to  His  cause,  though  He  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  offer  in  return  beyond  the  inward  satisfaction  of  conscience, 
and  a  reward  in  the  future  world,  if  the  surrender  had  been  the  ab 
solutely  sincere  and  disinterested  expression  of  personal  devotion  to 
Himself. 

"  Consider  well,"  said  He,  "  before  you  follow  me  farther.  I  de- 
sire no  one  to  do  so  who  does  not  without  reserve  devote  himself  to 
me  and  my  caxise.     He  must  tear  himself  from  all  his  former  con- 


626  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

nections  and  associations,'  and  offer  up,  as  a  willing  sacrifice,  the 
claims  of  father,  mother,  wife,  children,  brother,  or  sister — <ind  even 
his  own  life,  if  necessary,  that  he  may  be  in  no  way  hindered  from 
entire  devotion  to  me  and  my  commands.  Short  of  this,  no  one  can 
be  my  disciple.  Nor  can  lie  who  is  not  willing  to  bear  shame  and 
suffering  for  my  sake.  You  cann  ot  be  my  disciples  unless  you  are 
ready  to  be  virtually  condemned  to  die  for  being  so;  unless,  as  it 
were,  you  already  put  on  your  shoulders  the  weight  of  the  cross  on 
wliich  j^ou  are  to  be  nailed  for  confessing  my  name. 

"It  is,  indeed,  no  light  matter,  but  needs  the  gravest  consideration. 
You  know  how  men  weigh  everything  beforehand  in  affairs  of  cost 
or  danger:  much  more  is  it  needful  to  do  so  in  this  case.  No  man 
would  be  so  foolish  as  to  begin  building  a  house  without  first  finding 
out  the  cost,  and  seeing  if  he  can  meet  it.  He  will  not  lay  the  foun- 
dation, and  run  the  risk  of  not  being  able  to  do  more,  for  he  knows 
that  to  do  so  would  make  him  the  scoff  of  his  neighbours.  Nor 
would  any  king  or  prince,  at  war  with  another,  march  out  against 
him,  without  thinking  whether  he  could  likely,  with  ten  thousand  men, 
overcome  an  enemy  coming  with  twice  as  many.  If  he  feel  that  the 
chances  are  against  him,  he  will  seek  to  make  peace  before  his  enemy 
come  near,  and  will  send  an  embassy  to  him  to  propose  conditions. 
No  less,  but  rather  much  more,  careful  consideration  of  the  dangers 
you  run ;  of  the  greatness  of  my  demands ;  of  the  losses  you  must  en- 
dure ;  of  the  shame  and  suffering  certain  to  follow — are  needed  be- 
fore casting  in  your  lot  witli  me. 

"  Yet,  as  I  have  said  elsewhere,  before;  it  is  the  noblest  of  all  callings 
to  be  my  disciple,  if  you  really  can  accept  my  conditions.  For  to 
him  who  is  truly  my  follower,  it  is  given  of  God  to  keep  alive  and 
spread  the  spiritual  life  of  men,  as  salt  keeps  sound  and  fresh  that 
which  is  seasoned  by  it.  My  disciples  are  designed  by  God  to  be  the 
Spiritual  Salt  of  the  Earth.  But  if  the  honour  be  greater,  so  much 
the  greater  is  the  responsibility;  for  if  a  follower  of  mine,  through 
hankering  after  worldly  interests,  lose  his  spiritual  life  and  thus  lose 
his  power  to  further  my  cause,  liow  can  he  hope  to  regain  it?  He  is 
like  salt  that  has  lost  its  strength,  and,  as  such  worthless  salt  is  cast 
out  of  men,  so  he  will  be  cast  out  of  God,  from  the  kingdom  of  the 
Messiah,  at  the  great  day.  He  who  is  thoughtful,  let  him  think  of  all 
this!" 

A  great  English  writer  has  pictured  an  imaginary  character  as  hav- 
ing a  sweet  look  of  goodness,  which  drew  out  all  that  was  good  in 
others.  There  must  have  been  some  such  divine  attraction  to  the 
poor  and  outcast  in  the  looks  and  whole  person  of  our  Lord.  India 
is  not  more  caste-ridden  than  the  Judea  in  winch  He  lived.  The 
aristocracy  of  religion  looked  with  hatred  and  disdain  an  the  masses 
of  their  own  nation,  and  with  bitterness  still  deeper  on  all  men  of 
foreign  birth.  The  ruin  of  long,  disastrous  years  of  civil  war  and 
foreign  domination,  had  covered  the  land  with  misery.     The  reigm 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  «27 

fif  the  Herods  had  been  a  continued  effort  to  rebuild  burned  towns, 
(ind  restore  exhausted  finances ;  but  the  Roman  tax-gatherer  had  fol- 
lowed, vainpirc-like,  and  liad  drained  the  nation  of  its  life-blood,  till  it 
was  sinkiniT,  as  all  Roman  provinces  sank,  sooner  or  later,  into  general 
decay.  In  a  land  thus  doubly  afflicted  by  social  proscription,  and  by 
«ver-increasing  social  distress — a  land  of  mutual  hatreds  and  wrongs 
^the  suffering  multitudes  hailed  with  instinctive  enthusiasm  one 
who,  like  Jesus,  ignored  baleful  prejudices;  taught  the  sunken  and 
hopeless  to  respect  themselves  still,  by  showing  that  He,  at  least,  still 
6poke  kindly  and  hopefully  to  them,  in  all  their  sinfuln^'ss  and  mis- 
ery;  and  by  His  looks  and  words,  no  less  than  by  His  acts,  seemed  to 
beckon  the  unfortunate  to  gather  round  Him  as  their  friend.  It  must 
Lave  spread  far  and  wide,  from  His  first  entrance  on  His  ministry, 
that  He  had  chosen  a  publican  as  one  of  His  inmost  circle  of  disciples, 
and  that  He  had  not  disdained  to  mingle  with  the  most  forlorn  and 
sunken  of  the  nation,  even  in  the  friendliness  of  the  table  or  the  cot- 
tage. From  many  a  windowless  hovel,  wliere  the  smoke  of  the  house- 
hold fire  made  its  way  out  only  by  the  door,  and  the  one  earth-floored 
apartment  was  shared  by  the  wretched  family,  with  the  fowls,  or  even 
beasts  the"  "'^anced  to  own — a  hovel  which  the  priest  or  Rabbi  would 

have  died ler  than  defile  himself  by  entering — the  story  spread 

how  the  great  Galilajan  teacher  had  not  only  entered,  but  had  done 
so  to  raise  the  dying,  and  to  bless  the  living.  All  over  the  land  it 
ran  from  mouth  to  mouth  that,  for  the  first  time,  a  great  Rabbi  had 
appeared  who  was  no  respecter  of  persons,  but  let  Himself  be  anointed 
by  a  poor  penitent  sinner,  and  sat  in  the  booth  with  a  hated  publi- 
can, and  mingled  freely  in  the  market-place  with  the  crowds  whose 
very  neighbourhood  others  counted  pollution.  Still  more,  it  was  felt 
by  the  proscribed  millions,  the  Cagots  and  Parialis  of  a  merciless 
theocracy,  that  He  was  their  champion,  by  the  very  fact  that  He  was 
deemed  an  enemy  by  the  dominant  caste ;  for  opposition  to  it  was 
loyalty  to  them. 

Hence,  the  multitudes  who,  on  this  last  journey,  especially, 
gathered  round  Jesus  with  friendly  sjonpathy  and  readiness  to  re- 
ceive His  instructions,  were  largely  composed  of  the  degraded  and 
despised — the  "publicans  and  sinners"  from  far  and  near.  The 
Rabbis  enjoined  that  a  teacher  should  keep  utterly  aloof  from  such 
people,  "even  if  one  had  the  worthy  design  of  exhorting  them  to 
read  the  Law" — that  is,  even  with  the  view  of  reclaiming  them.  It 
was  a  sign  that  wisdom  did  not  dwell  with  one  if  he  went  near  the 
thief  or  Uie  usurer,  even  when  they  had  tiu-ncd  from  their  evil  ways. 
The  superstitious  reverence  demanded  for  those  who  kept  the  Rab- 
binical laws  strictly,  was  only  equalled  by  tlie  intense  loathing  of  the 
ignorant  commonalty.  No  Rabbi,  or  Rabbi's  scholar,  might  on  any  , 
account  marry  a  daughter  of  the  Am-ha-aretz — or  unlearned — f«r  the 
gross  multitude  were  an  abomination,  and  their  wives  loathsome  ver- 
min; and  the  most  repulsive  crime  known  to  the  Law  was  no  worsa 


828  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

than  to  marry  among  them.  Xo  one  might  walk  on  a  journey  Avith 
a  "  common  man."  It  was  sternh'  forbidden  to  pollute  the  Law  by 
being  seen  to  read  it  before  one.  Their  witness  was  refused  in  the 
Jewish  courts,  and  it  was  prohibited  to  give  testimony  in  their  favour: 
no  secret  was  to  be  told  them:  they  co\ild  not  be  guardians  of  orphans, 
nor  allowed  to  have  charge  of  the  alms-box  of  the  synagogue;  and  if 
they  losr  anything,  no  notice  of  its  ha^ing  been  f  ound^vas  to  be 
given  them. 

Ko  wonder  that  the  Rabbis,  and  the  hierarchical  party  at  large, 
owned  that  "  the  hatred  of  the  common  people  towards  the*'  wise '  was 
greater  than  that  of  the  heathen  towards  Israel,  and  that  the  wives 
hated  the  dominant  caste  even  more  fiercely  than  their  husl^ands." 

That  Jesus  shovild  outrage  the  established  laws  of  privilege  and 
exclusiveness,  by  allowing  those  to  follow  Him  whom  Rabbis  wouid 
not  allow  to  approach  them,  and,  still  wor.ee,  by  receiving  them 
kindh'.  and  eating  with  them,  was  a  bitter  offence  to  the  Pharisees 
and  scribes.  In  their  eyes.  He  was  degrading  Himself  bj-  consorting 
with  the  "unclean  and  despicable."  Nor  could  thcj' say  anything 
more  fitted  to  excite  the  mortal  hatred  of  their  class  against  Him. 

Tlie  storm  of  bitter  murmurings  erelong  reached  ilie  cars  of  our 
Lord,  and  He  at  once  seized  the  opportunity  to  define  His  position 
unmistakably,  and  show  that  the  course  He  took  was  in  keeping  with 
His  whole  aim. 

"Let  me  ask  you,"  said  He,  to  some  irritated  Rabbis,  who  mur- 
mured at  seeing  Him,  on  one  occasion,  surrounded  by  "publicans 
and  sinners,"  "who  of  3'ou,  if  he  had  a  flock  of  a  hundred  sheep, 
and  one  of  them  were  to  go  astray,  would  not  leave  the  ninety  and 
nine  on  the  pastures,  and  go  oflf  after  the  one  that  was  lost,  till  he 
found  it?  And  when  he  had  done  so,  would  he  not  lay  it  on  his 
shoulders  gladly,  and  carry  it  back  to  the  flock?  and,  when  he  had 
come  home,  would  he  not  call  together  his  friends  and  neighbours, 
to  rejoice  with  him  at  his  having  found  the  sheep  that  was  lost? 

"You  scribes  and  Pharisees, — RabbLs — lawyers, — think  you  are 
so  righteous,  that  you  need  no  repentance.  Yeu  speak  of  some  of 
your  number,  as  having  never  committed  a  sin  in  their  lives;  of  some 
whose  only  sin  has  been  such  a  thing  as  having  once  put  the  phy- 
lacteries on  his  forelM?ad  before  those  on  his  arm ;  and  call  some  the 
'perfectly  righteous.'  Let  me  tell  you,  that  all  men  as  such  are  the 
great  flock  of  God, — for  all  are  His  sons, — and  that  when  one  who 
has  gone  astray,  and  has  lived  in  sin,  comes  to  himself  and  repents, 
there  is  greater  joy  in  heaven  over  his  return,  than  over  ninety  and 
nine,  who,  like  you,  thmk  they  have  no  need  of  repentance.  And  if 
this  be  tlie  case  in  heaven,  how  much  more  ought  I,  here  on  earth, 
to  rejoice  that  many  such  penitent  ones  come  to  me,  than  at  your 
coming  in  proud  self-sufliciency  to  boast  that  3-ou  need  nothing  at  my 
hand." 

"  Or,"  continued  He,  "I  ask  you, — suppose  a  poor  woman  who 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  620 

had  only  ten  drachmte,  were  to  lose  one  in  one  of  the  dark  "svindow- 
l£ss  hovels,  in  which  so  many  of  our  people  in  these  evil  days  live, 
would  '*ie  not  light  a  lamp  and  sweep  the  floor  over,  and  spare  no 
pains  in  seeking  till  she  found  it?  And  when  she  had  found  it, 
would  she  not  call  together  her  friends  and  neighbours,  and  ask  them 
to  rejoice  with  her  for  having  found  the  drachma  that  was  lost?  In 
the  same  way,  I  tell  you,  there  is  joy  in  the  presence  of  the  angels  of 
God,  in  the  highest  heaven,  over  one  such  sinner  as  those  you  so 
bitterly  despise,  who  turns  and  repents.  WeU,  therefore,  may  I 
gladly  receive  them,  and  mingle  with  them,  when,  they  come  to  me  to 
learn  tlie  way  back  to  God. 
"  Let  me  tell  you  a  parable. 

"  A  certain  man  had  two  sons.  And  the  younger  of  these  said  to 
liis  father, — '  Father,  give  me  I  pray  you,  the  portion  of  the  property 
that  falls  to  me.  I  am  the  younger  son,  and  inherit  only  half  as 
much  as  my  elder  brother,  but  I  pray  you  let  me  have  it.'  The 
father,  on  this,  divided  between  the  two  all  his  living,  retaining, 
however,  the  larger  share  of  the  elder  son  in  his  hands  "till  his  own 
death,  as  he  might  have  done  with  that  of  the  j'ounger  son  also. 
Jlis  share,  however,  he  gave  into  the  young  man's  own  hands. 

"But  before  long,  the  j'ounger  son  began  to  dislike  the  restraint 
of  his  father's  house,  and  gathering  all  together,  set  off  for  a  distant 
country,  and  there  gave  his  passions  ♦he  reins,  and  lived  in  such  riot, 
that  erelong  his  whole  means  were  scattered.  But,  now,  when  he 
had  spent  his  all,  a  great  famine  arose  in  the  country,  and  he  began. 
to  be  in  distress.  At  last  it  went  so  hard  with  him,  that  he  was  glad 
to  ask  one  of  the  citizens  to  give  him  anything  at  all  to  do,  whatever 
it  was,  to  get  bread.  He  was,  thereupon,  sent  into  the  man's  fields, 
to  be  his  swineherd,  a  sadly  shameful  occupation  for  a  Jew !  Yet, 
after  all,  he  did  not  get  even  his  food  for  which  he  had  bargained, 
for  neitlier  his  master  nor  any  one  else  thought  of  him,  and  he  was 
left  to  starve.  He  even  longed  to  fill  himserf  with  the  pods  of  the 
carob-tree,  which  are  fed  out  to  swine,  and  are  sometimes  eaten  by 
the  very  poor,  but  no  man  gave  him  any  even  of  them. 

"In  his  loneliness  and  sore  trouble,  he  began  to  reflect.  'How 
many  Inbjui-ers  and  household  servants  of  my  father,'  said  he  to  him- 
self, 'have  more  bread  than  they  can  eat,  while  I,  his  son,  am  dyin^ 
here  of  want.  I  will  ariie,  and  go  back  to  my  father,  and  will  con- 
fers my  guilt  and  unwortliiness,  and  tell  him  how  deeply  I  feel  that  I 
have  sinned  against  heaven  and  done  great  wrong  towards  him.  I 
will  say  that  I  feel  I  am  no  longer  worthy  to  be  called  his  son,  and 
.will  ask  him  to  treat  me  like  one  of  his  hired  labourers,  and  will  tell 
(him  that  I  will  gladly  work  with  them  for  my  daily  bread,  so  that  ha 
dreceive  me  again.' 

3  *     "He  had  no  sooner  resolved  to  do  this,  than  he  rose  to  return  to 

f  his  father's  liouse.     But  when  he  Avas  yet  a  great  way  off,  his  father 

saw  him  and  kne\Y  him,  and  ran  out  to  meet  him,  full  of  tender  coia- 


630  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

passion^  and  fell  on  his  neck  and  kissed  him  tenderly.  And  the  son 
said  to  him,  '  I  have  sinned  against  Grod  ami  against  thee,  and  am  not 
worthy  that  thou  shoJildst  any  longer  call  me  thy  son.'  He  could 
not  say  what  he  had  intended  besides,  when  he  saw  how  fondly  his 
father  bent  ov«r  him.  notwithstanding  his  sins  and  folly.  Nor  was 
more  needed ;  for  his  father  called  out  to  his  servants,  '  Bring  me  a  robe, 
the  best  there  is,  that  he  may  have  my  finest;  and  put  it  on  him;  and 
put  a  ring  on  his  finger,  and  sandals  on  his  feet ;  he  shall  no  longer, 
like  a  slave,  be  without  either;  and  bring  the  fatted  calf  and  kill  it. 
We  shall  have  a  feast  to-day  and  be  merry,  for  my  sou ;  lost  and  dead, 
as  I  thought,  in  a  strange  land,  is  once  more  home :  dead  by  his  sins, 
he  is  alive  again  by  repentance:  a  lost  wanderer,  he  has  returned  to 
the  fold-' 

*'The  elder  son,  meanwhile,  had  been  in  the  field  with  the  labourers, 
"but  now  came  towards  home.  And  as  he  drew  near,  he  heard  music 
and  dancing.  Calling  one  of  the  servants,  he  thereupon  asked  what 
had  happened,  and  was  told  that  his  brother  had  come  home,  and 
that  his  father  was  so  glad  to  have  him  once  more  safe  and  sound, 
that  he  had  had  the  best  calf  killed,  and  given  for  a  feast  to  the 
household. 

"But  now,  instead  of  rejoicing  over  his  brother's  return,  the  elder 
son  took  amiss  such  gladness  of  his  father,  at  having  him  safely  back 
again,  and  would  not  go  into  the  house  at  all,  or  take  any  part  in  the 
rejoicings.  The  father,  therefore,  ever  kind  and  gentle,  went  out  to 
him  to  soothe]  him,  and  to  beg  him  to  come  in.  All  he  could  say, 
however,  failed  to  soften  his  heart,  and  he  vented  his  discontent 
in  angry  reproaches:  'I  have  served  you  for  many  a  year,  more  like 
a  slave  than  a  son,  and  have  obcj^ed  you  in  everj^  particular,  and  yet 
you  never  gave  me  a  kid,  far  less  a  fatted  calf,  that  I  might  have  a 
little  enjoyment  with  my  friends.  But  when  this  fellow,  who  is 
indeed  your  son,  though  I  will  not  call  him  my  brother, — this  fellow 
who  has  spent  your  money  on  harlots, — has  come  back,  you  have 
killed  the  fatted  calf  for  him.' 

'"My  son,'  replied  the  father,  mildly,  'have  you  forgotten  that 
you  have  been  always  by  my  side,  while  your  brother  has  been  far 
away  from  me,  or  that  all  that  I  have  belongs  to  you  as  my  heir? 
Surely  all  this  should  raise  you  above  such  hard  judgments  and 
jealous  thoughts.  What  could  we  do  but  rejoice  when  a  long-lost 
son  has  come  back  again  to  his  father's  house  ? '  " 

The  parables  of  the  Lost  Sheep  and  of  the  Lost  Piece  of  Silver  had 
been  enforced  by  the  noblest  of  all  the  parables.  Henceforth,  for  all 
ages,  it  was  proclaimed  beyond  the  possibility  of  misconception,  that, 
in  the  teaching  of  Jesus,  God  looks  with  unspeakably  greater  favour 
on  the  penitent  humility  of  "the  sinner,"  with  its  earnest  of  grati- 
tude and  love,  than  on  cold  correctness  in  which  the  heart  has  no  place. 

We  are  indebted  to  St.  Luke  lor  some  other  fragments  of  tho 
teaching  of  these  last  weeks. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  C81 

Among  the  great  multitudes  who  had  thronged  after  Him,  the 
publicans  of  the  district  were  especially  noticeable.  Many  of  them 
were,  doubtless,  in  a  good  position  in  life,  and  some  even  rich,  but 
all  were  exposed  to  peculiar  temptations  in  tlieir  hated  calling.  Kot 
a  few  seem  to  have  listened  earnestly  to  the  first  Teacher  who  had 
ever  treated  them  as  men  with  souls  to  save,  and  it  was  of  the 
greatest  importance  to  tliem  that  they  slioukl  have  wise  and  true 
principles  for  their  future  guidance.  The  foliovviug  parable  seems 
to  have  been  delivered  specially  to  them,  as  part  of  an  address  when 
they  had  gathered  in  more  than  usual  numbers. 

"A  certain  rich  man  had  a  stewaid,  to  whom  he  left  the  entire 
charge  of  his  affaire.  He  learned,  however,  from  some  sources,  that 
this  man  was  acting  dishonestly  by  hi?n,  and  scattering  his  goods; 
so  he  called  him  and  )et  him  know  what  he  had  heard,  telling  him, 
at  the  same  time,  to  make  out  and  settle  all  his  accounts,  as  he  could 
no  longer  hold  iiis  office. 

"  The  steward,  knowing  that  he  was  guilty,  was  at  a  loss  what  to 
do.  '  I  cannot  dig,'  said  he,  to  himself,  '  for  I  have  not  been  accus- 
tomed to  it,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  beg.'  At  last  he  hit  on  a  plan 
which  he  thought  would  serve  his  end,  and  at  once  set  himself  to- 
carry  it  out.  Going  to  all  his  master's  tenants,  one  by  one,  he  asked 
each  how  mu3h  rent  or  dues  he  had  to  pay,  thougli,  in  fact,  he  knew 
all  this  beforehand.  When  told,  he  pretended  to  have  been  com- 
missioned, in  compliance  with  his  own  suggestion,  to  lower  tJie 
amount  in  each  case;  and  he  thus  secured  the  favour  of  all.  For 
example,  he  went  to  one  and  asked  Mm  '  How  much  owest  thou  to  my 
lord? '  and  when  told  '  A  hundred  pipes  of  oil,'  bade  him  take  back 
his  bill,  and  write  another,  instead,  for  fifty.  A  second,  who  owed 
a  hundred  quarters  of  wheat,  he  told  to  make  oi  ta  fresh  writing  with 
only  eighty.  In  this  way,  by  leiiding  them  to  iLink  him  their  bene- 
factor, he  made  sure  of  friends,  who  would  open  their  houses  to  him 
when  he  had  been  dismissed. 

"  Some  time  after,  when  his  ma.ster  heard  how  cleverly  he  had 
secured  his  own  ends,  he  could  not  help  admiring  his  shrewdness. 
And,  in  truth,  it  is  a  fact,  that  bad  men  like  this  steward — the  sons 
of  this  world — not  of  the  next — are  wiser  in  their  dealings  with  their 
fellows,  than  the  sons  of  light — ray  disciples — are  in  theirs  with  their 
brethren,  sons  of  my  heavenly  Kingdom,  like  themselves. 

"  As  the  master  of  that  steward  commended  him  for  his  prudence, 
though  it  was  so  worldly  and  selfish,  I,  also,  must  commend  to  you 
a  prudence  of  a  higher  kind  in  your  relations  to  the  things  of  this 
life.  By  becoming  my  disciples,  you  have  identified  yourselves  with 
the  interest  of  ano*,her  Master  than  Mammon,  the  god  of  this  world — 
whom  you  have  hitherto  served — ^and  have  before  you  another  course 
and  aim  in  life.  You  will  be  represented  to  your  former  master  aa 
no  longer  faithful  to  him,  for  my  service  is  so  utterly  opposed  to  that 
•f  AEammoa  that,  if  faithful  to  me  you  cannot  be  faithful  to  him,  aai. 

L  of  C— 21. 


633  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

he  "will,  in  consequence,  assuredly  take  jout  stewardship  of  thia 
"world's  goods  from  you — that  is,  sink  you  m  poverty,  as  I  have  often 
said.  I  counsel  you,  therefore,  so  to  use  the  goods  of  Mammon — the 
•worldly  means  still  at  your  command — that,  by  truly  -worthy  distri- 
bution of  them  to  your  needy  brethren — and  my  disciples  are  mostly 
poor — you  may  make  friends  for  yourselves,  who,  if  they  die  before 
you,  will  welcome  you  to  everlasting  hibitations  in  heaven,  when  you 
pass  thither,  at  death.  Fit  yourselves,  by  labours  of  love  and  dteds 
of  true  charity,  as  my  followers,  to  become  fellow-citizens  of  the 
heavenly  mansions  with  those  whose  wants  you  have  relieved  while 
they  were  still  in  life. 

"If  you  be  faithful,  thus,  in  the  use  of  your  possessions  on  earth, 
you  will  be  deemed  worthy  by  God  to  be  entrusted  with  in- 
finitely greater  riches  hereafter,  in  heaven,  for  he  that  is  faithful  in 
this  lesser  stewardship,  has  shown  that  he  will  be  so  in  a  higher,  but 
he  who  has  misused  the  lesser,  cannot  hope  to  be  entrusted  with  a 
greater.  If  you  show,  in  j'our  life,  that  you  have  not  been  faithful  to 
God  in  the  use  of  this  world's  goods,  entrusted  to  you  by  Him  to  ad- 
minister for  His  glory,  how  can  you  hope  that  He  will  commit  to 
your  keeping  the  unspeakably  grander  trust  of  heavenly  riches?  If 
you  have  proved  unfaithful  in  the  stewardshij)  of  what  was  not  yours 
— the  worldly  means  lent  you  for  a  time  by  God — how  can  you  hope 
to  be  honoured  with  the  great  trust  of  eternal  salvation,  which 
would  have  been  yours  had  you  proved  yoiu'sclf  tit  for  it? 

"Be  assured  that  if  jou  do  not  use  your  earthly  riches  faithfully 
fcr  God,  by  dispensing  them  as  I  have  told  you,  you  will  never  enter 
my  heavenly  Kingdom  at  all.  You  will  have  shown  that  you  are 
servants  of  Mammon,  and  not  the  servants  of  God;  for  it  is  inipcs- 
sible  for  any  man  to  serve  tAvo  masters." 

Such  unworldly  counsels,  so  contrary  to  their  own  spirit,  were 
received  with  contemptuous  ridicule  by  the  Pharisees  standing  round, 
as  the  mere  dreams  of  a  crazed  enllnisiast.  The  loA'e  of  money  had 
become  a  characteristic  of  their  decaying  religiousness,  and  it  seemed 
to  them  the  wildest  folly  to  advi.se  the  rich,  as  their  truest  wisdom,  to 
use  their  weairh  to  make  friends  for  the  future  world,  instead  of 
enjoying  it  here.  It  is  quite  possible,  indeed,  that  some  of  them  ftlt 
the  words  of  Christ  as  -a  personal  reproof,  and  were  all  the  more 
embittered. 

Patient  as  He  was  in  the  endurance  of  personal  "wrongs  and  in,su]ts, 
the  indignation  of  Jesus  was  roused  at  such  sneers  at  the  tirst  prin- 
ciples of  genuine  religion,  and  He,  at  once,  with  the  calm  fearless- 
ness habitual  to  Him,  exposed  their  hypocrisy  and  unsafeness  as 
spiritu»l  guides.  • 

" You  hold  your  heads  high,"  said  He,  "and  affect  to  be  sainta, 
before  men — such  perfect  patterns  of  piety,  indeed,  that  you  m&y 
judge  all  men  by  yourselves. 

"But  God,  who  knows  all  things,  and  judges,  not  by  the  outwjwd 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  688 

appearance,  but  by  the  fieart,  knows  how  different  you  are  in  reality 
from  what  you  make  men  beUeve.  Your  pretended  holiness,  which 
is  so  highly  tliought,  of  by  men,  is  an  abomination  before  God.  Yoxi 
ignore,  or  explain  away  the  commands  of  His  law,  wjien  they  do  not 
suit  you,  and  thus  are  mere  actors,  for  true  godliness  honours  the 
whole  Law.  I  condemn  j'^ou  on  the  one  ground  on  which  you  claim 
to  be  most  secure.  You  demand  honour  for  your  strict  obedience  to 
the  Law;  I  charge  you  with  hypocrisy,  for  your  designed  and  delib- 
erate corruption  of  that  Law,  to  suit  yourselves. 

"  Sincerity  is  demanded  from  those  who  wish  to  serve  God.  That 
which  Moses  and  the  Prophets  so  long  announced, — that  to  which  all 
the  Scriptures  point,  the  Kingdom  of  the  Messiah — has  come.  From 
the  time  when  the  Baptist  preached,  that  kingdom  is  no  longer 
future,  but  is  set  up  in  your  midst,  and  with  what  success!  Every 
one  presses  with  eagerness  into  it.  But,  as  you  know,  I,  its  Head 
and  King,  make  the  most  searching  demands  from  those  who  would 
enter  it,  and  open  its  citizenship  only  to  those  who  are  willing  to 
overcome  all  difficulties  to  obtain  it.  You  charge  me  with  breaking 
the  Law,  but,  so  far  from  doing  so,  I  require  that  the  whole  Law,  in 
its  truest  sense,  be  obeyed  by  every  one  who  seeks  to  enter  the  New 
Kingdom.  It  is  easier  for  heaven  and  earth,  I  tell  men,  to  pass  away, 
than  for  one  tittle  of  the  Law  to  lose  its  force.  But  how  different  is 
it  with  you!  Take  the  one  single  case  of  divorce.  What  loose 
examples  does  not  the  conduct  of  some  of  your  own  class  supply? 
what  conflicting  opinions  do  you  not  give  on  the  question?  I  claim 
that  the  words  of  the  Law  be  observed  to  the  letter,  and  maintain,  in 
opposition  to  your  hollow  morality,  that  any  one  who  puts  away  his 
wife,  ejttjept  for  adultery,  and  marries  another,  himself  commits 
adultery,  and  that  he  who  marries  the  woman  thus  divorced  is  also 
guilty  of  the  same  crime.  Judge  by  this  whether  you  or  I  most' 
honour  the  Law — whether  you  or  I  are  the  safer  guides  of  the  people. 
How  God  must  despise  your  boasts  of  special  zeal  for  His  glory ! 

"But  that,  notwithstanding  your  sneers,  you  may  feel  the  truth  of 
what  I  have  just  said  as  to  the  results  of  the  possession  of  riches, 
when  they  are  not  employed  as  I  have  counselled — to  make  friends 
for  yourselves,  who  will  welcome  you  to  heaven  hereafter,  let  me 
tell  you  a  parable. 

' '  There  was  a  certain  rich  man  who  dressed  in  robes  of  fine  purple 
—the  raiment  of  princes — over  garments  of  the  costliest  Egyptiaa 
cotton,  which  only  the  most  luxurious  can  buy. 

"  There  was  also,  in  the  same  place,  a  poor  diseased  beggar  named 
Lazarus,  who  had  been  brought  and  set  down,  as  an  object  of  chailty, 
before  the  gates  of  the  great  man's  mansion,  where  he  lay  helpless, 
day  after  day ;  so  abject,  that  he  longed  to  be  fed  with  what  fell  from 
the  rich  man's  table.  But  the  rich  man,  though  he  often  saw  him, 
and  knew  his  case,  showed  him  no  kindness,  and  instead  of  helping 
the  sufferer,  and  thus  making  a  friend  with  his  money,  who  should 


684  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

help  him  hereafter,  as  I  advise;  had  no  thought  except  of  himself, 
and  of  his  own  pleasure.  The  poor  nian's  case  was  indeed  pitiful; 
he  could  not  even  drive  away  the  unclean  dogs,  which,  day  by  day, 
came  and  inciettsed  his  pain  by  licking  his  sores. 

' '  It  came  to  pivss,  after  a  time,  that  Lazarus  died,  and  was  carried 
by  the  angels  to  Paradise,  and  there  set  down  next  to  Abraham  on 
the  banqueting  couches,  at  the  feast  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  with 
his  head  in  the  great  patriarch's  bosom — the  highest  place  of  honour 
that  Paradise  could  give. 

"  Erelong-,  the  rich  man  also  died,  and,  unlike  Lazarus,  whom  men 
had  left  uncarcd  for,  even  in  his  death,  he  was  honovu'ed  with  a 
sumptuous  funeral. 

"lie,  also,  passed  to  Hades;  not,  however,  to  that  part  of  it  where 
Paradise  is,  but  to  Gehenna,  the  place  of  pain  and  torment  in  the 
world  of  shades.  And  in  Hades  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  saw 
Abraham  in  the  far  distance,  in  the  banqueting  hall  of  bliss,  with 
Lazarus  reclining  next  him,  in  his  bosom,  as  his  most  honoured 
friend.  And  he  knew  them  both,  and  remembered  how  Lazarus  had 
lain  at  his  gate,  and  thought  of  this  as  a  bond  between  them.  '  O 
Father  Abraham,'  cried  he,  in  his  torments,  'have  mercy  on  my 
agony,  I  beseech  thee,  and  send  Lazarus,  that  he  may  dip  the  tip  of 
his  finger  in  water,  and  cool  my  tongue,  for  I  am  tormented  in  this 
flame.'  So  great  had  been  the  change  in  their  positions,  that  now  the 
despised  beggar  was  entreated  to  do  even  so  small  a  favour  to  him 
from  whom  he  himself  had  once  looked  for  any  favoiu:  in  vain !  Dives 
would  fain  make  friends  with  Lazarus  now,  but  could  not  bethink 
him  of  any  g(X)d  deed  he  had  ever  done  him  to  help  him  to  do  so. 

"Abraham  now  called  this  to  his  mind.  'Son,'  said  he,  'wonder 
not  that  you  and  Lazarus  are  in  such  opposite  conditions  here,  from 
those  you  had  when  in  life.  You,  then,  had  as  much  earthly  hap- 
piness as  you  could  enjoy :  you  had  it,  and  set  your  heart  on  it,  and 
lived  only  for  yourself.  Had  you  used  your  wealth  as  a  godly  man, 
in  doing  good'  to  those,  like  Lazju-us,  who  needed  pity,  instead  of 
lavishing  it  on  splendour  and  self-indulgence,  j'ou  would  have  had 
good  laid  up  for  you  now.  But  you  lived  only  for  earth,  and  the 
good  you  chose  has  been  left  behind  you.  You  made  your  portion 
in  your  lifetime,  and  have  none  here.  But  Lazarus  endured,  while 
still  alive,  the  sufferings  allotted  him,  and  he  has  none  in  this  state. 
Penitent  and  lowly,  he  bore  them  patiently,  as  a  child  of  Grod,  and 
is  now  receiving  the  reward  of  the  poor  in  spirit.  His  position  and 
yours  are  reversed,  for  he  now  finds  consolation  and  joy,  in  exchange 
for  his  earthly  misery,  but  you,  pain  and  sorrow,  instead  of  your 
self-indulgence.' 

" '  Besides  all  this,*  added  he,  '  between  this  happy  abode  and  yours, 
there  is  a  great  space,  across  vv-hich  no  one  can  pass,  either  from  us 
to  you,  or  from  you  to  us,  so  that  it  is  impossible  that  you  should 
Lf.vo  any  share  in  our  joj,  or  that  we  can  in  any  way  lessen  your  paia.' 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  CSS 

*'  Now,  for  the  first  time,  the  rich  man  saw  the  full  extent  of  his 
misery,  and  its  cause.  'Would  that  I  had  acted  diflferentl_y,'  cried 
he,  '  when  in  life.  Would  that,  instead  of  living  for  myself — hard, 
impenitent,  selfish — I  had  been  lowly  and  penitent,  using  my  wealth 
as  God  enjoined,  in  blessing  the  wretched.  I  should  then  have  been 
welcomed  by  Lazarus,  and  such  as  he,  into  the  everlasting  habita- 
tions of  Paradise!' 

"  'But,  oh!  Father  Abraham,'  he  continued,  'let  me  be  the  only  one 
of  my  father's  house  to  come  into  this  doieful  place.  Send  Lazarus, 
I  beseech  thee,  back  to  earth,  to  my  father's  house,  for  I  have  five 
brethren,  who  live  as  I  lived.  It  would  add  unspeakably  to  my  pain 
if  they  also  came  to  this  abode  of  woe.  Oh!  let  Lazarus  go  and  warn 
them  of  what  has  befallen  me,  their  brother.' 

'"To  escape  your  sad  doom,'  replied  Abraham,  'they  must  needs 
repent,  and  live  the  life  of  the  godly.  But  for  this  the  Law  and  the 
Prophets  are  the  appointed  means;  let  them  listen  to  them.' 

"'Nay,  Father  Abraham,'  answered  the  lost  one,  'that  is  not 
enough.  It  did  not  move  me  to  repentance.  But  if  a  dead  man  re- 
turned again  from  the  grave,  and  came  to  them,  and  told  them  how 
it  was  with  me  here,  they  would  be  alarmed,  and  reform. ' 

"'You  err,  my  unliappy  son,'  said  Abraham,  closing  the  scene. 
'  It  would  not  move  them  in  the  least,  for  so  amply  are  the  Scrip- 
tures fitted  to  persuade  men  to  repentance,  that  those  whom  they  do 
not  win  to  it  would  not  be  persuaded  even  if  one  rose  from  the 
dead.' " 

The  Rabbis  had  listened  to  the  parable,  but  it  touched  their  own 
failing  too  pointedly  to  make  them  care  for  any  longer  conference 
with  Jesus.  Wlien  they  were  gone — it  may  be  while  He  was  resting 
with  the  Twelve  in  the  cool  of  the  evening — the  incidents  of  the 
whole  day  were  passed  in  review,  and  Jesus  noticed  that  the  words 
and  bearing  of  His  opponents,  respect  for  whom,  as  the  teachers  of 
the  nation,  was  instinctive  with  every  Jew — had  not  been  without 
their  effect  even  on  His  disciples.  It  was  evident  that  the  very 
nature  of  His  demands — the  trials  and  persecutions  to  come,  and  the 
weakness  of  human  nature — would  raise  moral  hindrances  to  the  full 
and  abiding  loyalty  of  not  a  few. 

By  way  of  caution,  therefore,  He  now  warned  them  on  this  point. 
"It  is  impo.ssible,"  said  He,  "to  prevent  divisions,  disputes,  and 
even  desertion  and  apostasy,  on  the  part  of  some  of  you,  in  the  evil 
times  to  come.  Misrepresentation,  prejudice,  the  bent  of  different 
minds;  the  weakness  of  some,  and  tlie  unworthiness  of  others,  will 
inevitably  produce  their  natural  results.  The  progress  of  my  king- 
dom will,  I  foresee,  be  hindered  more  or  less  from  this  cause,  but  it 
cannot  be  avoided.  Yet,  woe  to  him  who  thus  hinders  the  spread 
and  glory  of  the  Truth.  It  were  better  for  him,  if,  like  the  worst 
criminal,  he  were  bound  to  a  heavy  millstone,  and  cast  into  the  sea, 
kM4a  that  he  should  caus«  a  single  simple  child-like  soul,  who  b^ 


6S6  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lieves  in  me,  to  fall.  Take  heed  that  you  neither  mislead  nor  are 
misled !  Remember  that  I  tell  you  that  offences  must  be  prevented  or 
removed  by  a  lowly  forgiving  spirit  on  your  part.  You  know  liow 
far  you  are  yet  from  this;  how  strong  pride,  love  of  your  own 
opinion,  harshness,  and  impatience,  still  are  in  your  hearts.  To 
further  my  Kingdom  when  I  am  gone,  strive  above  all  things  for 
peace  and  love  among  yourselves. 

"The  one  grand  means  of  avoiding  these  causes  of  offence  and 
spiritual  ruin  is  unwearied,  forgiving  love;  by  that  frame  of  mind 
which  you  see  so  wholly  wanting  in  the  Rabbis,  that  they  have  even 
now  murmured  at  my  so  much  as  speaking  to  sinners,  from  whom 
such  simple,  lowly  brethren  are  to  be  gathered.  If  such  an  one  sin 
against  you,  and  turn  away  from  your  fellowship,  rebuke  him  for 
his  sin,  but  if  he  see  his  error  and  repent  of  it,  and  come  back  for- 
give him ;  aye,  even  if  he  wrong  you  seven  times  in  a  day,  and  feel 
and  acknowledge  his  error  and  promise  amendment,  as  often,  you 
must  each  time  forgive  him  freely." 

The  Twelve  had  listened  to  these  counsels  with  intense  interest, 
but  their  moral  grandeur  almost  discouraged  them.  They  felt  that 
nothing  is  harder  than  constant  patience  and  loving  humility — never 
returning  evil  for  evil,  but  ever  ready  to  forgive,  even  when  repeat- 
edly injured  without  cause.  It  needed,  as  thej^  feared,  stronger  faith 
than  they  yet  had,  to  create  such  an  abiding  spirit  of  tender  meek- 
ness. They  had  talked  over  the  whole  matter,  and  saw  only  one 
source  of  strength.  Coming  to  their  Master,  full  of  confidence  in 
His  divine  power  to  grant  their  request,  they  openly,  and  with  a  sweet 
humility,  prayed  Him  that  He  would  increase  their  faith. 

"  This  request,"  answered  Jesus,  "  shows  that  faith,  in  a  true  and 
worthy  sense,  is  yet  to  be  begun  in  your  hearts.  If  you  had  it,  even 
in  a  small  measure,  or,  to  use  a  phrase  you  hear  every  day,  as  a  grain 
of  mustard-seed;  instead  of  finding  obedience  to  these  counsels  too 
difficult,  you  would  undertake  and  perform  even  apparent  impos- 
sibilities— acts  of  trust  which  demand  the  highest  spiritual  power 
and  strength.  To  use  words  which  you  have  often  heard  as  an 
illustration  of  acts  naturally  impossible,  you  would  say  to  this  syca- 
more or  mulberrj^-tree,  '  Be  thou  plucked  up  by  the  roots  and 
planted  in  the  sea,'  and  it  would  obey  you — that  is,  you  would  be 
able  to  do  what,  without  faith,  seems  as  impossible. 

"To  such  efficiency  and  eminence  in  my  service  will  true  faith  in 
Me  lead  you:  but  beware,  amidst  all,  of  any  thought  of  merit  of  your 
own.  Your  faith  must  grow,  and  cannot  be  given  as  a  mere  bounty 
from  without:  it  is  a  result  of  your  own  spiritual  development  and 
true  humility,  which  looks  away  from  self  to  me,  as  the  one  con- 
dition of  this  advancement.  You  shall  have  the  increased  faith  you 
seek,  but  it  will  be  only  by  your  continued  loving  dependence  on  me, 
your  Master.  If  any  of  you  had  a  servant  ploughing  or  tending  your 
flock,  would  you  say  to  him  when  he  comes  home  from  the  field  ia 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  637 

the  evening,  'Come  near  immediately,  and  sit  down  to  meat?' 
Would  you  not  rather  say,  '  Prepare  my  supper,  and  make  your- 
self fit  to  wait  on  me  at  table,  and  after  I  have  supped,  you 
shall  eat  and  drink?'  Would  you  think  yourself  under  obliga- 
tion to  the  servant  because  he  has  been  working  for  you,  or  be- 
cause he  waits  on  you  as  required?  Assuredly  not,  for  your 
servant  had  only  done  what  it  was  right  he  should  do  as  a  servant. 
B«,  you,  such  servants.  There  is  a  daily  work,  with  prescribed  tasks, 
required  from  you.  The  great  supper  will  not  be  till  this  life  is 
ended;  but  when  it  is  ended,  you  must  not  think  of  yourselves,  on  ac- 
count of  it,  except  as  becomes  servants;  and  should  you  be  rewarded 
or  honoured,  you  must  not  forget,  that  it  is  only  from  my  free  favour, 
and  not  as  payment  of  any  claim ;  because,  in  fact,  you  have  done 
only  what  it  was  your  duty,  as  servants,  to  do.  The  servant  who 
does  less  than  his  duty,  is  guilty  before  his  master,  but  he  who  has 
done  his  duty,  though  he  has  avoided  blame,  has  no  reason  to  think 
himself  entitled  to  reward.  Feel,  therefore,  in  any  case,  that  your 
work  has  not  been  beyond  your  rightful  duty,  and  that,  though  you 
have  escaped  condemnation,  30U  have  no  claim  for  any  merit." 

The  hostility  of  the  Rabbis  was  growing  daily  more  bitter,  after 
each  fruitless  attack.  At  each  town  or  village  they  gathered  round 
Him,  and  harassed  him  at  every  step  by  attempts  to  compromise 
Him  with  the  authorities. 

On  one  of  these  last  days  of  His  journey  towards  Jerusalem,  a 
knot  of  Pharisees  had,  thus,  forced  themselves  on  Him,  and  sought 
to  elicit  something  that  might  serve  them,  by  asking  Him — 

"  Master,  you  have  often  represented  yourself,  both  by  word  and  by 
mighty  deeds,  as  the  Messiah,  but  we  see  no  signs  as  yet  of  the  com- 
ing of  the  kingdom  of  God.  When  will  it  come?  It  has  been  long 
promised. " 

"The  kingdom  of  God,"  answered  Jesus,  "is  something  entirely 
different  from  what  you  expect.      You  look  for  a  great  political 
revolution,  and  the  establishment  of  a  Jewish  empire,  with  its  capital 
in  Jerusalem.     Instead  of  this,  it  is  a  spiritual  kingdom,  in  the  hearts 
and  consciences  of  men,  and,  as  such,  cannot  come  with  the  outward 
display  and  circumstance  of  earthly  monarchy,  so  that  men  may  say, 
'Lo,  here  is  the  kingdom  of  God*,' or,  '  lo,  there.'     The  coming  of 
the  kingdom  develops  itself  unobserved.     I  cannot,  therefore,  givei 
you  any  moment  when  it  may  be  said  to  have  come,  for,  in  fact,  it! 
is  already  in  your  midst.    I,  the  Messiah,  live  and  work  amongst  you,  * 
and  where  the  Messiah  is,  there  is  His  kingdom.     There,  already,  is 
it  steadily  advancing,  after  its  nature,  like  the  seed  in  the  ground, 
like  the  grain  of  mustard-seed,  or,  like  the  leaven  in  a  woman's 
measure  of  meal. " 

The  malevolent  question  thus  met  a  reply  which  at  once  balked 
curiosity,  and  laid  on  all  the  most  solemn  responsibilities;  for  if  the 
Messiah  was  really  among  them,  how  imperative  to  fit  tkemselves  for 


63«  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

entering  His  kingdom !  The  interrogators,  finding  their  sinister  effort 
Tali,  presently  left,  and,  when  thus  alone,  Jesus  resumed  the  subject 
with  His  disciples. 

"I  have  only  spoken  to  taese  men,"  said  He,  "  of  the  growth  and 
development  of  my  kingdom,  unseen,  and  silently,  in  the  hearts  of 
men.  To  you  I  would  now  speak  of  the  future.  Days  will  come 
when  trouble  shall  make  men's  hearts  long  for  one  of  the  days  of  the 
kifon  of  Man  back  again,  and  false  Messiahs  will  rise,  pretending  to 
bring  deliverance.  But  when  they  say  to  you,  '  Lo.  there  isihe 
.Messiah  come  at  last,'  or,  '  Lo.  here  He  is,'  go  not  out  after  them:  do 
not  follow  them.  For  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  Man  will  be  as 
fuddcn,  as  striking  to  all  eyes,  as  mighty  in  its  power,  as  when  the 
L'ghtning  leaps  from  the  cloud  and  suddenly  sets  the  whole  heavens 
in  fiame.  There  is  no  need  of  asking  of  the  lightning  '  Where  is  it  ? ' 
t  T  for  any  to  tell  you  of  it. 

■'  But  this  coming  will  not  be  now.  I  must  first  suffer  many  things 
from  this  generation,  and  be  rejected  b\'  it.  Far  from  approaching 
\vith  slow  royal  pomp,  seen  and  welcomed  from  afar:  far  from  the 
world  hailing  my  coming,  and  preparing  for  it,  as  for  that  of  an  ex- 
pected king:  they  will  be  busied  in  their  ordinary-  affairs  when  it  is 
1  earest;  till,  suddenly,  wide  ruin  and  judgment  burst  on  them,  as  the 
flood  on  the  men  of  the  days  of  Xoah,  anci  the  fire  from  heaven  on 
Sodom,  in  the  days  of  Lot,  liringing  destruction  on  all.  3Ien  lived  in 
security  then;  thi-y  ate  and  drank;  they  married  and  gave  in  marriage, 
•with  no  thought  or  preparation  for  the  impending  catastrophe. 

' '  It  will  be  the  same  at  my  coming.  Men  will  be  as  secure ;  the 
day  will  burst  on  them  as  suddenly,  when  I  shall  be  revealed  in  my 
glon,-.  "When  it  comes,  there  will  be  an  awful  and  instant  separation 
of  man  from  man.  The  good  and  evil  will  no  longer  be  mixed  to- 
gether, lie  who  would  save  himself  must,  on  the  moment,  part 
from  those  whom  the  peril  threatens.  lie  who  lives  in  a  town,  must, 
as  the  destruction  approaches,  so  hasten  his  flight,  that  if  he  be  on 
the  housetop  when  it  draws  near,  he  must  not  think  of  going  into  the 
house  to  save  anything,  but  must  flee,  at  the  loss  of  all  earthly  pos- 
sessions. He  who  is  in  the  open  field,  must  not  turn  back  to  his 
house  for  his  goods,  but  must  leave  all  behind  him,  and  escape  with 
his  life.  You  hear  my  words:  see  that,  in  that  day,  you  give  heed  to 
them.  Remember  Lot's  wife,  who  perished  for  looking  back,  in  dis- 
obedience to  the  divine  command.  Vrhosoever,  in  that  day,  shall 
eeek  to  preserve  his  life,  by  unfaithfulness  to  me,  shall  lose  life 
eternal,  and  he  who  loses  this  life  for  my  sake,  will  secure  heaven  for 
ever. 

"The  separation  of  men,  at  my  coming,  will,  indeed,  be  solemn! 
Those  who  sj>ent  this  life  together,  Avill  then  find  themselves  parted 
for  everl  I  tell  you,  in  that  night  there  will  be  two  men  in  one  bed; 
one  wUl  be  taken,  and  the  other  left ;  two  poor  slaves  will  Le  grinding 
floor  for  tb«  hoiuehold  together ;  one  will  be  tak«a  and  the  other  left, " 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  630 

The  Twelve  had  listened  with  breathless  attention  to  this  vLsion  of 
the  future.  Thev  had  heard  much  that  was  new,  grand,  and  fearful, 
and  they  trembled  wi^h  a  natural  fear  at  the  awful  picture  set  before 
them.  "Where,  Lord,"  asked  they,  "will  tlie  Messiah  gather  His 
own,  that  they  may  be  safe?  Where  is  the  refuge  in  which  those 
who  love  Thee  will  be  received  in  that  day?" 

•'Who  says  to  the  eagle,"  replied  Jesus,  "where  the  carcase  is? 
His  keen  eyes  see  it  from  afar.  Where  the  Messiah  will  be,  and 
■where  the  gathering  place  for  the  saved  will  be,  they  will  see  from 
afar  for  whom  it  is  provided,  and  with  swift  flight  will  betake 
themselves  thither." 

The  momentous  earnestness  with  which  Jesus  had  so  often  spoken 
of  the  difficulty  of  being  truly  His  disciple  had  sunk  into  the  hearts  of 
many  who  heard  it,  and  the  free  access  to  Himself  He  permitted, 
must  often  have  been  used  to  seek  counsel  on  a  point  so  momentous. 
It  was,  moreover,  a  passion  with  the  Jew  to  speculate  on  every  ques- 
tion of  theologj',  as  is  seen  in  the  vast  system  elaborated  by  the  Rabbis, 
The  mysteries  "of  the  future  world  especially  engrossed  them.  By  the 
multitude  it  was  taken,  for  granted  that  every  Israelite,  as  such, 
would  have  a  portion  in  heaven,  but  there  were  not  a  few  others 
who,  like  Esdras,  fancied  that  "The  Most  High  had  made  this  world 
for  many,  but  the  world  to  come  for  few :  as  He  had  made  much 
'common  earth,  but  little  gold."  One  in  whom  His  words  had  raised 
such  questions,  took  advantage,  about  this  time,  of  His  readiness  to 
listen  to  their  doubts  and  inquiries,  to  ask  Him  if  more  than  a  few 
only  would  be  saved,  since  He  had  said  it  was  so  hard  to  be  His  fol- 
lovver.  Instead  of  answering,  directly,  a  question  which  could  only 
gratify  curiosity,  Jesus,  ever  practical,  gave  His  reply  a  turn  which 
was  much  more  useful. 

"  It  would  benefit  you  little,"  said  He,  "if  I  answered  your  ques- 
tion as  you  wish:  the  great  matter  for  you  is  that  many  will  not  be 
saved,  so  that  it  becomes  you  to  strive'  with  intense  earnestness,  to 
enter  in  through  the  narrow'door  that  leads  to  eternal  life ;  for  many, 
I  say  unto  you,  who  would  like  to  enter  at  last,  but  do  not  thus 
strive  now,  will  seek  to  do  so  when  too  late  and  will  not  be  admitted. 
If  once  you  be  shut  out  from  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  you  will 
in  vain  plead  your  external  connection  with  me  now.  When  the 
great  banquet  of  heaven  begins,  the  Messiah  will  cause  the  door  of 
the  banqueting  hall  to  be  shut.  If  ye,  then,  come  to  it  and  knock  at 
the  door,  saying  'Lord,  open  to  us,'  He  will  an.swer  from  within,  'I 
know  you  not,  whence  vou  are.'  If  you  urge  that  He  has  forgotten 
you.  and  that,  if  He  will  bethink  Him.  He  will  recollect  that  you  ate 
and  drank  in  His  presence,  as  companions  at  the  same  table,  and  that 
He  had  taught  in  your  streets.  He  will  only  answer,  '  I  tell  you  I 
know  you  not,  whence  ye  are.  Depart  from  me,  all  ye  workers  of 
unrighteousness. ' 

"  What  weeping  and  gnashing  of  t««th  will  ba  th«re  u  y«  staa^l, 


640  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

thus,  and  see  Abraham,  and  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  and  all  the  prophets, 
in  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  yourselves  cast  out !  What  wailing, 
when  you  see,  instead  of  yourselves,  the  heathen  you  have  so  de- 
spised, come  from  the  east,  and  west,  and  north,  and  south,  and  sit 
down  at  the  great  feast  of  heaven.  Believe  me,  there  are  many  who, 
now,  before  the  setting  up  of  my  kingdom,  are  first,  who,  after  it  is 
Bet  up,  will  be  last;  many,  like  the  heathen  who  shall  enter  to  the 
feast,  who  will  become  my  disciples  only  late,  and  shall  yet  take  a 
first  place  in  my  kingdom.  See  that  ye  press  on  while  the  door  is 
still  open  to  admit  you." 

Jesus  had  now  been  for  some  time  in  Perea,  in  the  territory  of 
Antipas,  the  murderer  of  John.  The  intense  unpopularity  of  the 
crime  had,  doubtless,  been  a  protection  to  Him,  but  there  were  many 
reasons  why  such  a  man  should  wish  the  great  Wonder  Worker, 
whom  he  personally  feared  so  much,  as,  perhaps,  the  murdered  Bap- 
tist, risen  from  the  dead,  fairly  out  of  his  dominions.  Unwilling  to 
appear  in  the  matter,  he  used  the  Pharisees,  counting  on  their  readi- 
ness to  further  his  end  of  getting  rid  of  Him.  Some  of  their  number, 
therefore,  came  to  Him,  with  the  air  of  friends  anxious  for  His  safety, 
and  warned  Him  that  it  would  be  well  for  Him  to  leave  Perea  as 
quickly  as  possible,  as  Herod  desired  to  kill  Him. 

Jesus  at  once  saw  through  the  whole  design,  as  a  crafty  plan  of 
Herod  himself  to  expel  Him.  He  was  on  His  way  to  Jerasalem,  and 
contented  Himself  with  showing  that  He  gave  no  grounds  for  politi- 
cal suspicion,  and  that  He  quite  well  understood  how  little  friendship 
there  was  in  the  advice  the  Pharisees  had  given  Him. 

"Go  and  tell  that  crafty  fox, "said  He,  "that  I  know  why  he  is 
afraid  of  me,  and  wishes  me  out  of  his  land.  Tell  him  there  is  no 
cause  for  his  alarm,  for  I  do  nothing  to  wake  his  suspicions.  I  have 
no  designs  that  can  injure  him,  but  confine  myself  to  driving  demons 
from  poor  men  possessed  with  them,  and  to  healing  the  sick.  These 
harmless  labours  I  shall  not  intermit  till  the  time  Ihave  fixed  to  give 
to  them  is  over.  It  will  take  three  days  more  to  pass  quite  out  of 
Perea,  and  for  these  three  days  I  shall  be  in  his  territory,  but  on  the 
third  day  I  leave  it,  for  I  am  now  on  my  way  to  Jerusalem,  to  die 
there.  Herod  will  not  need  to  trouble  himself  to  kill  jne,  for  it 
would  be  unfitting  for  a  prophet  to  die  outside  the  holy  city."  Such 
a  message  was  virtually  an  intimation  that  He  knew  that  it  would  be 
by  the  hands  of  those  who  pretended  kindly  to  warn  Him,  and  their 
allies,  that  He  should  perish,  and  not  by  those  of  Antipas. 

The  word  Jerusalem,  and  the  thought  of  the  guilt  of  the  cit}'  so 
tenderly  loved  by  Him — guilt  soon  to  be  increased  by  His  violent 
death  at  its  hand,  filled  His  heart  with  deep  irrepressible  emotion. 

"O  Jerusalem!  Jerusalem."  cried  He,  in  a  louder  voice,  trembling 
with  sadness — "it  is  thou,  the  City  of  the  Temple,  the  City  of  the 
Great  King,  who  killest  the  prophets,  and  stonest  those  whom  God 
sends  unto  iLetl  Thou  axt  stiJI  true  t©  thine  evil  repute!   How  often. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  641 

oh,  how  often,  thou  mother  of  many  cliildren,  would  I  have  gathered 
them  all  round  me  SJifeh',  from  the  dangers  before  them ;  as  the  careful 
hen  calls  together  her  lirood  when  the  shadow  of  evil  falls  near,  and 
spreads  her  wings  over  them,  and  guards  them  from  every  harm  I 
But  thou  wouldst  not  let  me  do  thee  this  service.  For  what  shall 
come  on  thee  thou  must,  thyself,  bear  the  blame!  The  divine  pro- 
tection I  would  have  given  thee  tliou  hast  refused  and  hast  lost,  not 
will  I  appear  in  thy  desolation  as  thy  helper.  Thou  wilt  not  see  ma 
till  I  come  to  set  up  in  thee  my  Kingdom,  and  receive  thy  homage, 
no  longer  to  be  denied, — as  the  Messiah,  the  Blessed,  who  comes  in 
the  name  of  the  Lord!" 


CHAPTER  LIV. 
IN  PEREA — {Continued). 

The  lofty  demands  of  Jesus  from  His  followers  had  filled  the 
TwL'lve  with  doubts  and  misgivitigs  of  their  power  to  fulfil  them.  A 
continuous  self-denial,  which  thought  only  of  their  Ma.ster,  and  a 
patient  love  which  returned  meekness  and  good  for  evil  and  injury, 
were  graces  slowly  attained;  how  much  more  so  when  they  could 
only  strike  root  in  the  heart  after  the  dislodgement  of  hereditary  prej- 
udices and  modes  of  thought? 

A  sense  of  weakness  had  already  led  them  to  ask  that  their  faith  in 
Jesus  as  the  Messiah;  able  to  aid  them  in  all  their  straits  and  trials; 
might  be  strengthened.  The  utterance  of  that  faith  in  prayer  was  no 
less  necessary,  at  once  to  obtain  the  grace  needed  to  bear  them  through 
difficulties,  and  to  raise  them  to  a  steadfast  confidence  in  the  tri- 
umphant manifestation  of  their  Master's  Kingdom,  of  which  He  had 
more  than  once  spoken.  Lest  they  should  grow  slack  in  this  great 
duty,  He  reminded  them  that  their  whole  frame  of  mind  should  be 
one  of  habitual  devotion,  that  they  might  not  become  faint-hearted, 
and  give  way  before  the  trials  they  mi^ht  have  to  suffer,  or  at  the 
seemmg  delay  in  His  coming.  His  words,  as  usual,  took  the  form  of 
a  parable. 

"Tiiere  was  in  a  city,"  said  He,  "a  judge,  who  neither  feared  God 
nor  reverenced  man.  And  there  was  also  a  widow  in  that  city  who 
had  an  enemy  from  whom  she  could  hope  to  get  free  only  by  the  in- 
terposition of  the  judge.  So  she  came  often  to  him,  asking  him  to  do 
justice  to  her,  and  maintain  her  right  against  her  adversary.  But  he 
paid  no  attention,  for  a  long  time,  to  her  suit.  At  last,  however,  ho 
could  bear  her  constant  coming  no  longer,  and  said  within  himself — 
'  Though  I  should  do  it  as  my  duty,  that  does  not  trouble  me,  for  I  do 
not  pretend  to  fear  God,  and  care  nothing  for  man.  Yet  this  widow 
torments  me.  I  shall  therefore  do  what  is  right  in  her  case  for  my 
own  sake,  for  otherwise  she  will  perfectly  weary  me  by  her  constaat 
appeals. ' 


64a  THE  LIFE  OF  CIirJST. 

"So,  the  widow,  by  her  importunity,  obtained  her  end,  at  last. 
_  "Hear  what  the  unjust  judge  says!  But  if  men  thus  get  what  i« 
right,  even  from  the  worst,  if  they  urge  their  suit  long  enough,  with 
Bufflcient  earnestness;  how  can  any  one  doubt  that  God,  the  Righteous 
One,  will  give  heed  to  the  cry  of  His  Saints  for  all  they  have  to  suffer? 
Will  He  not  much  rather,  though  He  let  the  enemy  rage  for  what 
seems  a  long  time,  surely,  at  the  great  day,  avenge  the  wrongs  of  His 
elect,  who  are  so  dear  to  Him,  and  thus  cry  in  prayer  night  and  day? 

"I  tell  you,  He  will  be  patient  towards  them,  though  they  thus  cry 
to  Him  continually,  for  He  is  not  wearied  with  their  complaints,  as 
the  unjust  judge  was  with  those  of  the  widow;  and  He  will  deliver 
them  from  their  enemies,  without  and  within,  and  give  them  a  portion 
in  the  Kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  and  that  speedily.  For  when  the  Mes- 
siah comes  it  will  seem  as  if  the  waiting  for  Him  had  only  been  brief. 
But  when  He  thus  comes,  will  He  find  any  who  still  look  for  Him, 
and  believe  that  the  promise  of  His  return  will  be  fullilled  ?  Will  my 
disciples  endure  to  the  end;  or  can  it  be  that  they  will  fall  away  be- 
fore all  their  trials?" 

To  one  of  these  last  days  in  Perea  we  are  indebted  for  the  parable 
of  the  Pharisee  and  the  Publican.  Jesus  had  spoken  much  of  prayer, 
but  the  religion  of  the  day  was  so  largely  mechanical,  that  they  were 
in  danger  of  mistaking  the  outward  form  for  the  substance.  Only 
repeated  lessons  could  guard  them  from  the  lifeless  formality  of  the 
Rabbis,  with  whom  the  most  sacred  duties  had  sunk  to  cold  outward 
rites.  Self-righteous  pride,  moreover,  was  the  characteristic  of  nmch 
of  the  current  religiousness,  and  was,  in  fact,  a  natural  result  of  the 
externalism  prevailing.  To  show  the  true  nature  of  devotion  pleasing 
to  God,  He  related  the  following  parable : — 

"Two  men,"  said  He,  "went  up  at  the  same  time,  the  hour  of 
prayer,  to  the  Temple,  to  pray.  The  one  was  a  Pharisee,  the  other  a 
Publican.  The  Pharisee,  who  had  seen  the  Publican  enter  the  Temple 
with  him,  stood  apart;  his  eyes  towards  the  Holy  of  Holies,  and  began 
to  pray  thus — 'O  God,  I  thank  Thee  that  I  do  not  belong  to  the  com- 
mon multitude  of  mankind,  whom  Thou  hast  rejected — to  the  covet- 
ous, the  unjust,  the  adulterous.  I  thank  Thee  that  I  am  not  what  so 
many  men  are,  what  this  Publican,  here  before  Thee,  is.  He  knows 
nothing  of  fasting  or  of  tithes,  but  I  fast  every  Monday  and  every 
Thursday,  and  I  give  the  Priests  and  Levites  the  tenth,  not  on'y^  of  all 
I  have,  but  of  all  I  may  gain,  which  is  more  than  the  Law  requires.' 

"The  I*ublican,  meanwhile,  feeling  that  he  was  a  sinner,  st<  pped 
far  behind  the  Pharisee,  coming  no  further  into  the  sacred  courl,  than 
ite  very  edge;  for  he  shrank  from  a  near  approach  to  God.  Nor  could 
he  dare,  in  his  lowly  penitence,  to  lift  up  so  much  as  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  far  less  his  head  and  his  hands,  but,  with  bent  head,  smote  on 
bis  breast  in  his  sorrow,  and  said — 'God  be  merciful  to  me  the  sinner.' 

"The  Pharisee  had  offered  only  a  proud,  cold  thanksgiving  for  his 
own  merits;  the  Publican  an  humble  cry  for  mercy. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  64S 

"Believe  me,  this  Publican,  whom  the  Pharisee  gave  a  place  among 
the  extortionate,  the  unjust  and  the  impure,  received  favour  from 
God,  and  returned  to  his  home  forgiven  and  accepted ;  but  the  Phari- 
see went  away  unjustified.  For,  as  I  have  often  said,  every  one  who 
thinks  highly  of  himself  in  religious  things  will  be  humbled  before 
God,  and  he  who  humbies^imself  will  be  honoured  before  Him." 

Among  the  questions  of  the  day  fiercely  debated  between  the  great 
rival  schools  of  Hillel  and  Schammai,  no  one  was  more  so  than  that 
of  divorce.  The  school  of  Hillel  contended  that  a  man  had  a  right  to  < 
divorce  his  wife  for  any  cause  he  might  assign,  if  it  were  no  more  than! 
his  having  ceased  to  love  her,  or  his  having  seen  one  he  liked  better, 
or  her  having  cooked  a  dinner  badly.  The  school  of  Schammai,  on 
the  contrary,  held  that  divorce  could  be  issued  only  for  the  crime  of 
adultery,  and  offences  against  chastity.  If  it  were  possible  to  get 
Jesus  to  pronounce  in  favour  of  either  school,  the  hostility  of  the 
other  would  be  roused,  and,  hence,  it  seemed  a  favourable  chance  for 
compromising  Him,  to  broach  this  subject  for  His  opinion.' 

Some  of  the  Pharisees,  therefore,  took  an  opportunity  of  raising  the 
question.  "  Is  it  lawful,"  they  asked,  "to  put  away  one's  wife,  when 
a  man  thinks  fit,  for  any  cause  he  is  pleased  to  assign?  Or,  do  you 
think  there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule?" 

There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  lofty  morality  of  Jesus  would 
condemn  a  mere  human  custom  which  was  corrupting  the  whole  civil 
and  domestic  life  of  the  nation,  and  undermining  all  honour,  chastitj% 
and  love.  He  had  already  answered  the  question  fully,  in  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount,  in  which  He  had  taught  that  arbitrary  divorce  was  not 
permitted;  but  that  was  long  since,  and  He  was  now  in  a  different 
part  of  the  country.  It  was  quite  in  accordance  with  the  habit  of  the 
day  to  appeal  to  any  Rabbi  on  a  disputed  religious  question,  or  scruple, 
on  lighter  or  weightier  points;  it  gratified  the  imiversal  love  for  contro- 
versy, and  gave  an  oi^portunity  for  showing  dialectical  wit  and  sharp- 
ness.    But  tlie  questioners  gained  little  by  trying  their  skill  on  Jesus. 

"Have  you  never  read,"  answered  He,  " that  the  Creator  of  men 
made  man  and  woman  at  the  same  time,  in  the  very  beginning  of  our 
race,  and  gave  them  to  each  other  as  husband  and  wife?  And  do  you 
not  know  that  so  intimate  was  the  relation  thus  instituted,  that,  close 
though  the  connection  be  between  parents  and  children,  'jrod  has  said 
that  that  between  man  and  wife  is  so  much  closer,  that  a  son,  who, 
before,  was  under  his  parents,  and  was  bound  more  closely  to  them 
than  to  any  other  persons  in  the  world,  is  to  separate  himself  from  his 
father  and  mother  when  he  marries,  and  to  form  a  still  nearer  rela- 
tionship with  his  wife — such  a  relationship  that  the  two  shall  become, 
as  it  were,  one.  As  soon  as  a  man  and  woman  are  married,  therefore, 
the  two  make,  together,  only  one  being.  But  since  it  is  God  who  has 
joined  them  thus,  divorce  is  the  putting  asunder  by  man  of  what  God 
has  made  into  one.  Marriage  is  a  sacred  union,  and  man  is  not  to 
regard  it  as  something  which  he  can  undo  at  his  pleasure." 


644  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Nothing  could  be  said  against  this  from  natural  grounds,  but  the 
objection  lay  ready  tliat  the  Law  of  Moses  was  not  so  strict,  and  a 
])rospect  offered  of  forcing  Jesus  citlier  to  contradict  Himself,  or  to 
pronounce  openly  against  the  great  founder  of  the  nation.  "  If  this 
be  so,"  said  they,  "how  comes  it  that  Moses  permitted  a  man  to  di- 
vorce his  wife?  for  you  know  that  he  says  that  writings  of  divorce- 
ment might  be  given  where  a  divorce  was  wished,  and  these  dis- 
solved the  man'iage. " 

"Moses,"  replied  our  Lor3,  "did,  indeed,  suffer  you  to  put  away 
your  wives,  to  prevent  a  greater  evil.  He  did  so  as  a  statesman  and 
a  law -giver,  from  the  necessities  of  the  age,  which  made  any  better 
law  impracticable.  Our  fathers  were  too  rude  and  headstrong  to  per- 
mit his  doing  more.  But,  though  he  did  not  prohibit  divorce,  be- 
cause the  feelings  of  the  times  did  not  allow  him  to  do  so,  it  does  not 
follow  from  this  that  his  action  in  this  matter  was  the  original 
law  of  the  Creator,  or  that  conscience  and  religion  sanction  such 
separation's.  I  say,  therefore,  that  whoever  puts  away  his  wife,  ex- 
cept for  fornication,  which  destroys  the  very  essence  of  marriage  by 
dissolving  the  oneness  it  had  formed,  and  shall  marry  another,  com- 
mits adultery;  and  whoever  marries  her  who  is  put  away  for  any 
other  cause  commits  adultery,  because  the  woman  is  still,'  in  God's 
sight,  wife  of  him  who  has  divorced  her. " 

This  statement  was  of  far  deeper  moment  than  the  mere  silencing 
of  malignant  spies.  It  was  designed  to  set  forth  for  all  ages  the  law 
of  His  New  Kingdom  in  the  supreme  matter  of  family  life.  It  swept 
away  for  ever  from  His  Society  the  conception  of  woman  as  a  mere 
toy  or  slave  of  man,  and  based  true  relations  of  the  sexes  on  the 
eternal  foundation  of  truth,  right,  honour,  and  love.  To  ennoble  the 
House  and  the  Family  by  raising  woman  to  her  true  position  was 
essential  to  the  future  stability  of  His  Kingdom,  as  one  of  purity  and 
spiritual  worth.  By  making  marriage  indissoluble  He  proclaimed 
the  equal  rights  of  woman  and  man  within  the  limits  of  the  family, 
and,  in  this,  gave  their  charter  of  nobility  to  the  mothers  of  the  world. 
For  her  nobler  position  in  the  Christian  era,  compared  with  that 
gTanted  her  in  antiquity,  woman  is  indebted  to  Jesus  Christ. 

When  an  opportunity  offered,  the  disciples  asked  f\iller  instruction 
on  a  matter  so  grave.  Cu.stoms  or  opinions,  supported,  apparently, 
by  a  national  law,  and  that  law  divine ;  customs,  the  rightness  of 
which  has  never  before  been  doubted,  are  hard  to  uproot,  however 
good  the  grounds  on  which  they  are  challenged.  Hence,  even  the 
Twelve  felt  the  strictness  of  the  new  law  introduced  by  their  Master 
respecting  marriage,  and  frankly  told  Him,  that  if  a  man  were  bound 
to  his  wife  as  He  had  said,  it  seemed  to  them  better  not  to  many. 

"  With  respect  to  marrying  or  not  marrying,"  replied  C3Jirist, 
"  j'our  saying  that  it  is  good  for  a  man  not  to  do  so  is  one  which 
cannot  be  received  by  all  men,  but  only  by  those  to  whom  the  moral 
fower  to  act  on  it  has  been  given  bj  God.     Some  do  not  marry  from 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  645 

natural  causes,  and  there  are  some  who  voluntarily  keep  in  the  single 
state,  that  they  may  give  themselves  with  an  entire  devotion  to  tlie  ser- 
vice of  my  Kingdom.  Let  him  among  you  who  feels  able  to  act  on  the 
lofty  principle  of  denying  himself  the  nobility  and  holiness  of  family 
life,  that  he  may  with  more  entire  devotion  consecrate  himself  to  my 
service,  do  so."  Self-sacrifice,  in  this,  as  in  all  things,  was  left  by 
Jesus  to  the  conscience  and  heart.  Even  His  apostles  were  left  free 
to  marry  or  remain  single,  as  they  chose,  nor  can  any  depreciation  of 
the  married  state  be  wrung  from  His  words,  except  by  a  manifest 
perversion  of  their  spirit.    . 

It  is  significant  that,  in  the  South  as  in  Galilee,  the  mothers  of 
households,  though  not  expressly  named,  turned  with  peculiar  ten- 
derness and  reverence  to  the  new  Prophet  and  Rabbi.  They  were 
doubtless  encouraged  to  do  so  by  the  sight  of  the  women  who  now, 
as  always,  accompanied  Him  on  His  journeys ;  but  the  goodness  that 
beamed  in  His  looks,  and  breathed  in  His  every  word,  drew  them 
still  more.  Indifferent  to  the  hard  and  often  worthless  disputes  and 
questions  which  engaged  the  other  sex,  they  sought  only  a  blessing 
on  the  loved  ones  of  their  hearts  and  homes,  contented  if  Jesus 
would  lay  His  hands  on  their  infants,  and  utter  over  them  a  word  of 
blessing. 

A  beautiful  custom  led  parents  to  bring  their  children  at  an  early 
age  to  the  Synagogue,  that  they  might  have  the  prayers  and  blessings 
of  the  elders.  "After  the  father  of  the  child,"  says  the  Talmud, 
"  had  laid  his  hands  on  his  child's  head,  he  led  him  to  the  elders,  one 
by  one.  and  they  also  blessed  him,  and  prayed  that  he  might  grow 
up  famous  in  the  Law,  faithful  in  marriage,  and  abundant  in  good 
works."  Children  were  thus  brought,  also,  to  any  Rabbi  of  special 
holiness,  and  hence  they  had  been  presented  already  more  than  once 
before  Jesus.  Now,  on  this.  His  last  journey,  little  children  were 
again  brought  to  Him  that  He  might  put  His  hands  on  them,  and 
pray  for  a  blessing  on  their  future  life.  To  the  disciples,  however,  it 
seemed  only  troubling  their  Master,  and  they  chid  the  parents  for 
bringing  them.  But  the  feeling  of  Christ  to  children  was  very  differ- 
ent from  theirs.  To  look  into  their  innocent  artless  eyes  must  have 
been  a  relief  after  endming  those  of  spies  and  malignant  enemies.  He 
Himself  had  the  ideal  childlike  spirit,  and  He  delighted  to  see  in  little 
ones  His  own  image.  Purity,  truthfulness,  simplicity,  sincerity,  do- 
cility, and  loving  dependence  shone  out  on  Him  from  them,  and  made 
them  at  all  times  His  favourite  types  for  His  followers.  The  Apostles 
needed  the  lessons  their  characteristics  impressed,  and  though  He 
had  enforced  them  before.  He  gladly  took  every  opportunity  of  ro^ 
peating  them. 

"Let  the  little  children  come  to  me," said  Jesus,  "and  do  not  for- 
bid them,  for  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  given  only  to  such  as  have  a 
childlike  spirit  and  nature  like  theirs."  Instead  of  being  too  youn^ 
for  the  bestowal  of  His  blessing,  He  saw  in  their  simplicity  and  in»»- 


646  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

cence  the  fond  earnest  of  the  character  He  sought  to  reproduce  in 
mankind.  The  citizens  of  His  Kingdom  must  become  like  them  by 
change  of  heart  and  a  lowly  spiritual  life.  Stooping  down,  there- 
fore, He  took  them  vip  in  His  arms,  put  His  hands  on  them,  and 
blessed  them.  Even  the  least  incidents  were  thus  ever  turned  to  the 
highest  uses. 

The  need  of  this  childlike  spirit,  and  the  sad  results  of  its  absence, 
must  have  been  brought  home  to  the  Apostles  by  an  occurrence  in 
their  next  day's  journey.  Starting  southwards,  on  the  way  to  Jeru- 
j/salem,  a  young  man,  whose  exemplary  character  had  already  made 
I  him  a  ruler  of  the  local  synagogue,  came  running  after  Him,  and, 
approaching  Him  with  great  respect,  kneeled  before  Him,  as  was 
usual  before  a  venerated  Rabbi.  "Teacher,"  said  he,  "I  shall 
f;reatly  thank  Thee  if  Thou  wilt  ease  my  mind.  I  have  laboured 
diligently  to  do  good  works  of  all  kinds  prescribed  by  the  Law,  but 
I  do  not  feel  satisfied  that  I  have  done  enough ;  so  am  not  sure, 
after  all,  that  I  shall  inherit  eternal  life  in  the  kingdom  of  the  Mes- 
siah.    Pray,  tell  me  Avhat  special  good  work  can  I  do  to  secure  this?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  what  is  right  to  do?"  answered  Jesus. 
' '  Your  question  is  superfluous,  for  it  answers  itself.  There  is  only 
one  Absolute  Good — that  is,  God.  The  good  act  respecting  which 
you  inquire  can  be  nothing  else  than  perfect  obedience  to  His  holy 
vvilL  If  you  really  would  enter  into  life  eternal,  you  must  keep  the 
Commandments  given  thee  by  Him." 

The  young  man  expected  to  hear  some  new  and  special  commands, 
requiring  unwonted  pains,  and  securing  correspondingly  great  merit 
by  faul'jcss  obedience.  The  answer  of  Jesus  was  too  general  to  help 
him  in  this.  He,  therefore,  asked — What  commands  He  particularly 
meant. 

To  his  astonishment  and  mortification,  instead  of  naming  some 
ceremonial  injunctions,  as  the  Rabbis  would  have  done,  Jesus  simply 
q;iotcd  some  of  the  well-known  commandments  of  the  Second  Table 
— "Thou  shalt  not  kill,"  "Thou  shalt  not  conunit  adultery,"  " Thou 
.slialt  not  steal,"  "Thou  shalt  not  bear  false  "witness.,"  "Honour  thy 
father  and  thy  mother,"  closing  the  list  with  the  greatest  of  all — • 
"  Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself,"  which  was  thus  put  last 
as  the  one  by  which  He  intended  to  bring  the  young  man  to  the  test. 

These  were  only  the  common  duties  required  of  all  men,  and,  as 
stich,  had  a  conventional  fulfilment  which  satisfied  human  standards. 
Their  scope  was  very  different,  however,  in  the  eyes  of  Jesus,  and 
this  the  young  man  presently  felt. 

His  upright  and  hone&i  life  brought  no  blush  at  the  enumeration. 
Without  pride,  except  the  secret  pride  of  self-righteousness,  and  with 
all  reverent  docility,  he  replied: 

"  I  believe  I  can  say  that  I  have  strictly  kept  all  these  commands. 
In  what  respect  do  I  still  come  short?" 

The  question  itself  revealed  his  spiritual  deficiencies.     It  showed 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  64» 

that,  however  sincere  in  his  efforts  after  siich  a  life  as  would  8ecui<i 
heaven,  he  had  not  risen  above  the  outward  service  of  the  letter,  and 
had  realized  neither  the  spirit  of  the  commandments  as  a  whole,  nor, 
in  particular,  the  infinite  breadth  of  that  which  enjoined  love  to  his 
neighbour.  Had  he  seen  this  in  its  true  grandeur,  it  would  have 
hinted  a  higher  moral  task  than  merely  legal  conceptions  of  duty  had 
taught  him.  and  have  supplied,  at  the  same  time,  an  impulse  towards 
its  fulfilment. 

Jesus  read  his  heart  in  a  moment,  and  was  won  by  the  guileless- 
ness  of  his  answer  and  question,  and  by  the  evident  worth  of  his 
character.  As  He  looked  at  him,  so  earnest,  so  humble,  so  admirable 
in  his  life  and  spirit.  He  loved  him.  Could  he  only  stand  the  testing 
demand  that  must  now  be  made,  he  would  pass  into  the  citizenship 
of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

"You  lack  one  thing  yet,"  said  Jesus,  therefore,  "if  you  really 
wish  to  be  perfect.  Had  you  understood  the  commands  of  God  in 
their  depth  and  breadth,  you  would  not  have  asked  if  you  could  do 
anything  more  than  you  had  done;  their  living  power  in  you  would 
have  suggested  continually  fresh  duties.  When  j'ou  ask  me  to  tell 
you  what  next  to  do,  it  shows  that  you  think  only  of  tasks  imposed 
from  without,  and  do  not  act  from  a  principle  in  j'our  own  soul.  If 
your  desire  for  eternal  life  be  supreme,  as  it  ought  to  be — go  home, 
sell  all  that  you  have,  and  give  what  you  get  for  it  to  the  poor,  and 
instead  of  the  earthly  riches  thus  given  in  charity,  you  will  have 
treasure  in  heaven.  Then,  come  to  me,  be  my  disciple,  and  bear  your 
cross  after  me,  as  I  bear  mine." 

The  demand,  great  though  it  seems,  was  exactly  suited  to  the  par- 
ticular case.  It  was  a  special  test  in  a  special  instance,  though  under- 
neath it  laj^  the  unconditional  self-sacrifice,  and  self^urrender  for 
Christ,  required  from  all  His  disciples.  It  could  not  fan  to  bring  the 
young  man  to  a  clearer  self-knowledge,  and  thus,  to  a  wholly  new 
conception  of  what  true  religion  demanded.  The  only  way  to  lead 
him  to  a  healthier  moral  state  was  to  humble  him,  by  a  disclosure  of 
weakness  hitherto  unsuspected.  He  had  fancied  himself  willing  to 
do  whatever  could  be  required:  he  could  now  see  if  he  really  were  so. 
He  had  thought  he  cared  for  nothing  in  comparison  with  gaining 
heaven :  he  could  now  judge  for  himself  if  he  had  not  erred. 

It  might  have  been  hoped  that  this  lofty  counsel,  the  repetition  of 
that  which  h;id  been  so  often  given  to  others  before,  would  have 
roused  one  so  earnest  to  a  noble  enthusiasm,  before  which  all  lower 
thoughts  would  have  lost  their  power.  The  love  he  had  inspired  in 
Jesus  must  have  shown  itself  towards  him  in  everj'  look  and  tone: 
there  must  have  been  every  desire  to  attract  and  win :  none  to  repel. 
But  the  one  absolute,  constant  condition  of  acceptance  demanded 
from  all — supreme,  unrestricted  devotion  to  Himself  and  His  cause, 
and  willingness  to  Siicrifice  all  hunian  ties  and  possessions,  or  even 
life,  for  His  sake,  could  in  no  case  be  lowered.     Poor,  friendless,  ouV 


648  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

lawed,  Jesus  abated  no  jot  of  His  awful  claims,  loftier  than  human 
monarch  had  ever  dreamed  of  making,  on  all  who  sought  citizenship 
in  His  Kingdom. 

The  test  exacted  was  fatal,  at  least  for  the  time.  It  was  precisely 
that  which  the  young  man  had  least  expected,  and  was  a  tliousand 
i.imes  harder  than  any  legal  enforcements;  painful  and  protracted 
even  as  those  by  which  the  highest  grade  of  ceremonial  holiness  was 
attained.  Had  Jesus  invited  him  to  be  His  disciple  without  requiring 
the  condition  He  had  so  often  declared  indispensable,  there  woulcl 
have  been  instant,  delighted  acceptance.  But  that  could  not  be.  He 
could  not  say  "Be  my  disciple,"  till  He  had  secured  his  supreme 
devotion. 

Rich,  and  already  a  magistrate — for  Church  and  State  with  the 
Jews  were  identical — the  demand  staggered  and  overwhelmed  the 
young  man.  A  moment's  thought,  and  his  broad  acres,  and  social 
position,  which  he  must  give  up  for  ever,  if  he  would  follow  Jesus, 
raised  a  whole  army  of  hindrances  and  hesitations.  The  condition 
imposed  had  no  limitation,  but  neither  had  his  own  question  to  which 
it  was  a  reply.  He  had  been  touclied  where  weakest,  but  this  was 
exactly  what  his  repeated  request  demanded.  Why  should  Jesus 
have  asked  less  from  him  than  from  other  disciples?  It  wiis,  doubt- 
less, harder  for  a  rich  than  for  a  poor  man  to  leave  all,  but  there  must, 
in  no  case,  be  room  for  doi  bt  of  the  entire  sincerity  of  those  admitted 
as  disciples,  and  this  could  be  tested  only  by  their  readiness  to  sacri- 
fice all  to  become  so.  It  was  less,  besides,  to  demand  this,  as  things 
were,  for  discipleship  would  only  too  surely  involve,  very  soon,  not 
only  loss  of  all  earthly  goods,  but  life-long  trials,  and  even  death. 

But  the  world  got  the  better  in  the  young  man's  heart,  and  he  went 
away  sorrowful,  at  the  thought  that  he  was  voluntarily  excluding 
himself  from  the  kingdd^  of  the  Messiah.  Yet,  the  broad  acres:  the 
rich  possessions — how  could  he  give  them  up? 

' '  How  hardly  shall  they  that  have  riches  enter  into  the  kingdom 
of  God!"  said  Jesus,  as  he  went  away,  evidently  in  great  mental  dis- 
tress. "It  is  easier,"  continued  He,  "to  use  a  proverb  you  often 
hoar,  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle,  than  for  a  rich 
man  to  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God." 

The  words  fell  with  a  new  and  perplexing  sound  on  the  ears  of  the 
disciples.  Like  all  Jews,  they  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  worldly 
prosperity  as  a  special  mark  of  the  favour  of  God — for  their  ancier:t 
Scriptures  seemed  always  to  connect  the  enjoyment  of  temporal 
blessings  with  obedience  to  the  divine  law.  They  still,  moreover, 
secretljf  cherished  the  hope  of  an  earthly  kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  in 
which  riches  would  play  a  great  part,  and,  even  apart  from  all  this,  if 
it  were  hard  to  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  except  by  stooping  to 
absolute  poverty,  it  seemed  as  if  very  few  could  be  saved  at  all. 

"  Children,  how  hard  is  it  for  them  that  trust  in  riches  to  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  God,"  repeated  Jesus,  seeing  their  woader  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  649 

evident  uneasiness.  "  It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye 
of  a  needle  than  for  a  rich  man,  who  clings  to  his  riches,  to  enter  into 
the  kingdom  of  God." 

"  Who,  then,  can  be  saved?"  asked  some  of  them. 

"  With  men  it  is  impossible,"  replied  Jesus,  fixing  His  eyes  earn- 
estly on  them,  "  but  not  with  God:  for  with  God  all  things  are  pos- 
sible. He  can  bestow  heavenly  grace  to  wean  the  heart  from  worldly 
riches:  apart  from  this,  the  world  will  prevail." 

Peter,  especially,  had  listened  with  deep  attention  to  all  that  had 
passed,  and  had  been  mentally  applying  it  to  the  case  of  his  fellow 
disciples  and  himself.  Their  minds  were  still  full  of  the  Jewish  idea 
of  merit  before  God,  and  of  a  claim  to  corresponding  reward.  When 
Jesus  summoned  them  to  follow  Him,  they  had  been  exactly  in  the 
young  man's  position,  though  they  had  not  had  so  much  to  surrender. 
They  had  given  up  every  thing  for  Him,  at  His  first  invitation — their 
families,  houses,  occupations,  and  prospects.  However  little  in  them- 
selves, these  had  been  the  whole  world  to  them.  It  seemed  only 
natural,  therefore,  that  they  should  have  a  proportion  of  that  treasure 
which  Jesus  had  promised  the  young  man,  if  he  forsook  all  for  His 
sake. 

In  keeping  with  his  natural  frank  impulsiveness,  Peter  could  not 
restrain  his  thoughts,  and  asked  Jesus  directly  what  he  and  his  fellow 
Apostles  would  have  for  their  loyalty  to  Him? 

Knowing  the  honest  simplicity  of  the  Twelve,  their  Master,  instead 
of  reproving  their  boldness,  cheered  them  with  words  which  must 
have  sounded  inconceivably  grand  to  Galilsean  fishermen. 

"  Be  assured  that  at  the  final  triumph  of  my  Kingdom,  when  all 
things  shall  be  delivered  from  their  present  corruption,  and  restored, 
through  me  and  my  work,  to  the  glory  they  Imd  before  sin  entered 
the  world:  when  I,  the  now  despised  Son  of  Man,  shall  come  again, 
seated  on  the  throne  of  my  glory,  you  who  have  followed  me  in  my 
humiliation,  will  be  exalted  to  kingly  dignitj^  and  shall  sit,  each  of 
you,  on  his  throne,  to  judge  the  twelve  tribes  of  Israel.  Yea,  more: 
every  one  who  gives  up  his  brethren,  or  sisters,  or  father,  or  mother, 
or  children,  or  lands,  or  houses,  that  he  may  the  more  unreservedly 
spread  my  Gospel,  and  honour  my  name,  will  be  rewarded  a  hundred 
fold.  Even  in  this  present  life  he  will  receive  back  again  richly  all 
he  has  left :  houses,  and  brethren,  and  sisters,  and  mothers,  and  chil- 
dren ;  for  he  will  find  among  those  who  believe  in  me,  a  compensation 
for  all :  he  will  regard  and  be  allowed  f;-eely  to  use  their  means  as 
his  own,  and  be  welcomed  by  them  with  more  than  brotherly  friend- 
ship. But,  with  all  this,  he  will  have  to  bear  persecution.  In  the 
future  world,  moreover,  he  will  have  a  still  greater  reward,  for  there 
he  will  inherit  everlasting  life." 

"But, "added  He,  by  way  of  warning,  "Do  net  trust  to  your 
having  been  the  first  to  follow  me.  For  the  rewprds  of  the  kingdom 
of  heaven  will  be  like  those  given  by  a  householder  who  iSid   a 


650  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

vineyard,  and,  needing  labourers  for  it,  went  out  early  in  the  mom- 
ning  to  liire  them.  Having  found  some,  he  agreed  to  give  them 
a  denarius  a  day,  and  sent  tliem  into  tlie  vineyard.  Going  out  again 
about  the  third  hour — nine  o'clock — he  savv^  others  standing  idle  in 
the  market-place,  and  sent  them  also  into  the  vineyard,  making  no 
bargain  with  them,  however,  but  bidding  them  trust  him  that  he 
would  give  them  what  was  just.  He  did  the  same  at  the  sixth  and  at 
the  ninth  hours .  Finally,  he  went  out  at  the  eleventh  hour,  and  found 
still  others  standing  about,  and  asked  why  they  had  stayed  there  all 
the  day,  idle.  '  Because  not)ne  has  hired  us,'  replied  they.  '  Go  ye 
also  into  the  vineyard, '  said  he,  '  and  you  shall  receive  whatever  is 
right.' 

"  When  the  evening  was  come,  the  lord  of  the  vineyard  bade  his 
overseer  call  the  labourers,  and  pay  them  all  the  same  sum — the  dena- 
rius for  which  he  had  agreed  with  the  first.  He  was,  also,  to  begin 
with  those  who  came  into  the  vineyard  last. 

' '  When  they  came,  tlierefore,  who  were  hired  at  the  eleventh  hour, 
they  received  each  a  denarius.  But  when  the  first  came,  they  sup- 
posed they  should  have  received  more ;  but  they  also  received  each 
only  the  same  amount.  And  when  they  received  it,  they  murmured 
against  the  householder,  saying — '  Those  who  came  in  last  did  only 
one  hour's  work,  and  thou  hast  made  them  equal  to  us,  who  bore  the 
scorching  wind  from  the  desert  at  sunrise,  and  the  heat  of  the  day.' 
But  he  answered  one  of  them,  'Friend,  I  do  thee  no  wrong:  didst 
not  thou  agree  with  me  for  a  denarius?  Take  what  is  yours,  and  go: 
I  desire  to  give  the  same  to  those  who  came  in  last,  as  unto  thee.  Is 
it  not  lawful  for  me  to  do  what  I  will  in  my  own  affairs?  Is  thine 
eye  evil  because  I  am  good?' 

"The  householder  thus  made  the  first  last,  and  the' last  first,  be- 
cause the  first  had  been  working  for  hire,  while  the  others  had  simply 
trusted  his  promise.  He  who  works  in  my  kingdom  for  the  sake  of 
a  reward  hereafter,  may  do  his  work  well,  but  he  honours  me  less 
than  others  who  trust  in  me,  without  thinking  of  future  gain.  The 
spirit  in  which  you  labour  for  me  gives  your  service  its  value.  He 
who  is  called  late  in  life,  and  serves  me  unselfishly,  will  stand 
higher  at  the  great  day  than  he  who  has  served  me  longer,  but  with 
a  less  noble  motive.  Many  are  called  to  join  my  kingdom  and  work 
in  it,  but  few  show  themselves  by  their  spirit  and  zeal  especially 
worthy  of  honour.  If  the  first  find  themselves  last,  it  will  depend  on 
themselves,  for  though  no  one  can  claim  reward  as  his  due  in  the  king- 
dom of  God,  yet  I  give  it,  of  favour,  to  those  first  who  serve  me  most 
purely.  He,  I  repeat,  who  works  most  devotedly,  without  thought 
of  reward,  will  be  first,  though,  perhaps,  last  to  be  called  •  he  will  be 
chosen  to  honour,  while  others  less  zealous  and  loving,  though  earlier 
called,  will  remain  undistinguished." 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  fitted  to  check  any  tendency  to  self- 
importance  and  pride,  so  natural  in  men  raised  to  a  positiou  so  iucoa- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  651 

ceivaT)ly  above  their  orisr'mal  station.  Nor  was  there  room,  hence- 
forth, for  any  mercenary  tlioughts,  even  of  future  reward,  for  the  dis- 
charge of  their  duty.  Tiiey  could  not  forget.  t!iat,  though  first  to 
enter  the  vineyard  of  the  New  Kingdom,  they  were  yet,  so  far,  on  a 
footing  with  all  who  shouhl  follow  tliem,  that  the  spiritual  worth  of 
their  work,  alone  determined  their  ultimate  honour.  The  special 
reward  promised  hy  their  Master  was  a  free  gift  of  God,  not  the  pay- 
ment of  a  debt,  and  depended  on  their  own  spirit  and  zeal. 

They  were  now  approaching  the  end  of  their  journey,  for  they  were 
near  Jericho,  at  which  the  road  struck  directly  west  to  Jerusalem. 
Nisan,  the  month  of  the  Passover,  had  already  come,  and  only  a  few 
days  more  remained  of  our  Saviour's  life.  Nature  was  putting  on  iin 
spring  beauty,  and  throngs  of  early  pilgrims  were  passing  to  the  holy 
city.  All  around  was  joy  and  gladness,  but,  amidst  all,  a  deep  gloom 
hung  over  the  little  company  of  Jesus.  Everything  on  the  way — lh3 
constant  disputes  with  tlic  Rabbis — the  warning  about  Antipas;  the 
very  solcm  lity  of  the  recent  teaciiings,  combined  to  fill  tlieir  minds 
with  an  undetiued  terror.  They  had  shrunk  from  visiting  Bethany, 
because  it  was  near  Jerusalem;  for  they  knew  that  the  authorities 
were  on  the  watch  to  arrest  their  Master,  and  put  Him  to  death.  He 
had  had  to  flee  from  that  village,  first  to  Ephraim,  and  then,  over  the 
Jordan,  to  Perea,  and  yet  He  was,  now,  deliberately  walking  into  tlie 
very  jaws  of  danger.  They  had  marched  steadily  southwards  through 
the  woody  highlands  of  Gilead;  had  passed  the  rushing  waters  of  the 
Jabbok  and  its  tributaries,  and  had,  for  a  moment,  seen,  once  more, 
the  spot  where  John  had  closed  his  mission.  The  distant  mountains 
of  Machaerus  now  threw  their  shadows  over  their  route,  and,  every- 
where, the  recollections  of  the  great  herald  of  their  Master  met  them. 
Mount  Nebo,  where  Moses  was  buried,  and  the  range  of  Attaroth, 
where  John's  mutilated  corpse  had  been  lain  to  rest,  were  within  sight. 
Everything  in  the  associations  of  the  journey  was  solemn,  and  they 
knew  their  national  history  too  well  not  to  fear  that,  for  Jesus,  to 
enter  Jeru.salem,  would  be  to  share  the  sad  fate  of  the  prophets  of 
old,  whom  it  had  received  only  to  murder.  It  was  clear  that  there 
could  be  but  one  issue,  and  no  less  so  that  He  was  voluntarily  going 
to  His  death.  The  calm  resolution  with  which  He  thus  carried  out 
His  purpose  awed  them;  for,  so  far  from  showing  hesitation.  He 
walked  at  their  head,  while  they  could  only  follow  with  excited 
alarm. 

Yet,  their  ideas  were  still  confused,  and  the  hope  that  things  might 
result  very  differently,  still  alternated  with  their  fears.  The  old 
dream  of  an  earthly  kingdom  still  clung  to  them,  and  they  fancied  that, 
though  Jesus  might  e.vpect  to  be  killed  in  the  rising  of  the  nation 
which  He  would,  perhaps,  bring  about  at  the  approaching  feast.  He 
might  be  more  fortunate,  and  live  to  establish  a  great  Messianic  mon- 
archy. 

To  dissipate  such  an  illusion,  He  had  already  told  them,  twic«,  eX' 


653  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

actly  what  was  bofcre  Him:  but  to  prepare  them,  if  possible,  for  the 
shock  which  the  sad  realization  of  His  words  was  so  soon  to  bring.  He 
once  more  recapitulated,  with  greater  minuteness  than  ever,  what  He 
knew,  with  divine  certainty,  awaited  His  entrance  into  Jerusalem. 

"  Behold,"  said  He,  "  we  are  going  up  to  Jerusakm,  and  the  Son 
of  Man  will  be  delivered  to  the  chief  priests  and  scribes,  and  they 
will  condemn  Him  to  death" — they,  and  no  others;  for,  as  heads 
cf  the  Old  Kingdom  of  God,  now  corrupt  and  dying,  they  had  re- 
jected Him — "and  they  will  deliver  Him  to  the  Romans,  to  mock,  ant? 
scourge,  and  crucify,  but  the  third  day  He  shall  rise  again." 

How  hard  it  is  to  uproot  strong  prepossessions  was  shown  within 
a  few  hours.  In  spite  of  such  repeated  warnings,  not  only  the  Twelve, 
but  the  others  who  followed  Him,  did  not  understand  what  Ho 
meant.  It  is  easy  for  us  to  do  so,  after  the  event;  but  to  anticipate 
the  explanation  thus  given  must  have  been  well-nigh  impossible  to 
minds  preoccupied  with  ideas  so  radically  opposed  to  it. 

The  mention  of  thrones,  as  in  reversion  for  the  Twelve  at  "the 
Coming"  of  their  Master  in  His  glory,  had  neutralized  the  announce- 
ment of  His  death.  His  open  triumph  was  expected  as  very  near  at 
hand;  His  death  they  did  not  understand,  and  could  not  reconcile 
with  His  other  statements,  for,  indeed,  they  did  not  wish  to  do  so. 

Dreams  of  ambition,  thus  kindled,  had  risen,  especially  in  the 
minds  of  James  and  John,  who,  with  Peter,  were  the  most  honoured 
of  the  Apostles.  They  had  been  in  a  better  social  position  than  most 
of  their  brethren,  and,  with  Salome,  their  mother,  had  given  all  they 
had,  freely,  to  the  cause  of  their  Master.  A.shamed,  themselves,  to 
tell  Him  their  thoughts,  they  availed  themselves  of  Salome,  whom, 
perhaps,  He  might  the  more  readily  hear,  as  older  than  they;  as  a 
woman ;  perhaps  as  His  mother's  sister ;  and  as  one  who  had  shown 
herself,  like  her  sons.  His  true  friend. 

She  now  came,  therefore,  with  them,  in  secret,  and,  falling  on  her 
knees,  as  was  the  custom  where  reverence  was  intended,  and  as  was 
especially  due  to  one  whom  she  regarded  as  the  future  great  Messianic 
King — told  Him  she  came  to  ask  a  surpassing  favour.  "What  is  it?" 
asked  Jesus.  "Say,"  answered  she,  "that "these,  my  two  sons,  may 
sit,  like  the  chief  rninistcrs  of  other  kings,  on  the  first  step  of  Thy 
throne,  at  Thy  feet,  on  Thy  right  hand  and  Thy  left,  when  Thou 
settest  up  the  Kingdom." 

So  different,  as  yet,  were  the  two  men  from  what  they  were  after- 
wards to  become,  when  they  had  drunk  more  deeply  of  their  Master's 
spirit! 

"You  do  not  understand  what  your  request  implies."  answered 
Jesus.  "The  highest  place  in  my  Kingdom  can  only  be  gamed  by 
drinking  the  cup  of  sore  trial,  of  which  I,  myself,  shall  drink 
presently,  and  enduring  tlie  same  fierce  baptism  of  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing, even  to  death,  in  which  I  am  to  be  plunged.  Do  you  think  you 
ut^  ablo  to  hear  all  that?" 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  858 

In  simple  true-heartedness,  both  answered,  at  once,  that  they  •were, 

"  You  shall,  indeed,"  replied  Jesus,  "  driuk  of  my  cup,  and  be 
baptized  with  the  same  baptism  as  I,  but,  in  my  Kingdom,  no  honours 
can  be  given  from  mere  favour,  as  in  kingdoms  of  the  world.  Those 
only  can  obtain  them  whose  spiritual  greatness  has  fitted  them  for 
them.  The  way  to  secure  them  is  onl}'  through  supreme  self-sacrifice 
for  my  sake,  and  they  are  given  by  my  Father  to  those  only  who  are 
thus  prepared  for  them.  For  such,  indeed,  they  are  prepared  by  Him 
already." 

John  and  James  had  striven  to  hide  their  selfish  and  auibitious 
request,  by  coming  to  Jesus  when  He  was  alone,  but  the  Ten,  as 
was  inevitable,  soon  heard  of  it,  and  were  indignant  in  the  e.xtremo 
at  such  an  unworthy  attempt  to  forestal  them  in  their  Master's  fa- 
vour. Their  own  ambition,  at  best  only  suppressed,  broke  oflt,  afresh, 
in  a  fierce  storm  of  jealous  passion.  Such  human  weakness  was 
sadly  out  of  place  at  any  time,  among  the  followers  of  the  meek  and 
lowly  Son  of  Man,  but  still  more  so,  now,  when  He  stood  almost 
under  the  shadow  of  the  cross,  and  it  must  have  caused  Him  tho 
keenest  sorrow.  Calling  the  whole  Twelve,  offenders  and  offended, 
round  Him,  therefore.  He  pointed  out  how  utterly  they  had  misap- 
prehended the  nature  of  His  Kingdom,  notwithstanding  all  His  teach, 
ing  through  the  past  years. 

■'  You  are  disputing  about  precedence  in  my  Kingdom,"  said  He, 
"as  if  it  were  like  the  kingdoms  of  the  world.  Once  more,  let  me 
tell  you  that  it  is  wholly  different.  The  kings  of  the  heathen  nations 
around  us  lord  it  over  their  subjects,  and  their  magnates,  under  them, 
exercise  authority  often  more  imperiously  than  their  chiefs.  But  it 
is  very  different  in  my  Kingdom,  and  a  very  different  spirit  must  find 
place  among  you,  its  dignitaries.  He  who  wishes  to  be  great  in  that 
Kingdom  can  only  be  so  by  becoming  the  servant  of  the  others;  and 
he  who  wishes  the  very  highest  rank,  can  only  be  so  by  becoming 
their  slave.  You  may  see  that  it  must  be  so  from  my  own  case,  your 
King  and  Head — for  I,  the  Son  of  Man,  came  not  to  be  ministered 
unto,  a.s  other  kings  are,  but  to  serve,  and  to  give  up  even,  my  life  as 
a  ransom  for  many." 

The  upland  pastures  of  Perea  were  now  behind  them,  and  the 
road  led  down  to  the  sunken  channel  of  the  Jordan,  and  the  "  divine 
district"  of  Jericho.  This  small  but  rich  plain  was  the  most  luxu- 
riant spot  in  Palestine.  Sloping  gently  upwards  from  the  level  of 
the  Dead  Sea,  1,350  feet  under  the  Mediterranean,  to  the  stern  back- 
ground of  the  hills  of  Quarantana,  it  had  the  climate  of  Lowe  r 
Egj-pt,  and  displayed  the  vegetation  of  the  tropics.  Its  fig-trees 
were  pre-eminently  famous:  it  was  unique  in  its  groves  of  palms 
of  various  kinds:  its  crops  of  dates  were  a  proverb:  the  balsam- 
plant,  which  grew  principally  here,  furnished  a  costly  perfume,  and 
was  in  great  repute  for  healing  wounds:  maize  yielded  a  double 
liarvest;  wheat  ripened  a  whole  month  earlier  than  in  Galilee,  and 


«M  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

innumerable  bees  found  a  Paradise  in  the  many  aromatic  floorers  tnd 
plants,  not  a  few  unknown  elsewhere,  which  filled  the  air  with 
odours,  and  the  landscape  with  beauty. 

Rising  like  an  amphitheatre  from  amidst  this  luxuriant  scene,  lay 
Jericho,  the  chief  plaCe  east  of  Jerusalem — at  seven  or  eight  miles 
distance  from  the  Jordan — on  swelling  slopes,  seven  hundred  feet 
above  the  bed  of  the  river,  from  which  its  gardens  and  groves,  thickly 
interspersed  with  mansions,  and  covering  seventy  furlongs  from  north 
to  south,  and  twenty  from  east  to  west,  were  divided  by  a  strip  of 
wilderness.  The  town  had  had  an  eventful  history.  Once  the  strong- 
hold of  the  Canaanites,  it  was  still,  in  the  days  of  Christ,  surrounded 
by  towers  and  castles.  Thrax  and  Taurus,  two  of  them,  at  the 
entrance  of  the  city,  lay  in  ruins  since  the  time  of  Pompey,  but  the 
old  citadel  Dock  still  stood — dark  with  the  recollection  that  its  heroic 
builder  Simon  Maccabseus,  and  his  two  sons,  had  been  murdered  in 
its  chambers.  Kypros,  the  last  fortress  built  by  Herod  the  Great, 
who  had  called  it  after  his  mother,  rose  wliite  in  the  sun  on  the  soutli 
of  tlie  town.  The  palace  of  the  Asmonean  kings  towered  amidst 
gardens;  but  it  had  been  deserted  by  royalty  since  the  evil  genius  of 
her  house,  Alexandra,  the  mother-in-law  of  Herod,  and  mother  of 
Mariamne,  had  lived  in  it.  The  great  palace  of  Herod,  in  the  far- 
famed  groves  of  palms,  had  been  plundered  and  burned  down  in  the 
tumults  that  followed  his  death,  but  in  its  pi;  ce  a  still  grander  struc- 
ture, built  by  Archelaus,  had  risen  amidst  slill  finer  gardens,  and 
more  copious  and  delightful  streams.  A  grand  theatre  and  spacious 
circus,  built  by  Herod,  scandalized  the  Jews,  not  less  by  their  unholy 
amusements  than  by  the  remembrance  that  the  elders  of  the  nation 
had  been  shut  up  in  the  latter  by  the  dying  tyrant,  to  be  cut  down 
at  liis  death  in  revenge  for  tlie  hatred  borne  him.  Nor  was  the  mur- 
der of  the  young  Asmonean,  Aristobulus,  in  the  great  pools  which 
eurrounded  the  old  Asmonean  palace,  forgotten;  nor  the  time  when 
Cleopatra  had  wrung  the  rich  oasis  from  the  hands  of  Herod,  by  her 
spell  over  her  lover,  Antony.  A  great  stone  aqueduct  of  eleven 
arches  brought  a  copious  supply  of  water  to  the  city,  and  the  Roman 
military  road  ran  through  it.  The  houses  themselves,  however, 
though  showy,  were  not  substantial,  but  were  built  mostly  of  sun- 
dried  brick,  like  those  of  Egypt;  so  that  now,  as  in  the  similar  cases 
of  Eabylon,  Kineveh,  or  Egypt,  after  long  desolation  hardly  a  trace 
of  them  remains. 

A  great  multitude  accompanied  Je.^'us  as  He  drew  near  Jericho — 
pilgrims,  on  foot,  or  on  asses,  or  camels;  who  had  come  from  all  the 
side  passes,  and  cross  roads,  of  Perea  and  Galilee.  They  met  at  thia 
central  point  to  go  up  to  the  Passover,  at  Jerusalem:  not  a  few  with 
an  eye  to  the  trade  driven  so  briskly  in  the  Holy  City  at  this  season, 
with  foreign  pilgrims, — as  well  as  for  devotion. 

Near  the  gate  of  the  town  one  of  the  last  miracles  of  our  Lord  wa» 
performed.     All    the  reads   lei.diLg  to  Jerusalem,  like  the  Tempi* 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  655 

itself,  were  much  frequented  at  the  times  of  tlie  feast.?,  by  beggars, 
who  reaped  a  special  harvest  from  the  cliarity  of  tlie  pilgrims. 

Blindness  is  specially  frequent  in  the  East.  While  in  Northern 
Europe  there  is  only  one  blind  in  a  thousand,  in  Egypt  there  is  one 
in  every  hundred;  indeed,  very  few  persons  there  have  their  eyes 
quite  healthy.  The  great  changes  of  temperature  at  different  times 
of  the  day,  especially  between  day  and  ni<j;ht,  cause  inflammation  of 
the  eyes,  as  well  as  of  other  parts,  both  in  Palestine  and  on  the  Lower 
Nile;  while  neglect  and  stupid  prejudice,  refusing  or  slighting  reme- 
dies in  the  earlier  stages,  lead  to  blindness  in  many  cases  that  other- 
wise might  have  been  easily  cured. 

Among  the  beggars  who  had  gathered  on  the  sides  of  the  road 
at  Jericho  were  two  who  had  thus  lost  their  sight:  one  of  whom  only, 
by  name  Bar-Timaeus,  for  some  special  reason,  is  particularly  noticed 
by  two  of  the  Gospels,  in  the  incident  that  followed. 

They  had  probably  heard  of  the  cure,  at  Jerusalem,  of  the  man  who 
had  been  born  blind,  and  learning  now  from  the  crowd  that  the  great 
wonder-worker  was  passing  by,  at  once  appealed  to  Him  as  the  Sou 
of  David — the  Messiah — to  have  mercy  on  them.  The  multitude  tried 
in  vain  to  silence  them:  tiiey  only  cried  the  louder.  At  la.st,  Jesus 
came  near,  and,  standing  still,  commanded  them  to  be  brought.  la 
a  moment  their  upper  garment,  which  would  have  hindered  them, 
was  cast  aside,  and,  leaiiing  up,  they  stood  before  Him  with  their 
artless  tale;  that  they  believed  He  could  open  their  eyes,  and  they 
prayed  He  would  do  so.  A  touch  sufficed:  immediately  their  eyes 
received  sight  again,  and  they  joined  in  the  throng  that  followed  their 
Healer. 

Jericho  was  a  Levitical  city,  and  hence  the  residence  of  a  great 
many  priests:  its  position  as  the  centre  of  an  exceptionally  pro- 
ductive district,  and  also  of  the  import  and  export  trade  between  the 
two  sides  of  the  Jordan,  made  it,  also,  a  city  of  publicans.  It  had 
much  the  same  place  in  Southern  Palestine  as  Capernaum — the  cen- 
tre of  the  trade  between  the  .sea-coast  and  the  northern  interior,  as  far 
as  Damascus — held  in  Galilee.  The  transit  to  and  fro  of  so  much 
wealth  brought  with  it  proportionate  work  and  harvest  for  the  farmers 
of  the  revenue.  Hence,  a  strong  force  of  customs  and  excise  collectors 
was  stationed  in  it,  under  a  local  head,  named  Zacchaus,  whom,  in  our 
day,  we  might  have  called  a  commissioner  of  customs.  In  a  system 
so  oppressive  and  arbitrary  as  the  Koman  taxation,  the  inhabitants 
must  have  suffered  heavily  at  the  hands  of  such  a  complete  organiza- 
tion. To  be  friendly  with  any  of  their  number  was  not  the  way  to 
secure  the  favour  of  the  people  at  large. 

Zacchaeus,  especially,  was  disliked  and  despised,  for,  though  a  Jew, 
he  had  grown  rich  by  an  infamous  profession,  and  was,  in  the  eyes  of 
his  fellow-townsmen,  not  only  an  extortioner,  but,  by  his  serving  the 
Romans,  a  traitor  to  his  race,  and  to  their  invisible  king,  Jehovah. 
His  personal  ch&racter,  moreover,  seems  to  have  been  bad,  for   he 


656  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

owned  to  Jesus  that  he  had,  at  least  in  some  cases,  wrung  money 
from  his  fellow-townsmen  by  swearing  falsely  against  them  before 
the  magistrates. 

Jesus  had  seldom  passed  that  way,  and  hence  His  person  was  little 
known,  though  report  had  spread  His  name  widely.  Among  others, 
Zacchseus  was  anxious  to  see  Him,  and,  being  a  little  man,  he  had  run 
before  the  caravan  with  which  Jesus  was  entering  the  town,  and  had 
taken  his  station  in  one  of  the  ever-green  fig-trees — a  sycamore — of 
which  some  grew  at  the  wayside,  of  great  size — a  few  even  fifty  feet 
in  circumference.  They  were  easy  to  climb,  from  their  short  trunks 
and  wide  branches,  forking  out  in  all  directions. 

He  had  never  seen  Jesus;  but  he  was  not  the  less  known  to  Him, 
and  must  have  been  astounded  when  the  Great  Teacher,  as  He  pas.scd 
the  spot,  looked  up,  and,  addressing  him  by  name,  told  him  to  make 
haste  and  come  down,  as  He  intended  to  be  his  guest  that  night.  A 
divine  purpose  of  mercy,  as  yet  known  to  Jesus  alone,  had  determined 
this  self-invitation.  Though  all  others  shunned  the  chief  of  the  pub- 
licans as  specially  disreputable,  he  was  chosen  in  loving  pity  by 
Jesus,  as  His  host.  The  word  was  enough:  in  an  instant  he  was  on  the 
ground,  and  pressingly  welcomed  Christ  to  his  hospitality.  That  he, 
the  hated  and  despised  one,  should  have  been  thus  favoured,  in  a  mo- 
ment won  his  heart,  and  waked  the  impulse  of  a  new  and  better  life; 
but  it  also  raised  the  hostile  feeling  of  the  multitude.  Voices  on 
every  side  were  heard  murmuring  that  "  He  was  gone,  in  defiance  of 
the  Law,  and  of  public  feeling  and  patriotic  duty,  to  lodge  with  the 
chief  publican." 

They  little  knew  the  mighty  change  His  having  done  so  had,  in  a 
moment,  wrought  in  a  soul  hitherto  degraded  and  lost,  not  less  by  an 
ignoble  life,  than  by  the  social  proscription  which  barred  all  hope  of 
self -recovery.  Christ  had  completely  overcome  him,  for  He  had 
treated  him  as  a  man,  witli  respect,  and  shown  him  that  the  way  still 
lay  open,  even  to  him,  to  a  new  and  better  future.  The  two  had 
meanwhile,  apparently,  reached  the  court  of  Zaccha?us'  house,  and  the 
crowd  pressed  closely  round  as  Jesus  was  about  to  enter  a  dwelling, 
the  threshold  of  which  no  respectable  Jew  would  think  of  crossing. 
He  was  braving  a  harsh  public  opinion,  and  incurring  the  bitterest 
hatred  of  the  Jewish  religious  leaders,  by  openly  disregarding  the 
laws  of  ceremonial  defilement,  and  by  treating  with  respect  one 
Avhom  they  denounced  as  accursed.  Zaccha-us  was  overpowered 
with  a  sense  of  the  unselfish  magnanimity  which  could  prompt  such 
treatment  of  one  who  had  no  claim  to  it.  He  would  signalize  the 
event  by  an  open  and  public  vow.  Standing  before  the  crowd,  there- 
fore, he  addressed  Christ — "  Lord,  I  feel  deeply  the  honour  and  lov- 
ing service  you  do  me,  and  I  hereby  vow  that  I  shall  give  one-half  of 
my  goods  to  the  poor,  to  show  how  much  I  thank  Thee.  And, 
still  more,  if,  as  I  lament  to  think  has  been  the  case,  1  have  ever  taken 
any  money  from  any  one  by  false  accusation,  I  promise  to  repay 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  e57 

him  four-fold — the  higliest  restitution  that  even  Roman  law  demands 
fro»i  one  guilty  of  such  an  offence." 

"This  day  is  salvation  come  to  tliis  house,"  said  Jesus,  as  lie  heard 
such  words,  "for  this  man — sinner  tliough  he  be — is,  nevertheless,  a 
son  of  Abraham,  and  now  shows  himself  huml)led  and  penitent.  I 
came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost,  and  I  rejoice  to  have 
won  back  to  the  fold  of  God,  a  child  of  Israel,  who  had  wandered  so 
far  from  Him."  He  had  foreseen  the  whole  incident,  by  His  divine 
power,  and  calmly  ignored  all  recognition  of  caste  or  class  when  a 
human  soul  was  to  be  won. 

"Before  you  leave,"  He  continued,  still  addressing  the  crowd  in 
the  court-yard,  or  outside  it,  "let  me  tell  you  a  parable.  I  know 
what  is  in  your  thoughts.  You  see  that  I  am  near  Jerusalem,, 
and  suppose  I  shall  take  advantage  of  the  Passover,  when  such  vuot 
throngs  of  Jews  are  in  the  holy  city,  to  proclaim  the  kingdom  of  the 
Messiah  in  the  way  you  expect,  by  insurrection  and  force.  Let  me 
set  before  you  the  truth." 

With  that  marvellous  power  of  turning  every  incident  to  practical 
account  which  marked  His  teaching.  He  proceeded  to  repeat  a  para- 
ble borrowed,  in  many  particulars,  from  facts  in  their  recent  or  pass- 
ing national  history.  Archelaus  had  set  out  for  Rome,  most  likely 
from  Jericho  itself,  not  many  years  before,  to  obtain  investiture  in 
the  kingdom  left  to  him  by  the  will  of  his  father  Herod,  and  the  Jews 
had  sent  a  fruitless  embassy  after  him,  to  prevent  his  obtaining  it. 
All  the  princes  of  the  house  of  Herod  had,  indeed,  been  only  vassals 
of  Rome,  and  had  had  to  go  to  the  imperial  city,  in  each  case,  to  seek 
their  kingdom  as  a  gift  from  the  Roman  senate. 

"  A  certain  man,"  said  He,  "of  noble  birth,  went  to  a  distant  coun- 
try to  receive  for  himself  the  dignity  of  king  over  his  former  fellow- 
citizens,  and  then  to  return.  Before  doing  so,  he  called  ten  of  his 
servants,  from  whom,  as  such,  he  had  the  right  to  expect  the  utmost 
care  for  his  interests  in  his  absence.  He  proposed,  in  his  secret  mind, 
to  entrust  them  with  a  small  responsibility,  by  their  dLscharge  of 
which  he  could  judge,  when  he  returned,  of  their  fitness  and  worthi- 
ness to  be  put  into  positious  of  greater  consideration;  for  he  wished 
to  choose  from  them  his  future  chief  officers. 

"In  the  meantime  he  gave  them,  each,  onh'  a  mina,  one  hundred 
drachmae,  and  .said  to  them,  'Trade  with  this,  on  my  account,  till  I 
return.'  If  they  proved  to  be  faithful  in  this  small  matter,  he  would 
be  able  to  advance  them  to  higher  trusts. 

"It  happened,  however,  that  he  was  so  unpopular,  that  his  fellov,''- 
citizens,  in  their  hatred  of  him,  sent  an  embassy  after  him  to  tlis 
supreme  power,  complaining  against  him,  and  contemptuously  declar- 
ing tbat  they  would  not  have  such  a  man  to  rule  over  them.  Bat 
their  embassy  failed,  for,  in  spite  of  it,  he  obtained  the  province,  and 
was  appointed  their  king. 

"On  his  return,  after  he  had  thus  received  the  goremment,  h« 


658  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ordered  the  servants  to  whom  he  had  given  the  money  to  be  called 
before  him,  that  he  might  know  what  each  had  gained  by  trading. 
The  first  came  and  said,  'Lord,  thy  mina  has  gained  ten,"  'Well 
done,  good  servant,' replied  his  master,  '  because  thou  wast  faithful 
in  a  very  little,  be  thou  governor  of  ten  cities.'  The  second  came, 
saying,  '  Lord,  thy  mina  has  gained  five,'  *  Be  thou  governor  of  five 
cities, '  replied  his  master.  But  another  came  and  said,  '  Lord,  heie 
is  thy  mina,  I  have  kept  it  safely  tied  up  in  a  napkin ;  you  will  find 
it  just  as  I  got  it.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  it,  and  I  was 
afraid  of  thee ;  for  I  know  you  are  a  hard  man  in  money  matters, 
looking  for  great  profits  where  you  have  laid  out  next  to  nothing, — ■ 
taking  up,  as  they  say,  what  you  had  not  put  down,  and,  if  needs  be, 
reaping  where  you  had  not  sown, — ^making  good  3'our  loss,  if  there 
Avere  any,  at  his  expense  who  caused  it, — and  so,  to  keep  myself  safe, 
I  thought  it  best  to  run  no  risk  one  way  or  other.' 

"  '1  will  judge  you  out  of  your  own  mouth,  wicked  servant/ re- 
plied his  master;  '  You  say  you  knew  I  was  a  hard  man  in  money 
matters,  seeking  gain  where  I  had  laid  nothing  out  to  secure  it,  and 
reaping  where  others  have  sown, — why  then  did  you  not  at  least  give 
my  money  to  some  exchanger  to  use  at  his  table,  that  thus,  on  my  re- 
turn, I  might  have  got  it  back  with  interest?'  'Then,  turning  to  the 
servant  standing  by,  he  continued,  *  Take  from  him  the  mina,  and 
give  it  him  that  has  ten.'  'He  has  ten  already,' muttered  the  ser- 
vants, half  afraid.  But  the  king  went  on  in  his  anger,  without  heed- 
ing them, — '  I  tell  you  that  to  every  one  who  shows  his  fitness  to 
serve  me,  by  having  already  increased  what  I  at  first  gave  him,  I 
shall  give  more ;  but  I  shall  take  away  what  I  first  gave,  from  him, 
who,  by  adding  nothing  to  it,  has  proved  his  unfitness  to  use  what 
might  be  put  in  his  hands.' 

"  'As  to  my  enemies,  who  did  not  wish  me  to  reign  over  them, 
bring  them  hither,  and  put  them  to  death  in  my  presence.'  " 

The  lessons  of  the  parable  could  hardly  be  misunderstood.  To  the 
Jewish  people,  who  would  not  receive  Him  as  the  Messiah,  they  spoke 
in  words  of  warning  alarm;  but  the  Twelve,  themselves,  heard  a 
solemn  caution.  They  had  each,  in  being  selected  as  an  apostle,  re- 
ceived a  sacred  trust,  to  be  used  for  his  Master's  interests,  till  the 
coming  again  in  glory.  Well  for  him,  who,  when  his  Lord  returned 
to  judgment,  could  give  a  good  account  of  his  stewardship;  woe  to 
him  who  had  neglected  his  trust!  Though  called  to  the  same  honour 
at  first  as  the  others,  as  an  apostle,  he  would  be  stripped  of  his  rank, 
and  receive  no  share  in  the  glory  and  dignities  of  the  Messiauit: 
kingdom.  As  to  the  Jews  who  rejected  Him,  His  coming  would  Le 
the  signal  for  the  sorest  judgments. 

Having  finished  His  brief  stay  in  Jericho,  Jesus  set  out,  once  more, 
on  His  journey  of  calm,  self-sacrificing  love,  to  Jerusalem,  going  on 
before  the  midtitude  in  His  grand  consciousness  of  victory  beyond 
thought.     Many  had  already  gone  up  to  the  Holy  City,  for  not  a  fe^r 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  659 

needed  to  be  there  some  time  before  the  feast,  to  prepare  themselves 
to  take  part  in  it,  by  purifications  necessary  from  various  causes. 
Lepers,  for  example,  who  were  cured,  but  had  not  been  pronounced 
clean  by  the  priests,  and  many  others,  were  in  this  position.  Great 
numbers,  moreover,  doubtless  went  up  early,  for  purposes  of  trade 
with  the  first  arrivals  of  pilgrims  from  abroad. 

Meanwhile,  all  classes  alike,  in  Jerusalem,  discussed  the  probability 
of  Christ's  coming  to  the  feast.  The  excitement  among  the  people 
was  evident,  and  increased  the  alarm  of  the  hierarchical  party,  for  how 
could  they  withstand  Him,  if  He  once  gained  general  popular  support? 
The  advice  of  Caiaphas  had,  therefore,  been  accepted  as  the  policy 
of  the  party  at  large,  and  orders  had  been  issued  that  He  should  be 
arrested  at  ence,  when  found.  It  was  even  required  that  any  one 
who  knew  where  He  was,  should  report  it,  with  a  view  to  His  appre- 
hension. 

In  the  midst  of  this  commotion,  Jesus  quietly  entered  Bethany,  on 
the  sixth  day  before  the  Passover.  It  was,  however,  impossible  for 
Him  to  remain  concealed.  The  news  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
and  the  street  of  the  village  soon  became  thronged  with  visitors,  who 
came,  not  only  to  see  Him,  but  to  see  Lazarus  also,  whom  they  heard 
He  had  raised  from  the  dead.  The  high  priests  began  to  question 
whether  they  could  not  manage  to  put  him,  also,  to  death.  The  sight 
of  him  was  winning  many  disciples  to  Jesus.     They  would  try. 


CHAPTER   LV. 

PALM   SUNDAY. 

The  long  caravan  of  pilgrims  that  had  accompanied  Jesus  up  the 
wild  gorge  of  the  Kedron,  from  Jericho,  had  been  left  at  Bethany; 
8ome  pressing  on  to  Jerusalem,  others  striking  their  tents,  as  fancy 
pleased  them,  in  the  pleasant  dell  below  the  village,  or  on  the  western 
slope  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  where  they  could  feast  their  eyes  with  a 
sight  of  Jerusalem.  It  was  the  eve  of  the  Sabbath,  and  that'night  and 
the  next  day  were  sacred.  The  journey  from  Jericho  had  been  exhaust- 
ing. A  steep  and  narrow  bridle-path,  threading  the  precipitous  defile, 
had  been  the  only  road.  It  was  the  scene  of  the  parable  of  the  Good 
Samaritan.  The  khan,  where  the  wounded  man  was  sheltered,  had 
been  passed  half  way.  Lonely  ascents,  between  bare  rocks,  with  the 
worst  footing,  had  only  been  left  behind  when  Bethany  and  Beth- 
phage,  on  the  eastern  spur  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  came  in  sight.  The 
iourney  was  over  before  three  in  the  afternoon,  for  it  was  the  rule  to 
have  three  hours  of  rest  before  the  Sabbath  l>egan,  at  six.  In  Beth- 
any Jesus  was  at  home.  It  was  the  village  of  Lazarus,  and  Martha, 
and  Mary.  The  fifteen  miles  from  Jericho  had  been  a  continual  climb 
of  over  three  thousand  feet,  but  He  could  now  rest  with  His  friends, 


660  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

through  the  Sab  oath.  Before  the  nest  He  would  be  crucified.  And 
He  knew  it. 

This  glimpse  of  sweet  rest  over — the  last  He  would  enjoy  before  the 
awful  end;  the  first  act  in  the  great  tragedy — His  triumphal  entry 
iiito  Jerusalem — fitly  led  the  way  to  the  great  consummation. 

In  these  last  mouths  He  had  more  and  more  openly  assumed  the 
supreme  dignity  of  Messiah.  With  wise  caution  He  had  at  first  re- 
frained from  a  sudden  proclamation  of  His  office,  and  had  carefully 
shunned  popular  excitement  even  by  the  publication  of  His  miracles; 
that  His  words — which  were  the  true  seed  of  His  kingdom — might 
get  time  to  root  themselves,  and  bear  fruit  among  tlie  people,  before 
Ihe  inevitable  opposition  of  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  brought  His 
work  to  a  close.  He  had  never,  however,  refused  the  title  when  given 
Him,  or  the  honours,  from  time  to  time  paid  Him  as  the  Christ.  He 
had  even  revealed  Himself  to  the  woman  of  Samaria,  to  the  Apostles, 
first,  on  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  and  afterwards,  with  impressive  solemnity, 
(it  Cassarea  Philii)pi;  and,  latterly,  more  than  once,  to  His  enemies,  as 
the  Head  of  the  New  Kingdom  of  God.  But,  as  yet,  He  had  made 
DO  public,  or,  as  it  were,  official  declaration  of  His  claims  and  rights 
as.  the  Messiah,  and  till  this  was  done,  there  still  wanted  a  formal  proc- 
lamation of  His  kingdom  before  Israel  and  the  world.  Till  it  had 
been  done,  moreover,  the  heads  of  the  moribimd  theocracy  could  not 
be  said  to  have  had  the  choice  openly  given  xhem,  as  the  representa- 
tives of  the  religious  past,  to  accept  Him  as  the  Messiali,  or  definitely 
to  reject  Him. 

He  had,  therefore,  determined,  with  calm  deliberation,  and  con- 
C-ciousness  of  what  it  involved,  to  enter  Jerusalem  publicly,  with  such 
ch^cuiostance  as  would  openly  announce  His  claim  to  be  the  Messiah. 
He  would  also  perform  specific  Messianic  acts,  in  the  very  citadel  of 
the  theocracy,  and  under  the  eyes  of  the  haughty,  and  yet  alarmed, 
hierarchy.  Ke  would  enter  as  a  king,  but,  as  the  Prince  of  Peace, 
giving  no  real  pietence  for  any  charge  of  political  design,  but  clearly, 
as  king  only  in  a  spiritual  sense.  He  had  no  longer  any  reason  to 
conceal  from  the  authorities  whom  He  really  was,  and  felt  Himself 
to  be. 

The  companies  of  pilgrims  from  the  various  towns  and  districts  of 
Palestine,  or  from  Jewish  settlements  abroad,  were  wont  to  make 
public  entries  into  the  city  before  the  great  feasts.  Such  an  entry 
Jesus  would  make;  Himself  its  central  figure.  It  would  be  a  day  oj 
joy  and  gladness  to  Himself  and  to  others,  as  when  a  king  enters  on 
his  kingdom.  He  would  no  longer  check  the  popular  feeling  in  His 
favour.  His  last  entry  to  the  Holy  City,  at  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles, 
tiad  been  designedly  secret ;  but  this  should  be  in  exact  contrast,  for 
He  knew  that  His  king!y  work  was  now  over,  so  far  as  He,  Himself, 
could  complete  it,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  willing  consecration  to  death, 
as  His  path  to  eternal  triumpli,  filled  Him  with  a  serene  and  victo- 
rious joy.    Misconception  of  His  claim  would  be  impossible  in  hones* 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  661 

minds,  in  the  face  of  facts.  Israel  should  now  see  Him  come  openly, 
•  as  He,  who,  alone,  if  they  frankly  accepted  Him,  could  save  them,  by 
leading  them  as  a  nation,  to  true  repentance,  and  a  higher  spiritual 
life.  He  knew,  beforehand,  that  they  would  not,  but  His  work  could 
not  be  said  to  be  completely  ended  till  He  had  given  them  and  their 
leaders  this  last  public  opportunity. 

Hitherto  He  had  entered  the  Holy  City  on  foot;  this  day  He  would 
d 3  so  as  David  and  the  Judges  of  Israel  were  wont — riding  on  the 
specially  Jewish  ass.  Nor  must  we  think  of  Western  associations  in 
connection  with  the  name.  In  the  East,  the  ass  is  in  high  esteem. 
Statelier,  livelier,  swifter  than  with  ua,  it  vies  with  the  horse  in 
favour.  Among  the  Jews  it  was  equally  valued  as  a  beast  of  burden; 
for  work  in  the  field  or  at  the  mill;  and  for  riding.  In  contrast  to 
the  horse,  which  had  been  introduced  by  Solomon,  from  Egypt,  and 
was  used  especially  for  war,  it  was  the  symbol  of  peace.  To  the  Jew 
it  was  peculiarly  national,  for  had  not  Moses  led  his  wife,  seated  on 
an  ass,  to  Egypt;  had  not  the  Judges  ridden  on  white  asses;  and  was 
not  the  ass  of  Abraham,  the  friend  of  God,  noted  in  Scripture? 
Every  Jew,  moreover,  expected,  from  the  words  of  one  of  the  proph- 
ets, that  the  Messiah  would  enter  Jerusalem,  poor,  and  riding  on  aa 
ass.  No  act  could  be  more  perfectly  in  keeping  with  the  conception 
of  a  king  of  Israel,  and  no  v.ords  could  express  more  plainly  that 
that  king  proclaimed  Himself  the  Messiah. 

On  the  early  morning  of  Sunday,  the  tenth  of  Nisan — die  Jewish 
Monday,  therefore — Jesus  and  the  Twelve  left  their  hospitable  shelter 
at  Bethany,  and  passed  out  to  the  little  valley  beneath,  with  its  clus- 
ters of  fig,  almond,  and  olive  trees,  soon  to  burst  into  leaf;  and  its 
ever-greeen  palms.  Somewhere  near  lay  the  larger  village  of  Beth- 
pliage ;  like  Bethany,  so  close  to  Jerusalem  as  to  be  reckoned,  in  the 
Rabbinical  law,  a  part  of  it.  Secret  disciples,  such  as  the  five  hun- 
dred who  afterwards  gathered  to  one  spot  in  Galilee,  and  the  hundred 
and  twenty  who  met,  after  the  resurrection,  in  the  upper  room  in  the 
Holy  City,  were  scattered  in  many  places.  At  least  one  such  lived 
in  Bethpiiage.  Jesus,  therefore,  now  sent  two  disciples  thither; 
telling  them  that,  immediately  on  entering  it,  they  would  find  a  she 
ass  tied,  and  her  colt  standing  by  her.  "Loose  and  bring  them  to 
me,"  said  He,  "and  if  any  one  make  a  remark,  say  that  the  Lord 
needs  them,  and  he  will  send  them  at  once."  His  supernatural 
power  had  rightly  directed  them.  The  ass  and  its  colt  were  found, 
and  the  ready  permission  of  their  owner — no  doubt  a  disciple — was 
obtained  at  once,  for  their  being  taken  for  His  use. 

Meanwhile,  it  had  reached  Jerusalem  that  He  was  about  to  enter 
it,  and  great  numbers  of  the  Galilsean  pilgrims,  proud  of  Ilim  as  a 
"^»rophet  from  their  own  district,  forthwith  set  out  to  meet  and  escort 
Him,  cutting  fronds,  as  they  came,  from  the  palm-trees  that  then 
lined  the  path,  to  do  Him  honour.  The  disciples  showed  equal 
enthusiasm,  and  it  was  forthwith  caught  by  the  crowds  around — ioi 


W2  THE  LIFE  OF  CURIST. 

the  whole  open  ground  near  the  city  was  filled  with  pilgrims  at  this 
season.  The  former  hastily  threw  their  abbas  on  the  back  of  the 
colt,  to  deck  it  for  their  Master,  and  set  Him  on  it,  the  mother  walk- 
ing at  its  side ;  and  the  latter,  not  to  be  behind,  spread  theirs  on  the 
road,  or  cut  off  the  young  sprouts  from  the  trees,  and  strewed  them 
before  Him.  So,  myrtle  twigs  and  robes  had  been  strewn  by  their 
ancestors  before  Mordecai,  when  he  came  forth  from  the  palace  of 
Ahasuerus,  and  so  the  Persian  army  had  honoured  Xerxes,  when 
about  to  cross  the  Hellespont,  and  so  it  is  still  sometimes  done  in 
Palestine,  as  a  mark  of  special  honour. 

There  were  three  paths  over  the  Mount  of  Olives — on  the  north,  in 
the  hollow  between  the  two  crests  of  the  hill;  next,  over  the  summit; 
and  on  the  south,  between  the  Mount  of  Olives  and  the  Hill  of 
Offence — still  the  most  frequented  and  the  best.  Along  this  Jesus 
advanced,  preceded  and  followed  by  multitudes,  with  loud  cries  of 
rejoicing,  as  at  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  when  the  great  Hallel  was 
daily  sung  in  their  processions.  With  the  improvisatorial  turn  of 
the  East,  their  acclamations  took  a  rhythmical  form,  which  was  long 
Bung  in  the  early  Church,  as  the  first  Christian  hymn. 

"Give  fThou)  the  triumph,  (O  Jehovah),  to  the  Son  of  David! 
Blessed  be  the  kingdom  of  our  Father  David,  now  to  be  restored  in  tha 

name  of  Jehovah ! 
Blessed  be  He  that  cometh— the  King  of  Israel— in  the  name  of  Jehovah ! 
Our  peace  and  salvation  (now  coming)  are  from  God  above  I 
Praised  be  He  in  the  highest  heavena  (for  sending  them  by  Him,  the  Son 

of  David)! 
From  the  highest  heavens,  send  Thou,  now,  salvation!" 

It  was  a  triumph  in  wondrous  contrast  with  that  of  earthly  mon- 
archs.  No  spoils  of  towns  or  villages  adorned  it,  no  trains  of  cap- 
tives destined  to  slavery  or  death ;  the  spoil  of  His  sword  and  His 
spear  were  seen  only  in  trophies  of  healing  and  love,  for  the  lame 
whom  He  had  cured  ran  before,  the  dumb  sang  His  praises,  and  the 
blind,  sightless  no  longer,  crowded  to  gaze  on  their  benefactor.  The 
Pharisees  among  the  multitude  in  vain  tried  to  silence  the  accla- 
mations. In  their  mortification  they  even  turned  to  Jesus  Himself, 
to  ask  that  He  should  rebuke  those  who  made  them.  "  No,"  replied 
He,  '  *  I  tell  you  that,  if  these  should  hold  their  peace,  the  very  stones 
will  cry  out." 

As  they  approached  the  shoulder  of  the  hill,  where  the  road  bends 
downwards  to  the  north,  the  sparse  vegetation  of  the  eastern  slope 
changed,  as  in  a  moment,  to  the  rich  green  of  gardens  and  trees,  and 
Jerusalem  in  its  glory  rose  before  them.  It  is  hard  for  us  to  imagine, 
now,  the  splendour  of  the  view.  The  City  of  God,  seated  on  her 
hills,  shone  at  the  moment  in  the  morning  sun.  Straight  before, 
stretched  the  vast  white  walls  and  buildings  of  the  Temple,  its 
coiirts,  glittering  with  gold,  rising  one  above  the  other;  the  steep 
rides  of  the  hill  of  David  crowned  with  lofty  walls;  the  mighty 
castles  towering  above  them;  th«  sumptuons  palace  of  Herod  in  iU 


THE  LIFE  OP  CmilST.  66g 

gf'een  parks,  and  the  picturesque  outlines  of  the  Btrects.  Over  all 
rested  the  spell  of  a  history  of  two  thousand  years;  of  a  present 
■uiiich  craved  salvation  in  its  own  |x>rvcrted  way;  and  the  mystic 
Holy  of  Holies  linked  the  seen  to  the  invisiblps.  The  crusaders,  long 
centuries  after,  when  the  only  glory  left  to  the  Holy  City  was  its 
wondrous  memories,  burst  out  into  aloud  ci  y  -Jerusalem !  Jerusa- 
lem! when  they  tirst  saw  it,  and  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Jew  could  not 
have  been  fainter.     The  shouts  and  rejoicing  rose  higher  than  ever. 

The  whole  scene  was  overpowering,  even  to  Jesus  Himself.  He 
was  crossing  the  ground  on  which,  a  generation  later,  the  tenth 
Roman  legion  would  be  encamped,  as  part  of  the  besieging  force 
destined  to  lay  all  the  splendour  before  Him  in  ashes.  Knowing  the 
future  as  He  did,  His  heart  was  filled-with  indescribable  sadness,  for 
He  was  a  patriot,  and  man,  though  also  the  Son  of  God.  Looking 
at  the  spectacle  before  Him,  and  thinking  of  the  contrast  a  ffew  years 
would  show,  tears  burst  from  His  eyes,  and  His  disciples  heard  Him 
saying — "Would  that  thou  hadst  known,  thou,  Jerusalem,  in  this, 
thy  day,  when  I  come,  who,  alone,  can  bring  it — what  would  give 
thee  peace  and  safety!  But  now,  thou  seest  not  what  only'  could 
make  them  thine — the  receiving  me  as  the  Messiah !  Days  will  come 
upon  thee,  when  thine  enemies  will  raise  a  mount  about  thee,  and 
compass  thee  round,  and  invest  thee  on  every  side,  and  level  thee 
■with  the  ground,  and  bury  thy  children  under  thy  ruins,  and  leave 
not  one  stone  in  thee  upon  another,  because  thou  knewest  not  the 
time  when  God,  through  me,  off eredst  thee  salvation !" 

Sweeping  round  to  the  north,  the  road  approached  Jenisalera  by 
the  bridge  over  the  Kedron;  to  reach  which  it  had  to  pass  Geth- 
semane.  The  myriads  of  pilgrims  on  the  slopes  of  Olivet,  and  the 
crowd  at  the  eastern  wall  of  the  Temple,  thus  -aw  the  procession 
winding  in  slow  advance,  till  it  reached  the  gate,  now  St.  Stephen's, 
through  which  Jesus  passed  into  Betheza — the  new  town — riding  up 
the  valley  between  it  and  Mount  Moriah,  through  narrow  streets, 
hung  with  flags  and  banners  for  the  feast,  and  crowded,  on  the  raised 
sides,  and  on  every  roof,  and  at  every  window,  with  eager  faces. 
"AVho  is  this?"  passed  from  lip  to  lip.  "It  is  Jesus,  the  Prophet  of 
Nazareth,  in  Galilee,"  shouted  back  the  crowd  of  northern  pilgrims 
and  disciples,  glorying  in  the  vindication  of  the  honour  of  their 
province  before  the  proud  and  contemptuous  sons  of  Jerusalem. 

Leaving  His  beast  and  entering  the  Temple,  which — having  ridden 
— He  could  do  without  preparation,  except  that  of  removing  His 
sandals,  though  the  crowd  with  Him,  if  at  such  times  the  rules  were 
enforced,  had  to  stop  behind  to  cleanse  their  dusty  feet,  take  olf  their 
shoes,  or  sandals,  and  lay  aside  their  walking  staves,  before  entering 
a  place  so  holy, — He  took  i>ossession  of  it  in  the  name  and  as  the 
representative  of  Jehovah  its  Lord,  and  closed  the  wondrous  day  by 
a  calm  and  prolonged  survey  of  all  around.  Earnest,  sad,  indignant 
hours  thus  passed ;  but  even  they  were  tilled  with  works  of  pitying 

L  cf  C— 22. 


664  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST:   ' 

f  ooflnp^^s,  for  the  blind  and  the  lame  had  heard  of  His  coming,  and 
hastened  to  Hiir>,  and  were  healed.  The  courts  and  halls  of  the 
Faf^red  House — the  very  stronghold  of  His  enemies,  re-echoed — to 
their  intense  mortitication,  Avitli  the  shouts  that  had  accompanied  His 
entry  to  tlie  city,  for  the  miracles  He  wrouglit  heightened  and  pro- 
longed the  enthusiasm  till  the  very  children  joined  in  the  cry  of 
"  Hosanna  to  the  Son  of  David!" 

"Do  you  see  how  powerless  we  are  against  Him?"  muttered  the 
Pharisees;  "  tlie  wliolc  people  have  gone  after  Him." 

His  bold  appearance  in  the  Temple  itself,  especially  filled  the 
priestly  dignitaries  and  Eabbis  Avith  indignation,  all  the  deeper  be- 
cause they  dared  not  arrest  Him  for  fear  of  the  crowds,  even  when 
now  in  their  very  hand.  That  the  children  should  hail  Him  as  the 
Mes.siah;  also  enraged  them.  "  Hcarest  thou  not  what  these  say?" 
asked  some  of  them.  But,  instead  of  disavowing  the  supreme  honour 
ascribed  to  Him,  He  only  rephcd  that  He  did — "but,"  added  He, 
"  have  ye  never  read  in  your  own  Scriptures — '  Out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  sucklmgs.  Thou  (Jehovah)  bast  perfected  praise,  that  Thou 
mightest  put  to  shame  Thine  enemies,  and  silence  Thy  foes,  and  those 
who  rage  against  Thcc'  " 

Never  was  His  presence  of  mind  and  quick  aptness  of  retort  shown 
more  strikingly. 

The  day  was  ncv/  far  spent.  The  end  proposed  had  been  abun- 
dantly attained.  The  crowds  l^ad  begun  to  retire,  after  evening 
prayers,  and  He,  too,  Avith  the  Twelve,  passed  out  quietly  with  the 
throng,  and  betook  Himself  once  more  to  the  "weU-loved  cottage  at 
Bethany. 

It  had  been  no  chance  coincidence  that  the  day  in  which  He  had 
thus  virtually  consecrated  Himself  to  death,  was  that  on  which  the 
paschal  lamb  Avas  selected. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  the  statement  of  the  Gospels,  that  neither 
the  TAvelve  nor  the  disciples  at  large  realized  at  first  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  Avhat  had  happened.  In  later  times,  however,  after  He  had 
risen  and  ascended  to  heaven,  its  full  grandeur  gradually  broke  on 
them  as  the,y  discoursed  again  and  again  on  the  whole  strange  history 
through  Avhieh  they  had  passed.  They  remembered,  then,  the  words 
of  the  prophet  Zechariah,  and  saw  hoAV  the  triumphal  entry  in  which 
they  had  taken  part,  had  been  the  divinely  designed  fulfilment  of 
ancient  prophecy. 

The  entry  on  Palm  Sunday,  though,  for  the  moment,  a  bitter  mor' 
tification  to  the  hierarchical  party,  Avas  presently  hailed  by  them  as  3 
fancied  mistake  on  the  part  of  Jesus.  Till  now,  all  their  efforts  to 
frame  any  capital  charge  against  Him,  on  plausible  grounds,  liad  ut- 
terly failed.  He  had  slighted  the  Rabbinical  laws,  but  the  Romans, 
•with  whom  lay  the  power  of  life  and  death,  would  take  no  cognizanca 
of  such  offences.  His  public  entry  into  Jerusalem,  as  the  Messiah, 
amidst  the  shouts  of  the  people,  seemed  to  give  them,  at  last,  tb* 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  665 

means  of  indicting  Him  for  what  they  could  represent  as  at  least 
constructive  treason — the  chiiming  to  be  king  instead  of  Cffisar.  The 
liomans  dreaded  nothing  more  than  assumption  of  the  Messialiship 
for  it  had  often  cost  them  dear  to  quell  the  insurrections  to  which  ii 
led,  and  they  were  stern  to  the  uttermost  against  any  attempt  to  clial- 
lenge  the  Emperor's  authority.  But  the  absolutely  peaceful  bearing 
of  Jesus,  throughout:  His  studied  care  to  make  no  illegal  use  of  the 
popular  enthusiasm:  the  quiet  dispersion  of  the  crowds,  and  the  utter 
absence  of  any  political  character  in  His  whole  life  and  words,  were 
fatal  to  judicial  action,  based  on  grounds  so  slender.  They  would 
not,  however,  let  such  a  charge  against  Him  slip,  and  could  accuse 
Him  to  Pilate,  if  other  charges  failed,  of  "  perverting  the  nation,  and 
forbidding  to  give  tribute  to  Caesar,  saying  that  He,  Himself,  ia 
Christ,  a  king. " 

Morning  saw  Jesus  once  more  on  His  way  to  the  Temple.  He  had 
not  as  yet  eaten,  for  He,  apparently,  looked  forward  to  doing  so  at 
the  home  of  some  disciple  in  Jerusalem,  and  the  keen  air  of  the  early 
hours  made  Him  hungry.  The  little  valley  of  Bethany  was  famous 
for  dates  and  figs,  for  the  very  name  Bethany  means — "  the  place  for 
dates;"  while  Bethphage  is  "  the  place  for  the  green  or  winter  fig" — 
a  variety  which  remains  on  the  trees  through  the  winter,  having 
ripened  only  after  the  leaves  had  fallen. 

It  was  not  yet  the  time  of  the  fig  harvest,  but  some  of  last  year's 
fruit  might,  no  doubt,  be  found  on  some  of  the  trees  growing  about. 
One  tree,  especially,  attracted  the  notice  of  Jesus.  It  grew  at  the 
road-side,  as  common  property,  and,  even  thus  early,  when  other  fig- 
trees  had  scarcely  begun  to  show  greenness,  was  conspicuous  by  it3 
young  leaves.  When  He  came  to  it,  however,  they  proved  its  only 
boast:  there  was  no  fruit  of  the  year  before,  as  might  have  been 
naturally  expected.  It  was,  indeed,  the  very  type  of  a  fair  profession 
without  performance:  of  the  hypocrisy  which  has  only  leaves,  and 
no  fruit.  Such  a  realized  parable  could  not  be  passed  in  silence  by 
One  who  drew  a  moral  from  every  incident  of  life  and  nature. 
"  Picture  of  boastful  insincerity;"  said  He,  loud  enough  for  the  dis- 
ciples to  hear — "  tjq:)e  of  Israel  and  its  leaders:  pretentious,  but  bear- 
ing no  fruit  to  God — let  no  fruit  grow  on  thee  henceforward,  for 
ever,"  and  passed  on.  They  were  to  learn  that  profession,  without 
performance,  found  no  favour  with  their  Master. 

Reaching  the  city.  He  once  more  went  to  the  Temple,  as  Ilia 
Father's  house.  Two  years  before,  He  had  purified  its  outer  court 
from  the  sordid  abuses  which  love  of  gain  had  dexterously  cloaked 
imder  an  affectation  of  piously  serving  the  requirements  of  worsliip. 
Since  then,  they  had  been  restored  in  all  their  hatefulncss.  Tho  low- 
ing of  oxen,  the  bleating  of  sheep,  the  cries  of  the  money-changers, 
and  the  noisy  market  chaffering  of  buyers  and  sellers  of  doves  or 
other  accessories  to  a  ceremonial  worship,  filled  the  air  with  dis- 
cordant souuda  of  the  outside  ■yyorld,  which  had  no  right  in  these 


666  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

sacred  precincts.  The  scene  roused  the  same  deep  indignation  in 
Jesus,  as  when  He  formerly  rose  in  His  grand  protest  against  it.  He 
had  now,  in  His  triinupiial  entry,  formally  proclaimed  His  Kingdom, 
and  would,  forthwith,  vindicate  its  rights,  by  once  more  restoring  the 
Temple  to  its  becoming  purity,  for  wliile  it  stood,  it  should  be  holy. 
The  same  fervent  zeal  again  dismayed  and  paralyzed  opposition. 
Filled,  as  all  minds  were,  with  the  awe  of  the  popular  enthusiasm  in 
His  behalf,  His  command  sufficed  to  clear  the  spacious  court  of  its 
motley  crowd:  tlie  sellers  of  doves,  at  His  order,  bore  off  their  cages: 
the  exchangers  gathered  up  their  coin,  and  He  made  the  one  remove 
their  benches  and  counters,  and  overturned  the  empty  booths  of  the 
others.  Nor  would  He  .suffer  the  desecration  of  laden  porters  and 
others  seeking  to  shorten  their  journeys  by  crossing  the  Temple 
spaces,  as  if  they  were  public  streets.  They  might  cany  them  round 
by  what  way  they  chose,  but  must  not  make  a  thoroughfare  of  the 
sacred  courts.  "Jehovah  has  written,"  said  He,  "My  house  is  the 
house  of  prayer  for  all  nations,  but  ye,  bringing  in  all  the  wiles  and 
cheats  of  imworthy  traffic,  have  made  it  a  den  of  thieves." 

We  cannot  suppose  that  Jesus,  within  a  few  hovirs  of  His  death  at 
the  hands  of  the  Temple  authorities,  and  innuediately  after  His 
lament  over  His  rejection  by  them  and  the  nation,  intended,  by  this 
cleansing  of  the  outer  Temple  spaces,  to  present  Himself  as  a 
reformer  of  the  Temple  service.  He  meant,  rather,  to  show,  among 
other  things,  to  the  multitudes  round  Him,  by  an  act  which  they 
could  not  mistake;  that  the  Holy  House  w^as  already  desecrated  by 
the  sanctioned  intrusion  of  the  spirit  of  common  gain,  and  made  no 
more  than  a  huge  bazaar,  with  all  its  abuses;  doubly  unworthy  in 
such  a  place.  He  wished  to  teach  them  by  the  sight  of  such  insen- 
sibility to  the  ideal  of  a  Temple  of  God,  that  the  fall  of  the  theocracy, 
with  its  scotfing  high  pi'iests,  and  worn-out  ceremonial,  was  a  fact 
already  begun.  The  very  texts  He  had  quoted  were  from  lamenta- 
tions over  the  religious  decay  of  the  nation,  which,  the  prophets  pre- 
dicted, would  bring  the  stranger  into  the  House  of  Jehovah,  as  more 
worthy  than  the  Jew ;  a  decay  which  demanded,  instead  of  mere  out- 
w'ard  service,  a  reform  of  the  heart  and  life.  But  the  gi'eat  lesson, 
also,  was  not  wanting,  that  the  worship  of  God  must  be  pure  and 
earnest,  not  merely  formal,  and  that  hypocrisy  was  abhorrent  to  Him. 
This  truth  sank  that  day  into  all  hearts,  and  before  a  generation  had 
passed,  it  had  been  repeated  from  the  Euphrates  to  Home.  It  was 
the  knell  of  the  Jewish  economy  at  its  centre,  for  a  Temple  thus  pub- 
licly marked  as  given  over  to  greed  and  gain,  under  pretence  of  zeal 
for  religion,  was  doomed  to  perish,  as  all  hj-pocrisies  must,  in  the 
end. 

The  significance  of  such  an  act  to  Himself,  was  known  to  none 
better  than  to  Jesus.  He  knew  that  His  hour  had  come,  and  that  He 
would  perish,  a  martyr  to  the  spirit  of  a  living,  as  opposed  to  the  let- 
to:  of  a  worn-out,  faith.     He  knew  that  He  had  against  Him  the  vast 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  667 

power  of  great  vested  interests,  who  passed  off  their  selfish  aims  as 
zeal  for  Church  and  State,  and  thus  won  support  from  imthinking 
thousands.  He  knew,  moreover,  tliatthe  religious  revolution  He  had 
begim  was  spreading  daily,  and  must  be  crushed  hy  His  ojiponents, 
by  any  measures  that  promised  success,  if  their  own  authority  were 
to  stand.  But,  in  the  face  of  all  this.  He  went  forward  with  calm 
serenity  towards  death,  us  the  one  purchase  price  of  liberty  and  life 
for  tlie  souls  of  men. 

The  day,  which  had  begun  with  the  symbolic  cleansing  of  the  Tem- 
ple, was  devoted,  in  its  later  hours,  to  His  wonted  work  of  teaching 
all  who  would  listen,  but  none  of  the  discourses  have  been  preserved. 
The  people,  thronging  the  Court  where  He  sat — for  He  taught  in  the 
Temple — were  greatly  impressed  by  His  words ;  so  new,  so  earnest, 
so  searching  and  practical,  compared  with  the  vapidities  of  the  Rab- 
bis. It  was  vain  for  the  Jewish  authorities  to  attempt  to  arrest  Him, 
while  He  was  tlius  in  favour,  for  all  the  people  rallied  to  hear  Him, 
and  no  one  knew  how  far  lliey  might  be  disposed,  with  their  fiery 
Eastern  natures,  to  rise  on  His  behalf,  if  He  were  seized. 

This  day,  therefore,  passed  as  safely  for  Him  as  the  last,  and  in  the 
evening  Bethany  once  more  received  Him.  He  h^d  entered  the  city 
Willi  loud  jubilees,  but  the  last  mortal  struggle,  begun  by  His  lofty 
bearing  and  independence,  made  it  wise  to  retire  unnoticed.  Leav- 
ing, therefore,  privately,  by  the  flight  of  steps  to  the  Kedron,  He 
crossed  Olivet,  only  witli  His  disciples. 

The  sensation  caused  by  the  great  act  of  the  day  must  have  been 
profound.  The  religious  instinct  of  the  masses  felt  that  it  was  worthy 
of  a  true  prophet  of  God,  but  the  Temple  officials  realized  only  the 
public  censure  it  implied,  on  their  own  estimate  and  discharge  of 
their  duties.  For  the  moment  they  were  paralyzed  and  helpless;  re- 
buked before  all,  and  boldly  condemned  by  the  strange  intruder,  in 
exactly  the  point  on  which  they  were  mo'^t  sensitive,  for  it  was  as 
watchful  guardians  of  the  Temple  they  claimed  especially  the  respect 
of  the  nation. 

Next  morning  found  Him  once  more  on  the  Avay  to  the  Temple. 
"Rabbi,"  exclaimed  Peter,  in  wonder,  as  they  passed  the  tree  on 
which  Jesus  had  sought  flgs  the  day  before — "  The  fig-tree  which 
Thou  cursedst  is  withered  away."  It  had,  indeed,  already  shiivelled 
up. 

The  question  gave  another  opportunity  for  impressmg  on  the 
Twelve  a  truth,  which,  above  all  others,  He  had  sought  to  fix  in  their 
hearts  during  His  three  years'  intercourse  with  them — that,  as  His 
apostles,  commissioned  to  establish  and  spread  His  Kingdom,  they 
would  be  able,  if  they  had  an  unwavering  faith  in  God  and  in  Him, 
to  overcome  all  difficulties,  however  apparently  insuperable. 

"See,"  replied  He,  "that  you  learn  from  this  tree  to  have  firm 
trust  in  God.  Believe  me,  if  3'ou  have  such  faith,  and  let  no  doubt 
•r  wavering  enfeeble  it,  you  will  be  able  to  do  not  only  sucii  tilings, 


668  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

hereafter,  as  you  have  seen  done  to  this  tree,  b\it,  to  use  the  expres- 
sion you  so  often  hear  from  the  Rabbis,  when  they  intend  to  speak  of 
overcoming  the  greatest  difliculties,  or  achieving  the  most  unlikely 
end? — j'ou  will  be  able,  as  it  were,  to  bid  this  mountain  rise,  and  cast 
itself  into  the  sea.  All  depends,  however,  on  your  faith  being  simple 
and  undoubting,  for  anything  less  dishonours  God.  He  who  has 
such  cliild-Iike  "trust  in  Him,  may  contidently  expect  his  prayers 
to  be  heard.  When  you  pray,  believe  that  prayer  is,  in  very  deed, 
answered,  and  j^our  faith i  will  be  honoured  by  God  granting  what 
you  seek,  for,  as  His  children,  and  my  disciples,  you  will  ask  only 
what  is  in  accordance  with  His  will.  Only,  you  must  ever,  ir^ 
your  praj'ers,  be  in  that  frame  of  loving  tenderness  to  your  fel- 
low-men, which  true  faith  in  God,  as  His  sons,  always  brings  with 
it.  Strife  and  division  destroy  your  spiritual  life,  and  weaken  that 
faith  by  which,  alone,  you  can  do  great  things.  As  you  stand  at 
your  prayers,  as  your  manner  is,  you  must  have  no  anger,  no  revenge 
in  j-our  hearts,  else  you  v.'ill  not  be  heard.  The  spirit  of  frank  for- 
giveness, which  springs  from  true  love  to  God,  must,  beforehand, 
have  forgiven  all  who  have  injured  you.  For  how  can  you  hope  that 
your  Father  in  heaven  will  forgive  your  sins  against  Him,  if  you  do 
not  forgive  offences  against  yourselves?" 

But  the  moments  were  precious,  for  His  hours  were  numbered.  Al- 
ways, from  the  first,  intensely  energetic,  He  was  now,  if  possible, 
more  so  than  ever,  that  He  might  utilize  every  instant  for  His  great 
purpose.  With  calm  undismayed  resolution,  each  morning  saw  Him 
m  the  Temple,  as  soon  as  it  was  opened.  He  would  show  that  He 
was  no  Jacobin,  no  revolutionist.  Had  He  been  so,  how  easily  might 
He  have  taken  advantage  of  the  popular  enthusiasm,  at  His  entry  to 
the  city,  or  at  His  clean'sing  of  the  Temple  Courts.  Instead  of  doing 
so.  He  would  proclaim  the  true  nature  of  His  Kingdom,  by  the  one 
means  He  employed  to  establish  it — tlie  power  of  persuasion.  He 
would  devote  His  last  hours,  as  He  had  all  His  public  life,  to  teach- 
ing. By  His  words  alone  would  He  prevail,  for  they  liad  the  irresist- 
ible and  deathless  force  of  truth,  and,  as  such,  would  found  in  every 
heart  whose  convictions  they  reached,  a  kingdom  that  must  spread, 
and  could  never  perish, 

MeauAvhile,  His  enemies,  irresolute  what  course  to  pursue  to  strike 
Him  down;  determined  to  do  so  but  afraid  of  the  popular  feeling  they 
mifrht  invoke  in  His  favour;  watched  every  opportunity  to  facilitate 
decisive  action.  Their  bearing  had  acquitted  Him  of  all  further  re- 
sponsibility towards  them.  He  had  brought  the  truth  home  to  them 
in  their  central  stronghold;  had  made  it  unmistakable  what  He  de- 
manded in  the  name  of  His  Father;— that  they  should  begin  the  re- 
form and  salvation  of  the  nation,  by  reforming  themselves  its  leaders; 
that  they  should  be  true  shepherds,' and  not  hirelings;  sincere  in  their 
religion,  and  not  actors.  Such  demands,  in  themselves,  proved  His 
Messiahship,  for  they  bore  on  their  front  the  evidence  that  they  were 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  C69 

from  God,  and,  if  accepted,  He  also  must  be,  who  had  thus  been  sent 
from  God  to  proclaim  them.  The  internal  evidence  of  His  acts  and 
words  thus  established  His  highest  claims,  for  truth  and  goodness  are 
their  own  witness,  in  the  universal  conscience.  But  tiie  hierarchy 
had  shown  themselves  incapable  of  reform.  Like  the  barren  fig-tree, 
thev  bore  only  leaves,  and  must  be  left  to  the  righteous  indignation  of 
God. 

He  had  not  been  long  instructing  the  people,  Avho  flocked  to  see  and 
hear  Him,  before  some  of  the  Temple  autliorities  came  to  Him,  deter- 
mined to  bring  Him  to  account  for  His  act  of  the  day  before,  which 
had  been  an  intrusion  on  their  duties  as  Temple-inspectors;  and  for 
His  assuming  to  teach  as  a  Rabbi,  without  any  licence  from  the 
schools,  which  was  contrary  to  established  rule.  The}^  seem  to  have 
been  a  deputation  sent  officially,  and  consisted  of  some  of  the  higher 
priests — heads  of  the  different  courses — some  Rabbis,  and  some  of  the 
"elders" — the  ancient  senators  or  representatives  of  the  people — 
who,  as  a  body,  had  existed  through  all  political  changes,  from  the 
days  of  IMoses.  Interrupting  Jesus  as  He  taught,  they  now  abruptly 
asked  Him  by  what  authority  He  acted  as  He  had  done,  and  was 
doing. 

They,  doubtless,  hoped  that  He  would  claim  divine  authority,  and 
that  they,  tluis.  might  have  ground  for  a  charge  against  them.  But 
He  was  not  to  be  snared.  He  showed  Himself  the  dreaded,  prompt, 
keen  disputant,  ready  to  turn  defence  into  attack.  Careful  to  avoid 
giving  any  handle  for  misrepresentation,  instead  of  ansAvering  their 
question,  He  evaded  it,  by  asking  one  in  His  turn.  "  Before  I  answer 
your  qucs'.ion,"'  said  He,  "  L't  me  ask  j'ou — Did  John  the  Baptist,  in 
his  great  work,  act  in  obedience  to  God,  as  one  sent  by  Him,  or  was 
he  unauthorized?"  To  be  themselves  put  to  the  question;  to  be 
forced  to  give  a  reply,  instead  of  listening  to  one,  was  sufficiently 
embarrassing,  but  the  question  itself  was  still  more  so.  It  involved 
much.  Jesus  evidently  associated  Himself  with  John  as  He  had 
never  before  done.  He  implied  that  the  man  who  had  been  the  ter- 
ror of  Pharisees  and  priests,  and  their  victim — the  man  of  the  people, 
who  had  roused  such  an  unprecedented  excitement, — was  His  Fore- 
runner and  Herald.  He  spoke  of  John's  baptism  as  a  commission  from 
God,  and  evidently  claimed  that  His  own  entr}'  to  Jerusalem,  His 
preaching  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaveu,  His  cleansing  the  Temple,  and 
His  claim  to  be  the  jSlessiah,  wore  no  less  by  divine  authority. 

He,  Himself,  might  say  all  this  if  He  pleased,  but,  that  they  should 
have  to  say  it,  was  to  force  them  to  become  His  advocates  and  apol- 
ogists. Yet,  what  could  they  do,  for  was  it  not  clear  to  all  men  not 
blind  to  the  truth,  that  John  was  no  mere  adventurer,  but  a  noble 
servant  of  God?  But  to  own  that  he  was  so,  would  only  bring  down 
on  themselvGs  the  crushing  question,  "Why  then  did  3e  not  believe 
what  he  said  respecting  yourselves,  and  what  he  said  of  Me?  for  hia 
witness,  alone,  is  enough  to  prove  that  I  come, from  God."    On  tba 


670  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

other  hand,  to  denounce  him  as  an  impostor  was  dangerous,  for  his 
memory  was  cherished  by  the  people  at  large,  as  that  of  a  national 
hero,  tiie  last  of  the  mighty  line  of  prophets.  To  avoid  so  disastrous 
a  dilemma,  therefore,  they  were  driven  to  the  feeble  evasion — that 
they  could  not  tell  whether  John's  mission  was  from  God  or  not. 

"If  so,"  replied  Jesus,  "then  clearly  he  did  not  need  your  author- 
,  ity,  since  you  never  thought  it  worth  while  to  sanction,  or  even  decide 
respecting  him,  and  you  can  have  no  claim  to  authorize  me,  or  to  with- 
hold authority  from  me.  I,  myself,  decline,  therefore,  to  tell  by  what 
authority  I  act;  if  it  was  indifferent  in  the  case  of  John,  it  is  equally 
eo  in  mine." 

He  had  silenced  His  opponents,  but  would  not  let  them  leave  with- 
out once  more  trying  to  open  their  eyes  to  their  false  position. 

"Let  me  tell  you  a  parable,"  He  continued.  "A  certain  man  had 
two  sons.  He  came  to  the  first  and  said,  '  Son,  go,  work  to-day  in  the 
vineyard.'  But  he  answered,  '  I  will  not;'  yet,  afterwards,  he  repented 
and  went.  And  he  came  to  the  second  son,  who,  on  receiving  the  same 
command,  at  once  answered, — '  Yes,  Sir.'  But  he  did  not  go.  Let  me 
ask  you,  which  of  the  two  do  you  think,  did  the  will  of  his  father?" 

The  perfect  composure  and  the  consummate  art,  with  which  He 
addressed  them,  were  equally  perplexing;  for  high  dignitaries  of  the 
Jewish  religious  world  must  have  been  little  accustomed  to  be  put  in 
such  a  position  before  the  multitude.  But  an  answer  could  not  be 
refused,  and  the  question  was  framed  in  such  a  way,  that  they  could 
give  none  but  the  one  which  Jesus  required  for  His  complete  justiti- 
cation,  and  their  own  condemnation.  Hardly  seeing  what  it  implied, 
they  readily  answered, — '■  The  first."  They  were  now  in  His  hands, 
"lou  say  rightly,"  replied  He,  "for  when  John  came  calling  you,  in 
the  name  of  God, — you  priests,  scribes,  and  elders, — to  repentance  and 
righteousness,  you  honoured  him  by  ready  professions,  and  smooth- 
compliance,  promising  all  good  works  of  a  pious  and  holy  life,  and 
yet  you  held  aloof  after  all,  and  showed,  by  your  neglect  to  obey  him, 
that  you  disbelieved  his  message.  You  are  the  second  son,  who  said 
yes,  but  did  not  go  into  the  vineyard." 

"  On  the  other  hand,  the  publicans  and  harlots  whom  you  despise, 
the  common  people  at  large,  whom  you  reckon  cursed  of  God ;  who 
had  roughly  and  Avickedly  refused  to  do  right,  and  had  even  gone  to 
the  utmost  in  sin,  repented  at  the  summons  of  John,  believing  hi.s 
■words,  and  sought  earnestly  to  enter  into  the  Kingdom  of  God. 
They,  therefore,  condemn  you,  O  ye  leaders  of  the  people,  for,  by 
your  own  showing,  they  have  done  the  will  of  their  Father  in  Heaven, 
but  you  have  not." 

"It  has,  indeed,  been  always  the  same.  As,  in  .John's  day,  ye  would 
not  hear  him,  and  in  the  end  per.secuted  him  to  the  death,  so  have  you 
and  your  fathers  done  in  all  generations.  You,  indeed,  are  worse 
than  they  all,  for  you  seek  to  do  even  worse.    Hear  another  parable." 

He  had  spokea  of  the  call  of  God  by  the  mouth  of  John,  and  by 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  671 

implication  affirmed  that  His  own  experience,  as  the  successor  of  the 
Baptist  in  his  sjreat  worii,  had  been  the  same.  He  now  glanced  at  the 
history  of  the  theocracj',  and  at  the  sins  of  tlieir  party,  from  its  earliest 
days.  He  recounted  the  long  roll  of  the  servants  of  God  whom  they 
had  persecuted  and  misused,  from  the  first  to  the  last,  now  no  longer 
John,  but  a  far  greater — Himself.  In  doing  so.  He  now  first  openly, 
before  them,  called  Himself  the  Son  of  God,  and  left  them  to  feel  that 
He  now  stood  as  such  in  their  presence,  awaiting  the  fate  of  other 
messengers  of  His  Father  at  their  liands. 

"A  certain  man,"  said  He,  adopting  a  parable  of  Isaiah's,  "planted 
a  vineyard,  and  set  a  hedge  about  it,  and  liewed  out  a  wine-cistern  in 
,  the  hill-side,  into  which  to  press  the  wine,  and  built  a  tower  for  the 
watchers,  to  guard  the  vineyard,  and  agreed  with  liusbandmen  to 
work  it  on  his  behalf,  and  went  into  a  far  country,  for  a  long  time. 
And  when  the  fruit  season  drew  near,  he  sent  his  servants  to  the  hus- 
bandmen, that  they  might  receive  for  him  his  fruits.  But  they  took 
them,  and  beat  one  and  killed  another,  and  stoned  a  third.  He  then 
sent  other  servants,  more  numerous  than  the  first ;  but  the  husband- 
men treated  them  as  badly,  for  they  beat  one,  cast  stones  at  another, 
and  wounded  him  in  tlie  head,  and  sent  him  away,  not  only  empty- 
handed,  but  shamefully  treated.  Some  of  the  rest  they  beat,  others 
thejr  killed,  and  they  refused  to  pay  the  fruits  they  owed. 

"  Having  yet,  therefore,  a  son, — his  only  and  well-beloved, — he  de- 
termined to  send  him  to  them,  thinking  that,  though  they  had  treated 
his  servants  so  badly,  they  would  be  sure  to  show  liis  sou  respect. 
But  instead  of  this,  when  they  saw  the  son,  they  said  among  them- 
selves, 'This  is  the  son,  come  let  us  kill  him,  and  the  vineyard,  which 
he  should  have  inherited,  will  be  ours.'  So  they  took  hi'm,  and  cast 
him  out  of  the  vineyard,  and  slew  him. 

"Let  me  ask  you  now,  what  will  the  lord  of  the  vineyard  do  to 
these  husbandmen?" 

The  dignitaries  thus  addressed  could  not,  in  the  presence  of  the 
crowd  listening  to  all  that  had  passed,  refuse  the  only  possible  answer: 
"He  will  come  and  miserably  destroy  these  wretched  men,"  said  their 
spokesman,  "and  give  the  vineyard  to  others,  who  will  render  hira 
his  fruits  in  their  seasons."  The  meaning  of  the  parable  had  already 
flashed  on  the  minds  of  some  of  them,  and  the  answer  was  followed 
by  a  deep  "God  forbid!"  from  several  voices. 

"Looking  full  and  steadily  at  them,  Jesus  now  kept  them  from 
retiring  by  a  further  question. 

"Did  you  never  read  in  the  Scriptures,"  said  He,  "this  text,  'The 
stone  which  the  builders  rejected  is  made  the  chief  corner-stone — the 
main  foundation;  Jehovah  hath  done  this;  marvellous  is  it  in  our 
eyes?'" 

The  meaning  was  clear.  The  corner-stone  of  the  Kingdom  of  God, 
of  which  those  in  His  presence  claimed  to  be  the  chief  men,  was,  in 
their  own  mode  of  speech,  only  a  figurative  name  for  Jie  Messiah,  om 


672  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

whom  its  existence  and  completion  depended,  as  a  building  depends 
on  its  foundation  and  support.  The  Psahn  quoted  had  been  sung,  it 
is  believed,  by  Israel,  on  the  first  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  after  the  return 
from  captivity.  Its  historical  reference  was  primarily  to  the  Jewish 
nation — rejected  by  the  heathen,  but  chosen  again  by  God  as  the  fouu 
dation  of  His  earthlj^  kingdom;  but,  in  a  higher  spiritual  sense,  the 
Rabbis  themselves  understood  it  of  the  Messiah,  and  thus  there  could 
be  no  douljt  in  the  mind  of  any  Jew  tliat  when  now  applied  by  Christ 
to  Himself,  it  was  a  direct  claim  of  Messianic  dignity. 

"You  know  this  verse,  do  you  notV"  continued  Jesus:  "Well, 
then — because  the  stone  which  you  have  rejected  has  been  chosen  by 
God  as  the  foundation-stone  of  His  New  Spiritual  Kingdom,  every  one 
who  shall  fall  on  it — that  is,  every  one  who,  by  rejecting  me,  the  Mes- 
siah, shall  have  drawn  down  on  himself  destruction — will  perish;  but 
he  on  whom  it  will  fall — he,  I  mean,  on  whom  I,  the  Messiah,  will  let 
loose  my  avenging  judgments,  for  his  rejection  of  me — will  be  crushed 
to  pieces,  small  as  the  dust  or  chaff  that  is  scattered  to  the  winds. 

"Therefore,  I  say  to  you,  the  Kingdom  of  God  shall  be  taken  from 
Israel,  and  from  you,  its  present  heads,  and  be  given  to  a  nation  who 
will  render  to  God  the  fruits  He  has  a  riglit  to  claim  from  it." 

The  guilty  consciences  of  the  chief  priests  and  Pharisees  addressed, 
felt,  instinctively,  that  in  these  parables  He  had  pointed  to  them. 
The  vineyard  of  God,  separated  from  the  wilderness  of  heathenism 
was,  clearly,  Israel.  The  Jews  had  been  favoured  by  having  the 
"noble  vine"  of  divine  institutions  among  them.  The  tower  which 
protected  them,  was  the  Temple  of  God ;  the  husbandmen  were  the 
successors  of  Moses;  the  Priests,  Rabbis,  and  Pliarisees,  the  repre- 
sentatives of  God,  to  whom  of  old  He  had  left  His  vineyard  when 
He  returned  to  heaven  from  Mount  Sinai ;  with  the  charge  to  tend  it, 
and  to  render  Him  duly  its  fruits.  The  servants  sent  were,  clearly, 
the  prophets,  from  their  first  appearance,  in  the  distant  past,  to  John 
the  Baptist.  They  had  been  despised,  beaten,  martyred.  Only  one 
could  follow  them — the  last  and  highest  representative  of  God,  who 
should  have  commanded  respect  even  from  murderers — His  only  and 
well-beloved  Son,  the  Messiah,  who  had  come,  not  as  the  nation 
fancied,  to  bring  them  political  glory  and  earthly  prosperity,  but  to 
receive  and  bear  to  His  Father  the  fruits  which,  kept  back  for  hun- 
dreds of  years,  could  no  longer  be  left  unrendered.  But  Jesus,  the 
Messiah,  had  long  foreseen  His  fate.  He  had  had  it  before  His  eyes 
every  hour  since  His  public  entry  to  Jerusalem.  He,  the  rightful 
heir  of  the  vineyard,  had  been  received  by  the  husbandmen  with 
jealous  eyes  and  "deadly  purposes.  The  revolt  He  had  come  to  end 
had  grown  rampant.  It  had  risen  from  a  refusal  to  render  the  fruits, 
to  a  rejection  of  their  dependence,  and  a  daring  resolution  to  take 
the  vineyard  into  their  own  hands:  to  cast  out  God,  in  casting  out 
Him  whom  He  had  sent.  The  fierce  anger  of  God  could  not  long 
delay.     The  rebels,  smitteu  by  Hii  wrath,  must  perish-     The  Tine- 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  673 

yard  must  pass  into  other  hands.  But  "  the  others"  oouid  only  be 
(he  heathen,  whom  Israel  despised.  Loj^al  to  the  Son.  whom  Israel 
had  rejected  and  slain;  His  disciples  and  followers,  gathered  from 
other  nations,  would  be  entrusted  with  the  inheritance.  Changing 
the  figure,  these  Avould  willingly'  accept,  as  the  foundation  and  chief 
corner-stone  of  the  New  Kingdom  of  God,  Him  whom  the  first 
builders — of  whom  those  now  before  Him  were  the  representatives 
— had  rejected.  Was  there  any  doubt  that  God  would  transfer  that 
kingdom  to  those  tlms  loyal  to  His  Son?  He,  who  now  stood  before 
them,  and  who  at  any  moment  might  be  cast  out  of  the  Temple  with 
ignominy,  and  slain,  must  be  the  foundation  of  the  New  Theocracy 
^which  was  to  supplant  the  Old ! 

The  first  open  attempt  at  violence  followed  this  parable.  The  hie- 
rarchical party  felt  that  they  were  meant,  and  that  Jesus  had  dared  to 
call  Himself  the  chief  corner-stone  of  the  future  Kingdom  of  God, 
which  was  to  rise  in  the  place  of  that  Avith  which  all  their  dignities 
and  interests  were  bound  up.  With  wild  Eastern  frenzJ^  they  sought 
to  arrest  Him  on  the  spot.  But  as  looks  and  words,  passing  among 
them,  betrayed  their  intention  to  the  crowds  around,  these  would 
not  let  Him  be  taken,  counting  Him,  if  not  the  Messiah,  at  least  a 
prophet.  Some,  bolder  than  the  rest,  possibly  laid  hands  on  Him,  but 
they  were  forced  by  the  surging  multitude  to  let  go.  They  had  to 
leave  the  place,  and  suffer  Jesus  to  escape  for  the  moment.  But  they 
had  power,  and  organization,  and  the  people  would  not  always  be 
round  Him! 

Left  in  peace,  the  unwearying  Divine  Man  once  more  calmly  be- 
took Himself  to  His  task  of  teaching  all  who  would  hear. 

The  die  had  finally  been  cast,  and  the  open  breach  between  Him 
and  the  Church  authorities  had  been  proclaimed  by  Himself  in  His 
last  parables.  Full  of  lofty  indignation  at  the  hypocrisy  and  wilful 
blindness  of  His  adversaries,  no  less  than  of  compassion  for  the 
multitude,  He  could  not  repress  the  crowding  thoughts  which  the 
last  hours  raised  in  His  soul,  and,  as  usual,  they  found  expression 
in  additional  parables. 

"  The  Kingdom  of  Heaven,"  He  began,  "is  like  a  king  who  made 
a  marriage-feast  for  his  son,  and  sent  forth  his  servants,  as  the  custom 
is,  to  tell  those  who  had  already  been  invited  that  the  time  had  now 
come.  But,  though  thus  once  and  again  summoned,  they  would  not 
come.  Yet,  the  king,  unwilling,  in  his  goodness,  that  they  should  not 
enjoy  the  feast;  in  spite  of  this,  sent,  once  more,  other  servants  to 
invite  them  again.  '  Come,' ran  his  message,  'for  I  have  prepared 
the  first  meal  of  the  feast ;  my  oxen  and  fatliugs  have  been  killed,  and 
all  things  are  ready:  come  to  the  marriage.'  "But  they  made  light  of 
this  fresh  invitation  as  well,  and  went  oil,  one  to  his  farm,  another 
to  his  merchandise,  while  still  others  took  his  servants,  and  ill-treated, 
and  even  killed  them.  Then  the  king  was  angry,  and  sent  his 
soldiers,   and  destroyed   these   murderers,  and    burned  their   city. 


C74  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Meanwhile,  he  said  to  his  servants,  '  The  marriage  feast  is  ready,  bnt 
those  who  have  been  called  were  not  worthy.  Go,  therefore,  to  the 
highways,  where  the  roads  cross,  and  there  are  most  passers-by,  and 
invite  to  the  feast  as  many  as  ye  find. ' 

"  So  the  servants  went  forth  from  the  palace  of  the  king  to  the 
roads  and  cross- ways,  and  gathered  together  all,  both  evil  and  good, 
who  were  willing  to  accept  their  invitations,  and  the  feast-chamber 
was  filled  with  guests. 

' '  The  king  had  made  all  preparations  for  the  guests  bein  g  nobly 
arrayed  in  festal  robes,  so  as  to  be  worthy  to  appear  before  him. 

"  But,  now,  when  he  came  in  to  see  the  guests,  he  saw  among  them 
a  man  Avho  had  not  put  on  a  marriage-robe.  And  he  said  to  him, 
'  Friend,  how  is  it  that  you  have  come  in  hither  without  a  marriage 
garment?  You  must  needs  have  known  that  I  provided  robes,  tit  for 
my  presence,  for  all  my  guests,  and,  not  less,  how  great  a  slight  and 
disrespect  it  is  to  refuse  what  is  thus  offered;  you  know  that  to  do  so 
is  to  raise  the  severest  indignation  in  a  king  thus  offended.' 

"But  the  man  was  speechless,  for  he  could  not  excuse  himself. 

"Then  said  the  king  to  his  attendants,  '  Bind  him  hand  and  foot, 
and  cast  him  out  into  the  thick  darkness  outside. ' " 

"  Ye  know,"  added  Jesus,  "how  dark  in  the  night  our  streets  are, 
in  which  no  windows  open,  and  which  no  lights  iHumine.  That 
darkness  is  but  a  type  of  the  awful  night  into  which  he  Avill  be  cast 
out,  who  appears  at  the  marriage  feast  of  the  Messiah's  kingdom, 
without  the  marriage-robe  provided  by  my  Father.  In  that  darkness 
there  will,  indeed,  be  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  for  though 
multitudes  are  invited  to  the  feast  of  the  heavenly  kingdom,  many 
neglect  to  secure  the  marriage-robe,  without  which  no  one  can  see 
the  king!" 

The  parable  was  an  enforcement  of  those  just  addressed  to  the 
priests  and  Rabbis,  but  with  various  additional  lessons.  1  lie  haughty 
sons  of  Jerusalem  heard  once  more,  that  when  the  kingdom  of  the 
Messiah  should  be  set  up  in  its  glory,  God  would  call  the  heathen  to 
a  share  in  it,  while  the  people  of  Israel,  with  their  religious  leaders — 
because,  as  a  nation,  they  had  rejected  His  repeated  invitations — 
would  no  longer  be  the  one  people  of  God.  Still  more,  they  would 
be  visited  with  the  avenging  Avrath  of  God,  in  the  destruction  of 
Jerusalem,  even  before  the  final  triumphant  establishment  of  the  New 
Divine  Kingdom.  Yet,  among  the  heathen  invited  to  enter  it,  as 
among  the  Jews,  God,  at  the  day  of  judgment,  when  the  kingdom 
was  finally  set  up  for  eternity,  would  separate  and  judge  those  who 
had  been  wanting  in  loyalty  to  Him,  and  had  come  into  His  presence 
without  the  preparation  demanded.  Such  would  be  cast  into  the 
outer  darkness  of  Gehenna. 

Thus,  in  the  very  presence  of  imminent  death,  there  was  the  same 
tranqviillity  and  repose  as  on  the  free  hills  of  Galilee,  or  in  the  safe 
retreat  of  Caesarea  Philippi :  the  same  stupendous  claims  as  Head  of 


THE  LIFte  OF  CHRIST.  675 

the  New  Kingdom  of  God,  and  King  over  the  souls  of  men,  for  lime 
and  eternity.  Witliin  a  few  hours  of  crucifixion,  and  conscious  of 
the  fact;  in  tlie  intervals  of  mortal  contest  with  the  whole  forces  of 
the  past  and  present,  the  wandering  GalihTan  Teacher,  meek  and 
lowly  in  spirit,  so  that  the  poorest  and  the  youngest  instinctively 
sought  Him;  full  of  divine  pity,  so  that  the  most  sunken  and  hopeless 
penitent  felt  He  was  their  friend :  indifferent  to  the  supports  of  in- 
fluence, wealth,  or  numbers;  alone  and  poor;  the  very  embodiment 
of  weakness,  as  regarded  all  visible  help,  still  bore  Himself  with  a 
serene  dignity  more  than  human.  In  the  name  of  God  He  transfers 
the  spiritual  glory  of  Israel  to  His  own  followers;  throws  down  the 
barriers  of  caste  and  nationality;  extends  the  new  dominion  of  which 
He  is  Head,  to  all  races,  and  through  all  aaes,  here  and  hereafter; 
predicts  the  divine  wrath  on  His  enemies  in  tliis  world,  as  the  enenaies 
of  God,  and  announces  the  decision  of  (he  final  judgment  as  turning 
on  the  attitude  of  men  towards  Himself  and  His  message.  The 
grandeur  of  soiU  which  could  so  utterly  ignore  the  outward  and 
apparent,  and  realize  the  essential  and  eternal;  the  conscious  majesty 
in  the  midst  of  humiliation  and  danger;  the  absolute  trust  that,  if  the 
present  belonged  to  His  adver.saries,  the  everlasting  future,  in  earth 
and  heaven,  was  all  His  own,  could  spring  in  such  a  heart,  only 
because  it  felt  that  it  was  not  alone,  but  that,  unseen  by  man,  a  greater 
than  man  was  ever  with  Him.  Only  when  we  realize  Him  as  enjoy- 
ing unclouded  and  absolute  communion  with  eternal  ti'uth  and  love 
— -Man,  but  also  the  Incarnate  Divine — can  we  hope  to  solve  the 
mystery. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

JEKTJSALEM. 

It  was  still  Tuesday,  and  Jesus  still  remained  in  the  Temple  courts. 
The  deputation  from  the  Temple  authorities  had  come  to  Him  in  the 
early  morning,  only  to  retire  mortified  and  silenced,  but  the  heads  of 
all  parlies  were  threatened  by  One  who  demanded  changes  so  funda- 
mental. All  alike,  therefore,  however  hostile  at  other  times,  made 
common  cause  in  trying  to  get  the  hated  Reformer  into  their  power. 
It  was  the  same  spirit,  as,  in  after  ages,  when  far  less  fiercely  roused, 
burned  Arnold  of  Brescia,  and  John  IIuss,  and  strangled  and  burnt 
Savonarola,  and  slew  the  thousands  of  victims  of  tlie  Inquisition: — 
the  non  possumus  of  a  corrupt  ecclesiastical  cor[)oration,  which  would 
murder  in  the  name  of  God,  because  that  could  be  called  orthodoxy; 
but  would  not  reform,  because  to  do  so  would  touch  their  interests 
and  their  order. 

Plot,  therefore,  thickened  on  plot.  Having  themselves  failed,  the 
authorities  sent  some  of  the  Pharisees  in  company  with  some  Hero- 


€76  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dians,  otherwise  their  deadly  enemies,  to  try  to  commit  Him  by  the 
ajiswers  He  might  give  to  treacherous  questions.  Obscure  men  were 
chosen,  men  unlvnown  to  Jesus.  They  were  to  pretend  themselves 
anxious,  as  sincere  Jews,  scrupulous  in  all  duties,  to  get  His  counsel 
on  a  point  much  disputed.  The  snare  was  no  longer  laid  in  the 
sphere  of  Rabbinical  law,  but  in  the  more  dangerous  one  of  political 
obligation,  that  an  ambiguous  answer  might  compromise  Him  before 
the  Roman  procurator.  If  they  succeeded,  it  would  at  once  transfer 
the  odium  of  His  arrest  from  themselves:  ensure  His  not  being  res- 
cued, and  make  it  possible  to  get  Him  put  to  death,  for  the  power  of 
death  was  in  Pilate's  hands  alone. 

The  Pharisees  and  Herodians,  though  from  different  principles, 
^ere  equally  disloyal  in  heart  to  the  Roman  Emperor.  The  extreme 
section  of  the  former  had  developed  into  the  sanguinary  zealots — the 
extreme  left,  or  irreconcilables,  of  Jewish  politics:  tlie  Herodians 
were  Jewish  royalists,  who  sighed  for  the  old  days  of  Archelaus  and 
the  Edomite  dynasty.  With  dexterous  craft,  the  ultra-orthodoxy  of 
the  Pharisaic  party  allied  itself  with  the  discontented  loyalist  faction, 
to  tempt  Jesus,  if  possible,  to  some  bold  expression  of  opinion  on  the 
hated  question  of  the  pajnneut  of  the  Roman  poll  tax,  which  had 
already  excited  fierce  insurrections.  If  He  held  that  payment  should 
be  refused,  He  would  compromise  Himself  with  the  Romans:  if  He 
sanctioned  it,  He  would  embitter  Himself  both  with  the  Herodians 
and  the  ultra-national  party.  Danger  lay  on  each  hand.  On  the  one, 
the  fierce  eyes  of  the  multitude,  on  the  other,  the  bailiffs  of  Herod: 
here,  the  ciy,  "Publicans,  sinners;"  there,  a  Roman  dungeon.  To 
disarm  suspicions  they  used 

"  Smooth  dissimulation,  taught  to  grace 
A  devil's  purpose  with  an  angel's  face." 

"Teacher,"  said  they,  with  soft  accents  and  himible  looks,  "we 
know — indeed,  we  are  fully  convinced — that  thou  teachest  what  God 
requires  of  man  as  his  duty  in  all  matters,  truly  and  rightly,  and 
troublcst  not  thyself  about  the  opinions  of  men.  but  fearlessly  and 
nobly  speakest  what  truth  demands,  without  thinking  of  conse- 
quences, and  without  carmg  who  hear.s  Thee,  whether  he  be  rich,  or 
poor,  learned  or  simple,  powerful  or  lowly.  Is  it  lawful  for  us  Jcavs 
to  pay  tribute  to  Caesar  or  not?  We  are  the  people  of  God:  God  is 
our  King:  is  it  in  accordance  Avith  the  allegiance  we  owe  to  Him,  as 
such,  to  recognize  any  other  king,  as  we  must  do  if  we  pay  taxes  to 
Caesar?"  It  was  on  such  reasoning  that  Judas  the  Gaulonite  had 
based  his  fierce  revolt  against  payment  of  tlie  tax  demanded  after 
the  census  of  Quirinius,  and  his  name  and  opinions  were  ven. 
erated  by  the  closelj^-packed  multitude  around.  Every  Galilaean 
among  them  expected  a  .stem  avowal  of  the  illegality  of  the  demand. 
For  Judas  had  taught  the  youth  of  the  country  that  to  pay  taxes  to 
a  heathen  state  was  not  allowable,  and  defiled  the  land,  and  thousands 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  677 

had  already  died  for  this  cause,  or  lived  as  fugltiTes  in  the  caves  of 
the  north. 

The  mode  of  approach  adopted  was  well  fitted  to  throw  Jesus 
off  His  guard.  Recoguition,  even  by  Pharisees,  as  the  brave,  frank, 
fearless  Man  of  God,  and  appeal  to  Him  in  a  matter  which  might 
cost  the  questioner  his  life,  were,  alike,  ensnaring.  Frankness  de- 
manded frankness.  The  courage  of  the  question  demanded  as  much 
in  the  reply.  Jesus  knew,  besides,  that  such  ideas  were  always  fer- 
menting in  the  mind  of  the  Pharisee  youth,  and  that  the  Herodiaus, 
instead  of  being  friends  of  Rome,  anxiously  desired  a  change.  AVhy. 
therefore,  should  He  distrust  the  new  allies?  The  Roman  supremacy 
was,  undoubtedly,  at  bottom,  a  usurpation.  The  strict  Jew  recog- 
nized no  ruler  but  Jehovah,  and,  since  Jesus  had  devoted  His  life  to 
founding  a  " Kinscdom  of  Heaven,"  it  seemed  only  natural  that  He 
should  hold  His  followers  free  from  obligations  to  the  kingdoms  of  the 
world.  They  could  not  comprehend  the  spirituality  of  His  concep- 
tions, for  had  they  not  had  a  secret  suspicion,  that,  in  spite  of  appear- 
ances. He  really  ineditated  an  attack  on  the  Roman  government,  they 
would  hardly  have  asked  such  a  question.  Could  they  only  bring 
Him  to  reveal  these  secret  thoughts.  His  death  at  the  hands  of  the 
Romans  was  certain,  as  a  crafty  conspirator,  and  the  hierarchical 
party  would  get  their  revenge,  without  the  odium  of  exacting  it, 
against  the  daring  and  determined  transgressor  of  Rabbinical  law. 

But  Christ's  answer  scattered  their  subtle  plans  to  the  wind. 

"  You  liypocrites! — you  actors!"  replied  He;  "  I  see  throu^  your 
designs,  and  value  your  deceitful  flatteries  at  their  worth.  Why  do 
you'thus  seek  to  entrap  me,  under  pretence  of  religious  scruples, 
which  you  wish  me  to  solve  for  you?  Bring  me  the  coin  you  pay  as 
the  Roman  tax."  A  Roman  denarius  was  presently  brought  Him— a 
coin  which  the  Jew  hated  intensely,  for  it  was  that  in  which  the 
poll  tax  was  paid,  and  was,  thus,  the  sign  of  slavery  to  the  heathen. 
Besides,  it  bore  the  idolatrous  image  of  the  Roman  Emperor  Tibe- 
rius, and  the  legend  of  his  authority.  The  Emperors,  to  Vespasian, 
to  spare  Jewish  feeling,  had  a  special  coinage  struck  for  Judea,  with- 
out a  likeness  on  it,  and  only  the  name  of  the  Emperor  and  the  tradi- 
tional Jewisli  emblems.  But  other  coins,  stamped  with  the  image 
of  Augustus  or  Tiberius,  naturally  found  tlieir  way  to  Jerusalem, 
especially  at  the  feasts.  Such  a  coin  was  now  handed  to  Jesus,  with 
the  hope,  doubtless,  that  the  double  abomination— tlie  iiloiatrous 
image  on  one  side,  and  tlie  legend  of  .Jewish  subjection  on  the  other 
— miglit  provoke  Him  to  some  treasonable  expression.  But  tae  result 
proved  the  reverse. 

"  Wliose  image  and  superscription  is  this?"  asked  He. 

"Cffsar's." 

"Render,  then,  to  Cfesar,  the  things  that  are  Caesars,  and  to  God, 
the  things  that  are  God's." 

Kothing  could  be  said  after  such  an  answer.     The  head  of  the  Em- 


678  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

peror  on  the  coin,  and  the  legend  round  it,  were  overt  proofs  of  the 
existing  state  of  things,  and  of  the  de  facto  right  of  the  imperial  gov- 
ernment, as  such,  to  levy  taxes.  Hence  followed,  not  only  the  law- 
fulness, but  the  duty,  of  paying  what  was  thus  due  to  the"  Emperor, 
including  the  tax  in  question,  since  the  very  coin  in  which  it  was  pay- 
able shawed,  on  its  face,  that  it  was  the  lawful  claim  of  the  ruling 
power.  "  But,"  added  He,  "your  theocratic  duty  is  in  no  way  com- 
promised by  such  political  duties  as  subjects.  Pay  also,  what  is  de- 
manded by  God  as  your  spiritual  King,  as  a  legal  claim  of  His  govern- 
ment,— the  Temple  tax,  and  all  that  He  demands  from  you  besides  as 
His  spiritual  subjects."  The  treacherous  question  was  answered  with 
a  clearness,  precision,  and  wisdom,  which  defined,  for  all  ages,  the 
relations  of  His  kingdom  to  the  civil  power.  The  Cliristian  was  not 
to  oppose  existing  authority,  but  to  unite  his  duty  to  it,  with  his  duty 
to  God.  The  political  and  religious  spheres,  were  declared  not  oppo- 
site but  co-existing,  and  harmonious  though  distinct. 

To  realize  the  immense  significance  of  tliis  utterance,  delivered  as 
it  was,  on  the  moment,  without  an  instant's  hesitation,  we  must  re- 
member that  it  introduced  an  entirely  new  conception  of  the  relation 
of  Church  and  State.  Till  then,  over  the  world,  they  had  been  iden- 
tical. The  Cgesar  was  chief  priest  as  well  as  emperor,  and  the  colleges 
of  priests  and  augurs  were  political  institutions.  In  Judca,  the  two 
spheres,  henceforth  to  be  sci)arated,  had,  hitherto,  been  confused  and 
intermixed;  the  civil  power  was  the  instrument  of  the  priest;  its  in- 
stitutions were  religious,  and  the  priesthood  had  striven  after  kingly 
power  and  rank.  Henceforward,  the  new  society  was  to  stand  apart 
from  political  interests  and  authorities.  The  State  was  no  longer 
indispensable  to  its  perfect  completeness  and  efficiency.  The  sph«re 
of  religion  was  that  of  the  conscience,  which  is,  by  its  nature,  free. 
The  State  cannot  leave  the  pp.yment  of  its  impositions  to  goodwill ; 
it  must  enforce  them,  if  they  be  refused:  but  force  is  utterly  opposed 
to  the  idea  of  the  Kingdom  of  God.  In  it  voluntary  service  alone 
has  value.  Y/hat  is  yielded  to  force,  without  inner  truth  and  love, 
is,  before  God,  as  if  not  given*rit  all;  what  is  given  in  hypocritical 
self-interest,  is  an  abomination  to  Ilim. 

No  wonder  such  an  answer  filled  the  messengers  of  the  hierarchical 
party  with  astonishment.  It  was  not  only  not  treasonable,  but  in- 
airectly  pressed  on  the  hierarchy  the  conscientious  discharge  of  its 
duties  to  Rome.  But  they  could  not  grasp  its  whole  significance,  for 
they  had  no  conception  of  a  religious  community  which  had  not  the 
right  and  power  to  infiict  civil  penalties.  The  Old  Testament  econ- 
omy was,  itself,  the  State.  Obedience  to  its  requirements  was  en- 
forced hy  the  national  courts,  and  an  attempt  to  change  or  transgress 
them  was  sevei-ely  p.i-nished.  Jesus  Himself,  indeetl,  was  about  to 
atone  with  His  life  for  His  offences  against  the  established  and  tradi- 
tional religious  usages  and  opinions  of  the  ruling  caste.  The  idea  of 
freedom  of  conscience  and  faith,  which  was  the  very  starting-point 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  679 

of  His  teaching,  "was  a  stmnblinsr-block,  and  a  ground  of  hitterness,  to 
His  age.  The  conception  of  a  religion,  in  which  there  was  no  re- 
sponsibility except  to  God,  was  beyoiid  it. 

All  the  influential  Jewish  parties  had  now  united  against  Him.'as  a 
dangerous  innovator,  an  enemy  of  the  Rabbinical  "hedge"  of  human 
prescriptions  and  refinements,  which  was  the  essence  of  the  religion 
of  the  day.  If  tolerated  longer  He  might  win  over  the  people  to 
favour  His  demand  for  fundamental  reform.  The  Pharisees  and 
Herodians  had  hardly  left  Him,  when  some  aristocratic  Sadducees 
renewed  the  attack.  'The  clergy  of  all  cla,s.ses,  from  highest  to  lowest, 
were  against  Him.  His  support  was  among  the  people.  His  api>ear- 
ance  iii  the  Temple,  His  assumption  of  authority  over  it,  and  Hi3 
lofty  claim  to  be  the  jMessiah,  filled  the  official  world  with  alarm,  and 
united  them  to  crush  Him.  But  the  Sadducees  had  none  of  the  ear- 
nestness of  the  Pharisees.  They  were  the  prototypes  of  the  .scoffing 
and  infidel  priests  whom  Luther  found,  almost  fifteen  hundred  years 
after,  in  Rome;  who  parodied  even  the  words  of  the  Holy  Sacraments 
thev  were  busied  in  consecrating.  The  Pharisees  had  early  taken 
offence  at  Jesus,  for  they  were  zealots  for  the  Rabbinism  which  He 
attacked;  but  the  Sadducees— few,  rich,  dignified;  the  primate  and 
bishops  of  the  day — affected  at  first  only  to  despise  the  Galilaean, 
who,  like  so  many  "before  Him,  had  stirred  up  commotion  for  the  time 
among  His  rude'  comijatriots.  Even  now,  in  Jerusalem,  they  were 
disposed  to  look  at  Him  and  His  adherents  with  a  lofty  contempt, 
and  to  laugh  the  foolish  rabble  who  listened  to  Ilim  out  of  their  fanat- 
ical dreanis.  His  claims  were,  in  their  opinion,  more  silly  than  dan- 
gerous, and  they  would,  therefore,  bring  the  whole  matter  into  con- 
tempt, hy  making  it  ridiculous. 

For  this  end  they  liad  carefully  selected,  from  the  cases  invented 
by  Rabbinical  casuistry,  that  of  a  wife,  who  was  s\ipposed,  in  accord- 
ance with  the  Mosaic  law,  to  have  married  in  succession  seven 
brothers,  each  of  whom  died  without  children.  Though  an  imag- 
inary, it  was  a  po.ssible  case,  for  the  Law  enacted,  that,  if  a  husband 
died  without  leaving  a  son  to  perpetuate  his  name,  his  brother  must 
marry  the  Avidow,  and  the  first-born  son  of  this  second  marriage  was 
to  be  entered  in  the  public  register  as  the  son  of  the  dead  man. 

Not  believing  in  the  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  themselves,  and 
supposing  that  Jesus,  who,  they  had  heard,  taught  it,  ]?ld  the  same 
notions  as  they  ascribed  to  the  Pharisees,  they  fancied  tliey  could 
cover  Him  and  if  with  ridicule,  by  a  skilful  use  of  this  case.  Some 
of  the  Rabbis,  indeed,  had  purer  conceptions  than  others,  teaching 
that  in  the  kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  after  the  resurrection,  or  at  least 
in  the  future  world,  the  just  would  neither  eat,  drink,  nor  marry. 
But  they  were  exceptions,  for  the  popular  belief,  as  expressed  by  the 
Rabbis  generally,  was  gross  and  unworthy  in  the  extreme.  The 
resurrection  would  not  only  restore  men  to  their  former  bodies,  but  to 
their  bodily  appetites  and  passions ;  they  would  not  only  eat,  drink,  aad 


080  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

take  wives,  but  would  rise  in  the  clothes  they  wore  in  lifo.  if  buried 
•with  them,  and  even  with  all  their  bodily  1  lem'sher,  pnd  ("lefeot?, 
"that  men  might  know  them  to  be  the  same  persons  as  tiiey  knew  in 
life."  Even  the  case  supposed  by  the  Sadducees,  had  been  settled  in 
principle, — "for  the  woman  who  had  married  two  husbands  in  this 
world,"  says  the  Book  Sohar,  "will  be  given  to  the  first,  in  the  world 
to  come." 

Fancying  there  was  no  sanction,  either  for  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  or  the  resurrection,  in  the  Pentateuch,  the  Badducecs  sneered  at 
both  doctrines.  "  They  deny  the  resurrection  after  death,"  says  the 
Talmud,  "and  maintain  that  it  is  as  vain  to  hope  that  a  cloud  which 
has  vanished  will  'appear  again,  as  that  the  grave  will  give  back  its 
dead. " 

Coming  to  Jesus,  with  a  well-bred  politeness,  they  put  their  ques- 
tion softly,  addressing  Him  respectfully,  as  the  Pharisees  and  Hero- 
dians  had  done,  as  liabbi,  for  which  they  used  the  current  Greek 
equivalent. 

"Your  ideas  respecting  these  things  are  wrong,"  replied  Jesus, 
"from  your  not  understanding  correctly  the  Scriptures  which  refer 
to  them.  The  children  of  this  world  marry,  and  are  given  in  mar- 
riage, because  they  are  mortal,  ard  marriage  is  necessary  to  j  errctuate 
the  race.  But  those  who  shall  be  counted  wor!hy  to  enter  the  Heav- 
enly Kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  and  will  be  raised  from  the  dead  to  do 
so,  neither  marry  nor  are  given  in  marriage,  neither  can  they  die  any 
more,  for  they  will  be  immortal,  like  angels;  and  hence  there  is  no 
reason  for  their  marrying  and  raising  children,  to  take  their  place,  as 
with  men  in  this  world.  As  sons  of  the  resurrection,  they  are  sons 
of  God,  and,  like  the  angels,  will  live  for  ever. 

"  As  to  the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  j^ou  have  referred  to  Moses. 
But  let  me  also  refer  to  him.  Even  he  shows,  in  the  passage  in 
which  we  are  told  of  the  vision  at  the  burning  buch,  that  the  dead 
are  raised.  For  he  calls  Jehovah,  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and 
Jacob.  Now,  God  cannot  be  the  God  of  persons  Mho  do  not  exist, 
and,  therefore,  the  patriarchs,  though  their  bodies  were  dead,  must 
themselves  have  been  still  living — living,  I  mean,  in  the  separate  state, 
and  awaiting  the  resurrection.  Thus,  God  regards  all  the  dead  a.s 
still  living,  and  how  easy,  if  this  be  the  case,  for  Him  to  raise  them 
hereafter!" 

"  Rabbi,  Thou  hast  spoken  well,"  said  some  Scribes,  as  He  closed, 
They  M^ere,  for  the  moment,  Avon  to  His  side,  by  His  triumph  over 
their  bitter  Sadducee  enemies.  Meanwhile,  the  people  were  more 
than  ever  astonished  at  His  teaching,  and  disposed  to  think  Him  & 
prophet. 

It  soon  spread  abroad  that  the  Sadducees  had  been  silenced,  but 
the  Pharisees  had  already  prepared  a  new  attempt  to  entrap  Him. 
One  of  them,  who  had  listened  to  the  dispute — a  Scribe,  or  master  of 
the  Law — had  been  selected  to  be  their  spokesman,  but,  as  it  proved. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  681 

was  only  half-hearted  in  his  task.  The  Rabbis  taught  that  there 
were  great  and  small  commands  in  the  laws — the  one  hard  and 
weighty,  the  other  easy  and  of  less  moment.  Their  idea  of  great- 
ness, however,  was  independent  of  the  religious  importance  of  a  par- 
ticular precept,  and  had  regard  only  to  their  own  external  precepts, 
founded  on  it.  Thus,  commands  were  especially  called  great,  to  the 
Lransgressioa  of  which  excommunication  was  attached;  such  as 
observance  of  the  Sabbath,  in  their  sense;  of  circumcision,  of  the 
minutest  rites  of  sacritice  and  offering,  of  ceremonial  jjurity,  and  the 
like.  The  precepts  respecting  the  structure  of  the  booths  at  the 
Feast  of  Tabernacles,  and  of  the  washing  the  hands,  were,  on  the 
<;ontrary,  counted  small.  But,  in  spite  of  this  nominal  difference, 
obedience  to  all  was  alike  imperative,  and,  in  practice,  both  classes 
were  treated  as  alike  weighty.  To  honour  one's  parents  and  to  let  a 
inother-bird  fly  when  the  young  are  taken;  not  to  kill;  and  to  wash 
tje  hands,  were  put  on  a  level,  and  had  an  equal  reward.  Even  the 
i-i-junctions  of  the  Rabbis  respecting  the  zizith,  or  tassels  of  theii* 
scarves,  were  "great."  "  The  words  of  the  Rabbis,"  says  the  Tal- 
mad,  "  are  to  be  prized  above  those  of  the  Law,  for  the  words  of  the 
Jjp.w  are  both  weiglity  and  light,  but  those  of  the  Rabbis  are  all 
weighty."  If  Jesus  answered  as  the  Pharisees  lioped,  lie  would  once 
m^re  commit  Himself,  as  an  enemy  of  the  traditions,  and  expose 
lluiiself  to  new  charges. 

i'  may  be,  there  was,  besides,  a  lurking  desire  tD  elicit  some  utter- 
ance respecting  His  claims  to  a  more  tlian  human  authority.  Stones 
had  ijeeu  lifted  more  than  once,  to  put  Him  to  death  as  a  blasphemer, 
who  made  Himself  equal  with  God.  How  would  He  express  Himself 
in  tlie  face  of  the  tirst  command  of  the  Decalogue? 

His  reply,  as  alwaj's,  goes  to  the  root  of  the  m.atter,  simplifying  the 
whob  sweep  of  "the  Ten  Vfords"  into  brief  and  easily  remembered 
priuciples.  He  avoided  the  least  approach  to  anything  that  could 
give  offence  to  the  most  zealous  supporter  of  the  Old  Testament,  and, 
at  the  ame  time,  gave  no  handle  for  accusation  of  any  slight  of  the 
Rabbiiical  precepts. 

"  To^icher,"  said  the  legalist,  "which  is  the  great  and  first  com' 
mandai3nt  in  the  Law?" 

No  GL^  could  take  Jesus  by  surprise  at  any  time,  but  in  this  sphere 
He  was,  if  we  may  so  speak,  especially  at  home,  as  He  had  shown  a 
_ew  dayc;  before,  in  His  conversation  with  the  young  ruler,  near 
Jericho.  With  a  full  sense  of  the  peril  of  His  position.  He  answered 
v/ith  more  fulness  than  usual,  leaving  no  ground  for  misapprehension, 
liut  givmg  as  little  for  offence.  He  had  named  only  one  command 
as  great,  to  the  young  ruler — the  love  of  our  neighbour — but  to  the 
Scribe  He  gave  two,  as  forming,  together,  "  the  great  and  tirst  com- 
mandment." Neither  was  abridged,  or  subordinated  to  the  other, 
and  in  the  two  He  formed  the  principle  from  which  obedience  of  all 
the  rest  would  follow.     With  suj-e  hand,  He  turned  tirst  to  the  Fifth, 


682  THE  Ll:fE  OF  CHRIST. 

Book  of  Moses,  then  t©  the  Third,  for  the  two  great  guiding  stars 
which  all  the  host  of  lesser  commands  followed.  "Hear,  O  Israel," 
said  He:  "  Jehovah,  our  God,  is  one  God" — the  words  in  which  every 
Israelite,  each  morning,  confessed  his  faith  in  Jehovah — "  And  thou 
shalt  love  the  Lord  thy  God  with  all  thy  heart,  and  with  all  thy  soul, 
and  with  all  thy  mind,  and  with  all  thy  strength.  This  is  the  great 
and  first  commandment.  A  second  is  like  it.  Thou  shalt  love  thy 
neighbour  as  thyself.  There  is  none  other  command  greater  than 
these.     On  these  two  hang  the  whole  Law  and  the  prophets." 

He  had  once  more  shown  His  greatness  as  a  teacher,  by  summing 
up  our  whole  duty  in  the  fundamental  conceptions  of  religion  and 
morality:  in  the  love  to  God,  which  is  also  love  to  His  children,  our 
fellow-men.  Nor  were  the  various  commands  of  any  part  of  the 
Scriptures  overlooked;  the  religious  and  moral  precepts  of  the  proph- 
ets, no  less  than  the  Law,  were  honoured  and  made  binding  for  ever. 

"  Thou  hast  spoken  well  and  truly,"  broke  in  the  scribe,  "  for  God 
is  One,  and  there  is  no  other  but  He,  and  to  love  Him  with  all  the 
heart,  and  with  all  the  understanding,  and  with  all  the  soul,  and  with 
all  the  strength,  and  to  love  one's  neighbour  as  one's  self,  is  of  greater 
consequence  than  all  the  whole  burnt  offerings  of  the  Law,  the  morn- 
ing and  evening  sacrifice,  and  all  other  sacrifices  besides." 

"Thou  art  not  far  from  the  kingdom  of  God,"  replied  Jesus,  as 
He  heard  words  which  showed  that  the  speaker  was  no  mxcre  man  of 
his  party,  but  was  accessible  to  higher  impulses.  The  Galila?an  had 
proved  very  different  from  what  he  had  been  led  to  anticipate.  His 
answers  had  not  only  silenced  His  enemies,  but  had  half  won  some 
of  them  to  His  side.  Henceforth,  all,  alike,  kept  aloof  from  one  from 
whom  chief  jiriests  and  Rabbis  equally  went  away  humbled. 

As  on  the  day  before,  the  defeat  of  all  the  attacks  on  Him  was 
followed  by  His  taking  the  offensive,  but  only  in  a  mild,  instructive 
conflict  with  prejudice  and  misappreliension.  He  had  openly  assumed 
the  Messiahship,  but  in  a  sense  entirely  in  contrast  with  the  popular 
conception.  That  He  fulfilled  none  of  the  conditions  expected  alike 
by  the  authorities  and  the  people,  in  the  Messiah,  had  given  the  for- 
mer the  pretext  for  spreading  it  abroad  that  He  was  an  impostor;  a 
cry  caught  up,  in  the  end,  only  too  widelj^  by  the  Jerusalem  popu- 
lace. He  would  now  show  the  Pharisees,  if  they  chose  to  listen,  that 
their  preconceptions  were  wrong,  when  tested  by  Scripture,  and  thus 
expose  the  worthlessness  of  the  arguments  on  which  they  based  theit 
light  denial  of  His  Messiahship. 

Turning  unexpectedly  to  a  knot  of  Pharisees  who  hung  near,  to 
watch  as  He  was  teaching,  He  asked  them — 

"  What  is  j'our  opinion  about  the  Messiah;  I  mean,  as  to  His  line- 
age and  extraction— whose  son  is  HcV" 

"The  son  of  David,"  answered  they,  at  once. 

"  How  is  it,  then,"  replied  Jesus,  "  that  David,  in  the  hundred  and 
tenth  Psalm,  which  you  Rabbis  justly  refer  to  the  Messiah,  says,  by 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  688 

Inspiration  of  God,  '  Tlie  Lord  said  unto  my  Lord,  the  Mcssiali, 
Sit  thou  on  my  right  hand,  till  I  make  thine  enemies  thy  footstool. 
Thy  mighty  sceptre  will  the  Eternal  stretch  forth  out  of  Zion ;  rule 
thou  in  the"^ midst  of  thy  foes.'  If  He  be  David's  Lord,  how  can  He 
be  his  Son?" 

The  true  answer  they  must  have  given,  had  they  given  an}',  was 
one  which  had  not  entered  their  thoughts.  It  would  have  lieen— He 
is  David's  Son  by  His  human  descent,  but,  as  the  Son  of  God,  pro- 
ceeding from  the  Father,  He  is  exalted  far  above  David  and  all  man- 
kind, and  therefore  was  rightly  called,  by  David,  his  Lord.  But  this 
twofold  relation  of  the  Messiah  to  their  great  king,  and,  with  it,  the 
true  estimate  of  the  dignity  and  office  of  the  Messiah,  were  not  in 
their  theology.  The  exposition  of  Jesus  might  displease  the  Rabbis, 
but  it  was  heard  with  eager  ears  by  the  multitude  around. 

A  new  scene  now  opened.  Day  after  day,  the  hostility  of  His  enemies 
had  shown  itself  more  fierce,  as  they  found  it  increasingly  hopeless 
to  overcome  Him  by  legitimate  weapons  or  argument.  The  people, 
however,  were  more  friendly,  and  regarded  Him  as,  at  least,  a  prophet, 
if  not  the  Messiah.  He  had  hitherto  maintained  only  a  defensive 
attitude,  but  the  clear  purpose  shown  to  put  Him  out  of  the  way, 
made  all  further  reserve  or  caution  useless.  With  the  calmness  of  a 
profound  conviction,  and  the  clearest  statement  of  His  grounds.  Ho 
proceeded  to  open  a  vigorous  attack,  that  the  contrast  between  Him- 
self and  His  opponents  might  be  beyond  question.  Every  one  must 
be  enabled  to  judge  intelligently  on  which  side  he  would  take  his 
place.     He  desired,  henceforth,  only  a  speedy  decision  of  the  struggle. 

He  now,  therefore,  broke  out,  before  the  multitude,  in  a  last  terri- 
ble denunciation  of  the  moral  and  religious  shortcomings  of  His  ad- 
versaries. These  He  summed  up  under  the  two  great  heads  of  hypoc- 
risy and  selfishness;  they  made  a  pretence  and  a  gain  of  religion. 
Yet  their  doctrines  and  decisions  were  substantially  right;  it  was  their 
practice  He  condemned. 

"Tlie  Scribes  and  Phari-sees,"  said  He,  "have  taken  possession  of 
the  seat  of  Moses,  to  continue  his  offlce  as  law-giver,  1)y  explaining 
and  teaching  the  Law.  They  are  his  official  successors;  therefore, 
obey  their  decisions.  But  do  not  imitate  their  lives,  for  they  teach 
what  they  do  not  practise.  They  heap  together  their  rules  and  de 
mands,  into  heavj'  burdens,  and  lay  them  on  men's  shoulders,  but  they 
will  not  help  those  whom  they  thus  load  by  so  much  as  the  touch  of  a 
little  linger.  They  shirk  many  rit(!S  and  forms  which  they  demand 
from  others  as  sacred  duties.  Their  requirements  arc  a  load  on  the 
conscience,  which  deadens  and  destroys  it.  To  exalt  their  order, 
they  make  slaves  of  the  people,  paralyzing  by  their  countless  laws 
all  true  virtue,  freedom,  and  love.  They  act  only  with  an  eye  to 
effect ;  to  be  thought  more  religious  than  others ;  and  reap  considera- 
tion and  profit  from  this  reputation.  They  come  out  to  pray  in  their 
jnost  pious  robes,  especially  now,  at  the  feast,  and  wear  phylacteries 


684  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  extra  size  on  their  forehead  and  arm  that  they  may  be  noticed ;  and 
the  very  tassels  hung,  in  honour  of  the  Law,  at  tlie  corners  of  their 
abbas,  are  larger  than  those  of  others.  To  get  honour,  they  strive 
for  the  highest  places  at  feasts,  and  the  chief  seats  in  the  synagogues, 
and  court  salutations  in  the  crowded  market-place,  and  the  sounding 
title.  Rabbi.  Have  nothing  to  do  with  such  proud  names,  for  I,  onlj-, 
am  your  Rabbi  or  teacher,  and  all  ye  are  brethren.  They  like  to  be 
called  'Father,'  but  call  no  teacher  on  earth  your  father,  for  one  only 
is  your  Father;  God  in  Heaven.  And  do  not,  like  them,  be  called 
Leaders,  for  you  have  only  one  Leader,  Me,  the  Messiah.  The  highest 
place  among  my  disciples  is  quite  otherwise  obtained  than  among 
them,  for  he  who  seeks  to  be  great  among  }"ou  can  become  so,  as  I 
have  said  before,  only  by  being  the  servant  of  the  rest.  This  lowli- 
ness is  itself  his  greatness.  For  he  who  exalts  himself  shall  be  hum- 
bled at  my  coming,  and  he  who  humbles  himself  will  be  exalted." 

Rising,  as  He  proceeded.  He  now  broke  out  into  a  lofty  utterance  of 
indignation  at  such  principles  and  conduct. 

"  Woe  to  you,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  actcrs!  Ye  plunder  the  houses 
of  desolate  widows,  left  A\ithout  protectors,  and,  to  hide  your  doings, 
make  long  prayers  while  at  such  work!  For  you  say  in  your  hypoc- 
risy, 'Long  prayers  n^ake  a  long  life,'  and  some  of  you  boast  that 
you  pra^  nine  hours  a  day!  Believe  me,  you  will  receive  for  all  this 
the  greater  damnation  hcicafter. 

"Woe  to  you,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  actors!  Ye  stand  in  the  gate- 
way of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven,  that  KingdomT  have  come  to  set 
up,  and  not  only  do  not  j'ourselves  enter,  but  even  close  the  doors  I 
have  opened,  that  you  may  keep  those  from  entering,  who  wish  to 
do  so. 

"Woe  to  you.  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  actors!  Instead  of  helping 
men  into  the  Kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  ye  compass  sea  and  land  to 
make  one  proselyte,  that  your  party  may  profit  by  him,  and,  when  he 
is  gained,  what  do  you  make  of  him?  A  son  of  hell,  by  your  exam- 
ple, two-fold  more  even  than  you  are  yourselves. 

"Woe  to  you,  blind  guides,  who  say,  'If  any  one  swear  by  ths 
Temple,  it  is  not  binding;  but  if  he  swear  by  the  gold  which  belongs 
to  the  Temple — the  gikiing,  the  golden  vessels,  or  the  treasure — he  is 
bound  by  Lis  oath. '  Fools  and  blind !  for  which  is  the  greater,  the 
gold,  or  the  Temple  that  sanctities  the  gold';'  You  say,  in  the  same 
spirit,  'If  any  one  swear  by  tlie  altar,  his  oath  is  not  binding  on  him; 
but  if  he  swear  by  the  gift  that  he  has  laid  on  the  altar,  he  must 
keep  his  oath.'  Fools  and  blind!  for  which  is  the  greater,- the  gift, 
or  the  altar  that  sanctities  the  gift?  He  wlio  swears  by  the  altar 
swears  by  it,  and  by  all  the  things  on  it,  and  lie  who  swears  by  the 
Temple  swears  by  it,  and  by  Him  that  dwells  in  it.  And  he  Avho 
swears  by  heaven,  swears  by  the  throne  of  God,  and  by  Him  who  sits 
on  it. 

"  Woe  to  you.  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  ao^ors!  for  ye  affect  to  be  so 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  685 

strict  in  observing  the  Law  that  you  pay  a  tenth  to  the  Temple  of 
even  the  sprigs  of  mint  and  anise  and  cummin  in  your  garden  borders, 
and  yet  m  Uie  same  time  you  neglect  the  great  commands  of  the  Law ; 
to  do  justly,  to  love  mercy,  and  to  walk  humbly  with  j'our  God.  You 
ought  certainly  to  attend  to  the  lighter  demands  of  the  Law,  but 
surely  not  to  leave  the  far  greater  neglected.  Blind  guides,  who  strain 
out  the  gnat  from  the  wine  and  swallow  the  camel!  Sticklers  for 
worthless  trifles,  regardless  of  matters  of  moment. 

"  Woe  to  yon.  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  actors!  Ye  make  clean  the 
outside  of  the  cup  and  the  dish,  but,  within,  they  are  full  of  robbery 
and  incontinence.  Blind  Pharisee,  clean  first  the  inside  of  the  cup 
and  dish,  that  the  wine  taste  no  more  of  plunder  and  lust,  and  that 
the  outside  may  not  only  seem  clean  by  your  washing  it,  but  be  clean, 
by  the  taking  away  of  that  defilement  which  your  life  gives  it,  in  spite 
of  your  cleansings. 

"Woe  to  you.  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  actors!  You  are  like  the 
whitewashed  tombs  all  over  the  land — fair  outside,  but  full  within  of 
the  deadliest  uncleanness — the  bones  of  men,  and  all  corruption. 
You  pass  yourselves  off  as  religious,  but  in  your  hearts  you  are  full  of 
hypocrisy  and  iniquity." 

Over  against  the  eastern  hall  in  which  Jesus  now  stood,  and  from 
which  He  looked  down  into  the  Valley  of  the  Kedron,  lay,  on  the 
slope  of  the  Mount  of  Olives,  the  tombs  of  the  Prophets,  the  south- 
most  of  which  is  yet  known  as  the  tomb  of  Zechariah.  In  sight  of 
these  monuments,  ranging  His  eyes  from  grave  to  grave,  He  burst  out 
afresh — 

"  Woe  to  you,  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  actors!  Y'e  build  fine  tombs 
over  the  old  prophets,  and  beautify  those  of  the  saints,  and  say,  '  If 
we  had  lived  in  the  days  of  our  fathers,  we  would  not  have  taken 
part  with  them  in  their  martyrdom  of  these  holy  men. '  But  when 
you  call  them  'your  fathers,'  you  bear  witness  that  you  are  their 
sons — and  you  are,  not  only  in  natural  descent,  but  in  your  spirit. 
You  are  of  kin  in  heart  to  the  prophet- murderers!  Fill  up,  therefore, 
the  measure  of  iniquity  your  fathers  before  you  filled  in  their  day, 
— by  slaying  me  and  those  I  shall  send  to  you!  Serpents!  brood  of 
vipers,  for  vipers  your  fathers  were,  and  vipers  are  ye,  how  can  }^e 
escape  the  judgment  of  hell!  That  ye  may  not  do  so,  behold,  I  send 
to  you  prophet-like  Apostles,  and  Rabbis,  and  Scribes.  Some  of  them 
ye  shall  kill  and  crucify;  some  ye  shall  scourge  in  your  synagogues, 
and  persecute  from  city  to  city — that  on  you,  the  leaders  of  the  peo- 
ple, may  come  the  punishment  of  all  the  innocent,  righteous  blood  shed 
on  the  earth;  from  the  blood  of  righteous  Abel  to  that  of  Zechariah, 
the  son  of  Berechiah,  who  was  stoned  by  command  of  King  Joash  iu 
the  court  of  the  Temple,  between  the  shrine  and  the  altar.  Believe 
me,  all  these  things  will  come  in  this  generation."  Zechariah,  of 
old,  had  denounced  the  sin  of  Israel,  as  Jesus  had  that  of  the  priests 
and  Rabbis,     "  Why  transgress  ye,"  he  had  asked,  "the  coiuiiiaad» 


!388  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ments  of  the  Lord?  Ye  cannot  prosper!  Because  ye  have  forsaken 
Jehovah,  He  hath  forsaken  you." 

"  O  Jerusalem!  Jerusalem,"  He  continued,  "that  killest  the  proph- 
ets, and  stonest  those  sent  in  love  to  thee ;  how  often  have  I  desired 
to  gather  thy  children,  as  a  hen  gathers  her  chickens  under  her  wing, 
and  ye  refused  to  come  under  my  loving  protection,  by  accepting  me 
as  the  Messiah.  Behold,  your  house  is  left  to  you!  I  go  from  it. 
The  time  of  the  divine  help  and  guard,  over  you  and  your  city,  which 
I  was  sent  to  offer,  is  past. 

"  I  tell  you  ye  shall  not  see  me  henceforth,  after  my  death,  which  is 
near  at  hand,  till  I  appear  again  in  my  glory.  Then,  you  shall  be  only 
too  eagerly  willing  to  hail  me  as  the  Messiah,  though  now  ye  refuse 
even  to  let  others  thus  hail  me.  Then,  when  too  late,  you  will  cry, 
as  the  crowds  did  as  I  entered  your  city,  '  Bl  essed  is  He  that  cometh 
in  the  name  of  the  Lord. '  " 

Thus,  the  breach  between  the  Future  and  the  Past  was  finally  made 
complete.  The  whole  hierarchy,  from  the  high  priest  its  primate, 
to  the  Levite  its  curate,  and  the  Rabbi  its  university  professor  or 
tutor,  had  been  denounced  before  the  people,  in  language  which  they 
must  resent  if  they  were  to  retain  any  authority  at  all .  Either  Jesus, 
or  the  Church  as  it  was,  with  all  its  iunumecable  personal  interests, 
must  perish.  It  had  come  to  this,  indeed,  before  this  last  tremendous 
indictment  of  the  system,  and  the  certainty  that  nothing  could  avert 
His  being  sacrificed  to  the  fanaticism  and  vested  interests  arraj^ed 
against  Him,  had  alone  caused  such  a  protest.  He  had  no  reasons  for 
further  reserve.  It  was  fixed  that  He  must  die  at  their  hands,  and 
the  irreconcilable  opposition  between  the  system  for  the  sake  of  which 
He  was  to  be  martyred,  and  His  own  character  and  work,  must,  once 
more,  for  the  last  time,  be  brought  out  in  full  contrast,  that  every  one 
might  choose  for  himself  for  which  he  would  decide. 

The  infinite  moral  grandeur  and  purity  of  Jesus,  His  absolute 
truth,  His  all-ejubracing  love.  His  lowly  humility,  His  sublime  con- 
secration to  the  will  of  His  Father,  His  intense  moral  earnestness, 
His  spirit  of  joyful  self-sacrifice  for  tlie  moral  and  spiritual  good  of 
mankind,  shine  out  nowhere  more  transcendently,  than  when  con- 
trasted, in  this  parting  lament,  with  the  wretched  sophistries  and 
reverence  for  the  infinitely  little,  which  marked  the  Rabbinism  He 
opposed.  The  spirit  of  the  market  or  the  booth,  in  religion,  found 
no  sanction  at  His  hands;  He  would  have  no  huckstering  for  heaven 
by  a  life  of  petty  formalities;  He  abhorred  all  cant  and  insincerity, 
and  all  trading  with  religion ;  all  striving  after  mere  outward  success, 
for  ulterior  and  rmworthy  ends.  He  would  have  no  divorce  of  relig- 
ion from  morality;  it  was  with  Him  a  living  principle  in  the  heart, 
not  a  rubric  of  external  acts;  its  outward  expression  was  a  holy  life, 
but  the  holiness  without  was  only  the  blossoming  of  a  similar  holiness 
within.  In  Rabbinism,  on  the  opposite,  there  was  formal  piety,  with 
fio  moral  eaiJiasituesis:  an  absorbing  zeal  for  artificial  duties,  witli 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  687 

which  the  conscience  had  nothino;  to  do ;  and  an  elaborate  multiplica- 
tion of  rules  and  rites,  for  the  express  aim  of  obtaining  the  absolute 
spiritual  dependence  of  all,  on  the  teaching  caste.  The  whole  system 
had  been  originated  and  developed  to  its  fulness,  to  be  a  "hedge" 
round  the  Law,  and  thus  secure  fidelity  to  the  politico-religious  con- 
stitution of  the  nation,  and  its  minutest  details  were  strenuouslj'- 
enforced  to  secure  this  end.  Unquestioning  acceptance  of  tradition, 
and  the  deepening  and  extending  of  the  ghostly  influence  of  the 
authorities,  were  the  two  great  points  kept  in  view.  There  were  true 
Israelites,  like  Nathanael,  or  Zechariah,  or  Simeon,  or  Joseph,  in  spite 
of  a  system  thus  lifeless  and  corrupting;  but  it  was  vain  to  hope  for 
anything  but  evil,  in  the  community  at  large,  under  its  reign.  Insin- 
cerity and  immorality  in  the  teachers  of  a  religion  can  only  multiply 
and  perpetuate  themselves  in  their  disciples. 

The  theology  and  hierarchy  of  Judaism  had  become,  in  fact,  what 
Jesus  openly  declared  them — whitewashed  sepulchres — pure  to  the 
eye,  but  with  only  death  and  corruption  within.  They  had  proved 
that  they  were  so,  by  rejecting  Ilim,  because  He  demanded  moral  and 
religious  reform.  Wedded  to  the  false  and  immoral,  they  rather  killed 
Him  than  let  Him  lead  them  back  to  God. 

Over  such  a  state  of  things  He  could  only  raise  His  sad  lamentation  1 
Judaism  had  chosen  its  own  way,  and  left  Him  to  His. 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

THE   INTERVAL,. 

After  His  terrible  parting  denunciation  of  the  religious  leaders  of 
the  nation,  Jesus  passed  into  the  great  forecourt  of  the  women,  fifteen 
steps  below  that  of  the  men.  It  was  a  wide  space  of  a  hundred 
and  thirty-five  cubits  in  length  and  breadth,  and  was  open  to  the 
people  at  large.  Popular  assemblies,  indeed,  were  at  times  held  in  it, 
and  it  was  the  scene  of  the  torch-dance  at  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles. 
It  was  especially  frequented,  however,  by  both  sexes,  because  the 
huildiug  was  there  in  which  the  pious  presented  their  offerings. 

Jesus  had  sat  down  to  rest,  after  the  multiplied  excitements  of  the 
past  hours,  over  against  the  treasury,  where  the  continuous  stream  of 
per.sons  casting  in  their  money  necessarily  attracted  His  notice.  As 
each  came,  He  could  judge  by  his  appearance  how  much  he  threw  in. 
The  poor  could  only  give  paltry  copper  coins,  but  tlie  rich  cast  in  gold 
and  silver;  some,  doubtless,  from  an  honest  zeal  for  the  glory  of  God; 
others,  because  alms,  in  the  sordid  theology  of  the  day,  had  their  com- 
mercial value  in  the  future  world. 

Among  others,  came  a  poor  widow,  with  her  two  lepta — one-twelfth 
of  our  penny  each — the  smallest  of  copper  coins.  She  could  not  have 
ca£t  in  less,  for  one  lepton  was  not  received  as  an  offering.    The  sight 


688  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

touched  the  heart  of  Jesus.  "Believe  me,"  said  He,  to  those  around, 
"this  poor  woman  has  cast  in  more  than  any  one,  for  they  have  only 
given  of  their  superfluity,  but  she,  in  her  need — for  she  has  less  than 
enough — has  thrown  in  all  she  had  for  her  day's  living." 

Among  the  multitude  of  pilgrims  to  the  feast,  tl:en  in  Jerusalem, 
were  many  foreign  proselytes.  That  they  should  have  come  up, 
though  heathens  by  birth,  showed  an  earnest  sincerity,  for  it  exposed 
them  to  ridicule  and  even  worse,  from  their  own  countrymen.  Many 
of  them,  doubtless,  men  like  the  centurion  at  Capernaum,  or  like  the 
Ethiopian  eunuch,  were  men  won  over  to  faith  in  Jehovah,  and  to  a 
loyal  respect  for  the  gi-eat  doctrines  of  the  Old  Testament:  proselytes 
of  the  gate,  in  distinction  from  the  ]iroselytes  of  righteousness,  who, 
by  circumcision,  had  become,  in  all  religious  and  social  respects, 
Jews.  The  spread  of  a  Jewish  population  in  all  countries,  and  the 
immunities  they  enjoj'ed,  had  resulted  in  the  ccnversion  of  great 
numbers  of  Gentiles,  who  were  willing  to  pledge  themselves  to  what 
were  called  the  seven  commands  of  Nodi — the  avcidance  of  murder, 
bloodshed,  or  robbery :  obedience  to  the  Jewish  courts  in  m.atters  of 
religion:  the  rejection  of  idolatry,  and  the  worship  of  Jehovah:  and 
to  eat  no  freshly -killed  and  still  bleeding  f.esh.  They  were  received 
as  "the  strangers  within  the  gate"  of  Israel,  and  could  attend  the  syn 
agogues,  but  could  not  pass  beyond  the  Court  of  the  Heathen,  in  the 
Temple. 

Of  this  class,  some  Greeks,  then  at  Jenisalem  for  the  feast,  which 
they  were  in  the  habit  of  attending,  had  heard  much  of  Jesus:  perhaps 
had  seen  Him  and  listened  to  His  discourses,  and  Mtre  anxious  to 
know  Him  personally,  that  they  might  have  His  personal  counsels. 
Too  m.odest  to  come  direct,  they  rpplied  to  Philip,  the  cnly  Apostle 
bearing  a  Greek  name,  though  Andrew  is  of  Greek  oriein.  To  him 
Philip"  forthwith  mentioned  the  circumstance,  and  the  two  com- 
municated it  to  Jesus.  I  tfilled  His  heart  with  much-needed  joy,  to 
welcome  men  Avho  must  have  seemed  to  Him  an  earnest  of  His  future 
triumphs,  among  the  great  heathen  rations.  AsTengel  says,  "it  was 
the  prelude  of  the  transition  of  the  kingdom  of  God  from  the  Jew  to 
the  Gentile." 

He  went  out  to  them,  therefore,  to  the  Court  of  the  Heathen,  and 
they,  doubtless,  heard  from  His  lips  the  coxmsels  desired.  The  inci- 
dent brought  to  His  mind,  with  fresh  vividness  and  force.,  the  nearness 
of  His  death,  through  which  His  salvation  v/as  to  be  brought  to  the 
heathen  world  at  large,  and  His  emotion  broke  forth  in  words,  full  of 
eul)limity. 

"The  hour  has  come, "said  He,  lifting  His  face,  as  we  may  believe, 
to  heaven,  as  He  spoke — "  the  hour  appointed  in  tlie  counsels  of  my 
Father,  from  eternity,  when  the  Son  of  man  shall  enter  into  His 
glory  by  death.  For  it  must  be  that  I  die,  that  my  work  may  bear 
its  due  fruits — as  the  grain  must  fall  into  the  gi'ound  and  perish, 
that  it  may  bring  forth  the  harvest.     Verily,  verily,  I  say  to  you. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  689 

it  must  be  so.  My  life  remains  limited  and  bound  up  in  mj' self, 
as  the  life  is  in  the  seed,  till  I  die.  It  cannot,  till  then,  pass  be- 
yond me  to  others,  and  multiply.  But  when  I  die,  I  shall  be  li!te 
the  corn,  which,  in  its  death,  imparts  its  life  to  what  springs  from  it. 

"As  it  is  needful  for  me  thus  to  die,  to  make  my  woik  triumph, 
so,  also,  is  it  for  you,  my  followers,  in  your  own  case.  He  who 
so  loves  his  life  as  not  to  be  willing  to  yield  il  for  my  kingdom, 
Svill  lose  eternal  life  hereafter;  but  he  who,  in  this  world,  cheer- 
fully gives  up  even  his  life  for  me,  as  if  he  hated  it  in  comparison 
with  loyalty  to  me,  will  gain  life  everlasting.  If  any  man  wish 
really  to  serve  me,  let  him  imitate  me  in  my  joyful  readiness  even 
to  die;  and  he  will  receive,  as  his  reward,  that  where  I  go.  to  the 
right  hand  of  my  Father  in  heaven,  there,  also,  will  he  follow,  and 
dwell  with  me;  for  if  any  one  thus  truly  and  self-sacrificingly  serve 
me,  my  Father  will  honour  him  by  giving  him  the  glory  of  the  life 
hereafter." 

The  awful  vision  of  the  immediate  future,  meanwhile,  for  a 
moment,  raised  a  shrinking  of  human  weakness.  It  was  the  fore- 
shadowing of  Gethsemane. 

"Now,  is  my  soul  troubled,"  cried  He,  with  a  voice  of  infinite 
sadness.  In  His  agony  of  soul,  He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  before 
all  through  which  He  had  so  soon  to  pass,  and  it  seemed  as  if  He 
were  even  now  enduring  it.  "  What  shall  I  say?"  He  added,  as 
if  communing  with  Himself;  "  Shall  I  pray — Father,  save  me  from 
the  hour  of  darkness:  take  this  cup  from  me?  No,  let  it  not  be: 
all  the  past  has  been  only  a  progress  towards  it,  that  by  it  I  might 
glorify  Thy  name!"  The  momentary  human  shrinking  from  the 
Cross  had  "passed  away  as  soon  as  it  had  risen.  The  cloud  that 
dimmed  the  clear  heavesi  of  His  soul  had  disappeared.  His  trouble 
of  soul  gave  place,  on  the  instant,  to  the  victorious  consciousness 
of  the  great  future  to  flow  from  His  accomplishment  of  the  pur- 
pose of^God  for  the  .salvation  of  the  world.  Then,  as  if  He  were 
repeating  aloud  His  inward  thought.  He  burst  forth  into  the  words 
— "Father,  glorify  Thy  name,  as  Thou  hast  purposed,  through  my 
death  for  man.  I  come  to  do  Thy  will,  O  God,  and  I  give  myself 
up  to  Thee!" 

Forthwith  came  a  wondrous  attestation,  sealing  the  divine  author- 
ity of  our  Saviour's  mission  with  the  stamp  of  august  and  tran- 
scendent glory.  Suddenly  there  souaded  a  voice  from  the  cloudless 
April  sky,  with  a  volume  that  filled  the  heavens,  so  that  some,  over- 
powered bv  its  gi-andeur,  could  not  think  of  it  as  an  utterance  of 
articulate  words.'but  fancied  that  it  thundered — "  I  /»u-e  glorified  My 
name,  already,  in  having  sent  Thee,  and  in  all  Thy  sinless  and 
gracious  life,  "till  now;  and  I  shall  glorify  it  again,  by  Thine  entrance 
on  Thy  heavenly  glory  through  the  gates  of  death!" 

"It  thunders,"  muttered  some,  whose  souls  were  least  quick  to 
realize  what  had  happened.     "  No,"  said  others,  with  truer  religious 


690  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

sensibility — "  It  was  an  angel  speaking  to  Him.  He  is  a  prophet,  at 
least;  if  not  the  Messiah  Himself,  and  God  speaks,  thus,  to  Him,  by 
a  heavenly  messenger."  But  the  disciples  around,  and  Jesus  Him- 
self, knew  wlieuce  it  came,  and  what  were  the  precise  words  from 
the  excellent  glory. 

"You  may  not  understand,"  said  Jesus  to  the  disciples  and  the 
crowd,  "  whence  this  voice  comes,  and  why  it  is  sent.  It  is  the  voice 
of  my  Father  in  heaven,  and  comes,  not  for  my  sake,  but  for  yours, 
to  take  away  your  unbelief,  and  to  strengthen  your  faith.  The  time 
presses  for  your  decision  regarding  me.  Even  now,  the  judgment  of 
my  Father  is  being  given  forth,  against  those  who  have  rejected  me 
as  the  Messiah.  Through  the  victory  of  my  kingdom,  which  my 
death  will  secure,  and  the  spread  of  my  name  over  the  earth  proclaim, 
the  impotence  of  my  enemies  will  be  shown,  and  their  guilt  before 
God  be  made  clear.  He,  especially,  whom  even  you  call  the  ruler  of 
this  world,  and  the  great  enemy  of  the  kingdom  of  God — the  prince 
of  evil — will  feel  the  greatness  of  my  triumph,  for  his  kingdom  must 
yield  to  mine.  My  death,  as  the  atonement  between  God  and  man, 
•will  deliver  from  his  power  and  place  under  my  protection,  asthe 
glorified  Shepherd  of  the  sheep,  all  who  believe  in  my  name.  Nor 
will  that  triumph  cease  as  time  rolls  on:  fige  after  age,  till  the  last 
day,  in  ever  wider  sweep,  it  will  subdue  all  things  under  me,  and 
drive  the  kingdom  of  darkness  from  the  world. 

"So  it  shall  be;  for  I,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth  by  the  death 
of  the  cross,  as  I  know  I  shall  be,  and  thus  pass  away  from  the  world 
and  return  to  my  Father,  shall  draw  all  men  to  me;  for  the  power  of 
my  cross  will  be  universally  felt,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  whom  I  shall 
send  from  the  Father,  ^^ill  turn  men's  hearts  to  love  and  serve  me. 
The  prince  of  this  world  has,  in  Me,  his  conqueror;  for  I  must  reign 
till  all  things  are  put  under  my  feet,  and  the  world  be  won  back  to 
God." 

The  people  round,  accustomed  to  speak  freely  with  the  Rabbis  on 
the  subject  of  their  addresses,  had  listened  to  Him  respectfully,  but 
were  at  a  loss  to  reconcile  His  words  with  their  preconceived  ideas  of 
the  jNIessiah.  In  the  Synagogue,  they  had  heard  pa.ssages  read  from 
the  Scriptures,  describing  Him  as  a  priest  for  ever,  and  His  dominion 
as  one  which  should  never  pass  away  or  be  destroyed,  but  stand  for 
ever  and  ever,  and  had  come  to  expect,  in  consequence,  an  everlasting 
reign  of  the  Messiah  upon  earth.  They  were  at  a  loss,  therefore,  to 
reconcile  Christ's  use  of  the  name.  Son  of  Man,  which  they  applied  to 
the  Messiah,  with  the  statement  that,  instead  of  dwelling  on  earth  for 
ever,  as  a  king  over  all  nations,  He  should  sutler  the  shameful  death 
of  crucifixion.  The  cross  was  already  the  stumbling-block  to  them 
it  afterwards  became  so  widely  to  their  nation. 

"  We  have  heard  out  of  the  Law,"  said  they,  "that  the  Christ  is 
to  live  for  ever,  on  earth.  What  dost  Thou  mean,  tlien,  by  saying 
Uiat  the  Son  of  Man— a  name  by  which  we  tmderstaud,  the  Christ — 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  691 

must  be  crucified?  Who  is  this  Son  of  Man  to  -whom  Thou  referrest? 
What  dost  Tliou  mean  by  using  this  name,  when  Thou  spealvest  so 
contrary  to  Scripture?" 

His  time  was  too  short  to  give  a  formal  explanation.  Nor  would 
it  have  been  of  any  effect  in  minds  so  prejudiced,  for  the  fullest  ex- 
planations of  after  days  made  no  impression.  He  chose  rather  to 
urge  on  them,  once  more,  the  one  course  in  which  lay  their  eternal 
safety.  Standing  at  the  very  close  of  His  public  ministrations,  He 
threw  into  these  last  words  of  warning  the  whole  intensity  and  ear- 
nestness of  His  soul. 

"If  you  wish  to  comprehend  what  I  have  said  about  my  being 
lifted  up,  let  me  tell  you  how  all  your  questions  and  difficulties  about 
it  may  be  resolved.  I  shall  be  with  you  only  a  very  little  longer; 
make  right  use  of  that  time  to  believe  in  me,  the  Light  of  the  World, 
as  the  traveller  makes  use  of  the  last  moments  of  day,  to  reach  safety, 
before  darkness  overtake  him.  With  me,  the  light  of  truth,  which 
now  lights  you,  will  be  gone,  and  j'ou  know  that  he  who  walks  in 
darkness  knows  not  what  way  to  go.  While  ye  still  have  me,  the 
Light  of  Men,  believe  in  the  light,  that  ye  may  receive  illuminatioa 
from  it." 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  He  might  have  stayed  in  the 
Temple  till  it  shut  at  sunset,  then  a  few  minutes  after  six  in  the 
evening.  But  these  were  almost  the  last  words  He  was  to  speak  as 
a  public  teacher.  His  mission  to  His  nation  was  ended.  There  re- 
mained only  a  brief  interval  of  communion  with  the  loved  ones 
round  Him,  and,  then,  would  come  the  consummation  of  Calvary. 
His  work  was  over,  except  the  final  and  greatest  act  of  all.  Casting 
a  last  sad  look  of  quenchless  pity  on  all,  He  turned  away  to  Bethany, 
to  seek  seclusion,  till  the  time  came  for  His  self-sacrifice. 

It  must  have  been  a  solemn  and  well-nigh  overpowering  moment, 
thus  to  bid  farewell,  for  ever,  to  the  Temple  of  His  nation, — tha 
centre  of  the  old  kingdom  of  God ; — for  the  retrospect  of  His  public 
life,  and  the  vision  of  the  future,  must  have  risen,  like  a  dream, 
before  Him.  So  far  as  apparent  results  went,  He  had  had  little  suc- 
cess, for,  though  even  His  bitterest  enemies  were  forced  to  own  His 
supernatural  power,  and  the  greatness  and  number  of  the  instances 
in  which  it  had  been  shown :  though  thej^  had  seen  His  grand  self- 
restraint  which  always  exerted  it  for  others,  and  habitually  ignored 
any  personal  end,  either  of  ambition,  defence,  or  retaliation,'  till  they 
had  come  to  treat  Him,  not  only  witli  disrespect,  but  even  with  open 
violence;  secure,  in  His  infinite  patience  and  humility;  their  prej- 
udices had  utterly  blinded  them,  and  they  steadfastly  refused,  as  a 
class,  to  accept,  in  His  person,  a  Messiah  s®  contrary  to  their  gross 
and  ambitious  expectations.  There  were,  indeed,  even  among  the 
chief  rulers  and  priests,  many  who  believed  in  Him,  but  it  was  only 
a  secret  conviction  which  they  had  not  the  courage  to  own. 

The  threat  of  excommunication  had  been  too  terrible  to  brave,  and 


692  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

they  preferred  to  cling  to  their  social  and  civil  interests,  at  the  cost  of 
repressing  llieir  better  thoughts. 

Once  more,  only,  was  the  pleading  voice  raised.  A  nnmhcr  of 
those  near  apparently  followed  Him  as  He  retired,  and  He  could  not 
tear  Himself  from  them,  without  a  final  outburst  of  yearning  desire 
for  their  salvation.  Turning  round,  and  raising  His  voice  till  the 
sound  rang  far  and  wida,  He  cried — 

"  Think  not  that  the  faith  I  demand  in  myself  in  anyway  lessens 
or  takes  from  the  faith  that  is  due  to  God.  To  believe  in  me,  and  to 
believe  in  God,  are  the  same  thing.  He  who  has  that  faith  in  mc, 
which  the  proofs  I  have  given  of  my  being  sent  from  God  demand, 
believes  not  so  much  in  mc  as  in  Him  who  sent  me.  And  thus,  also, 
be  who  looks  on  me  as  that  which  I  have  shown  mj-self  to  be,  looks 
not  so  much  on  me  as  on  Him  who  sent  me — on  the  Godhead  of  rvx 
Father  revealed  in  me.  In  Me  ye  have  a  Light.  I  came  into  the 
world  to  enlighten  men,  that  every  one  who  yields  himself  to  my 
guidance,  may  be  as  when  one  walks  after  a  light,  and  may  no  longer 
remain  in  the  darkness  of  ignorance,  superstition,  and  sin. 

"  Yet  if  any  one  who  hears  my  words,  refuses  to  believe  in  JIc — 
let  him  not  think  that  /shall  intlict  judgment  en  him  for  his  refustil. 
The  end  of  my  coming  is  not  to  judge  the  world,  but,  rather,  to  save 
it  from  eternal  ruin.  He  who  rejects  Me,  My  words,  and  My  deeds, 
has  in  his  own  breast  a  judge  that  will  condemn  him  hereafter.  Tlie 
truth  I  have  spoken,  in  the  name  of  God,  which  he  has  refused  to 
receive,  will  condemn  him  in  his  own  conscience  at  the  last  day,  and 
will  condemn  him  also  from  the  lips  c  f  the  Great  Judge.  For  the 
words  1  have  spoken  have  been  no  mere  utterances  of  myo>vn;  I 
have  taught  only'  that  which  1  was  commissioned  by  my  Fatlicr  to 
speak,  and  I  know  that  my  teaching,  if  obeyed  and  follo\\  ed,  secures 
everlasting  life  to  men.  All  that  I  say  is  only  what  my  Father  has 
told  me  to  speak  in  His  name.  Therefore,  let  no  man  think  that  I 
speak  anything  but  that  which  my  Father  has  given  me  to  proclaim. 
I  am  He  whom  God  hath  sent,  and  my  words  are  the  words  of  God." 

Nothing  in  these  last  discourses  of  Jesus  hiid  seemed  more  strange 
and  inexplicable  to  the  Apostles,  than  His  prediction  of  the  early  de- 
struction of  Jerusalem,  and  of  the  Temple  itself.  As  they  now  passed 
with  Him,  through  the  forecourts,  to  the  outer  gate,  and  down  the 
eastern  steps,  to  the  Kedron  Valley;  oveqiowered  by  the  vast  mag- 
nificence, which  seemed  grand  enough  even  for  the  times  of  the  ]\Tes- 
eiah,  they  could  not  refrain  from  speaking  to  Him  respecting  His 
strange  and  mj'sterious  words. 

"Master,"  said  they,  "see  what  a  wondrous  structure  this  is. 
What  stones!  what  buildings!  what  splendour!  what  wealth!  How 
the  whole  Temple  rises,  terrace  above  terrace,  from  the  great  white 
walls,  to  the  Holy  Place,  shining  with  gold!  and  it  is  not  finished 
even  yet!" 

The  Temple,  says  Josephus,  was  built  of  white  stones  of  great  size 


THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST,  693 

»— the  length  of  each  about  thirty-seven  and  a  half  feet,  some  even 
forty-five  feet, — the  thickness  twelve  feet,  and  the  brwidth  eighteen. 

But  Jesus  looked  at  all  this  strength,  wealth,  and  magniticence. 
Willi  very  different  eyes.  To  llim  the  Jewish  theocracy  had  outlived 
its  day,  and  had  sunk  into  moral  decrepitude  and  approaching  death, 
which  the  mere  outward  splendour  of  its  Temple  could  not  hide. 
Israel,  in  rejecting  Ilim,  the  Voice  of  God,  calling  it  to  rise  to  new 
spiritual  life,  had  shown  itself  ripe  for  divine  judgment.  His  own 
death,  already  determined  by  the  ecclesiastical  authorities,  and  now 
close  at  hand  would  seal  the  fate  of  the  nation  and  its  religion.  It 
w'ould  be  the  proclamation  of  the  passing  away  of  the  Kingdom  of 
God  on  earth  from  Judaism,  now  dead  in  forms  and  rites,  to  the 
heathen  nations  willing  to  receive  its  spirit  and  libertj'. 

He  knew  that  the  Theocrary  would  cling  to  their  dream  of  nattonal 
independence,  and  the  erection  of  a  mighty  political  empire  of  the 
Messiah,  and  that  this  involved  a  straggle  between  them  and  Rome, 
in  which  tlieir  petty  weakness  must  inevitably  be  crushed.  Strange 
fate!  the  moment  when  they  fancied  they  had  secured  themselves 
even  from  reform,  by  the  resolution  to  put  Jesus  to  death,  was  that 
in  which  He  whose  death  was  to  ensure  permanence  and  prosperity, 
preJicted  their  utter  destruction! 

'•  Yes,"  .said  Jesus  in  utter  sadness,  "  1  see  all:  they  are  very  great 
buildings,  but  I  tell  you  solemnly,  the  day  will  come  when  there  will 
not  be  one  stone  of  tiiem  all  left  on  another,  not  thrown  down." 

He  said  nothing  more,  but  went  out  of  the  citj^  by  the  blossoming 
ivedron  Valley,  v\-ith  its  gardens  and  stateh^  mansions,  a  picture  of 
peace  and  prosperity,  to  the  Blount  of  Olives.  Sitting  down  on  a 
knoll,  to  enjoy  the  magnificent  view,  so  full  of  unutterable  thoughts 
to  the  Rejected  One,  the  Apostles  had  Moriah  once  more  before  them 
in  its  whole  glory,  crowned  by  the  marble  Temple,  like  a  mountaiu 
with  snow. 

In  the  group  around,  Peter  and  James,  and  John  and  Andrew,  sat 
nearest  tlieir  Mast:'r,  and,  as  the}"  looked  at  all  the  splendour  before 
them — splendour  so  great  that  it  was  often  said  that  he  who  had  not 
seen  it  had  inisssd  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  world — their  thoughts 
still  ran  on  the  words  in  which  He  had  doomed  it  to  destruction. 
They  had  heard  Him  sa}^  that  the  nation  would  not  see  Him  again, 
till  they  showed  themselves  ready  to  receive  Him  as  the  Messiah, 
and  that,  in  the  meantime,  the  city  and  Temple  should  be  utterly  de- 
stroyed. Their  only  idea  of  the  Messiah,  even  yet,  however,  was  that 
of  a  deliverer  of  tlie  nation,  who,  besides  any  spiritual  benefits  He 
might  confer,  would  raise  Israel  to  world-wide  supremacy.  They 
could  net  imagine  that  the  holy  city,  and  its  Temple,  wouki  perish 
before  the  end  of  the  world,  and  He  must  surely  come  sooner  than 
that,  to  free  Israel  from  subjection  and  inaugurate  its  glory.  The  de- 
struction of  the  city,  therefore,  could  not,  they  fancied,  be  before  the 
destruction  of  a.'l  things.     They  would  fain  know  what  sign,  after 


6M  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

this  catastrophe,  would  precede  His  glorious  coining  and  the  find 
consummation,  if  it  were  to  be  so;  that  they  might  recognize  His 
advent  when  it  took  place.  Their  ideas,  in  truth,  were  in  a  hopeless 
confusion. 

"  Tell  us,  Master,"  said  one  of  the  four  favoured  ones,  '  when  shall 
these  things,  of  which  Thou  hast  spoken,  take  place':  And  what 
sign  will  there  be  of  Thy  coming,  and  of  the  end  of  the  w  •jrldV" 

It  was  impossible  to  explain  fully,  to  minds  so  filled  with  precon- 
ceived ideas.  Much  must  happen — His  death,  resurrection,  and  de- 
parture from  the  earth,  before  they  could  acquire  just  conceptions  of 
His  kingdom.  Till  then,  it  was  hopeless  to  remove  their  prejudices. 
He,  therefore,  confined  Himself,  as  usual,  to  the  practical,  that  He 
might  rouse  them  to  watchfulness  over  themselves,  and  remove  the 
illusion  that  the  holiness  of  Jerusalem  would  preserve  it,  and  that  the 
Messiah  must  appear  first,  to  deliver  the  nation  from  the  hand  of  the 
Romans. 

He  fitly  began  by  warning  them  against  false  Messiahs.  ' '  Take 
heed,"  said  He,  "that  no  impostor  deceive  you,  by  persuading  you 
that  he  is  the  Messiah,  come,  as  you  expect,  to  free  the  nation,  and 
subdue  the  world,  and  to  spread  the  Jewish  religion  over  the  earth. 
Many  deceivers  will  rise,  calling  themselves  the  Messiah — sent  from 
God  to  deliver.  Israel — and  saying  that  the  time  of  this  deliverance 
has  come.  They  will  mislead  many.  Take  care  that  you  go  not  out 
after  them. 

"  But,  to  turn  to  your  question — before  the  Temple  is  destroyed, 
you  W'ill  hear  the  terrors  of  wars  near  at  hand,  and  the  distaiit  tumult 
of  others,  and  you  may  think  that  they  will  bring  the  end.  But  be 
not  alarmed.  They  are  divinely  appointed,  and  this,  may  serve  to 
calm  your  minds;  but  the  destruction  of  the  city  and  Temple  will  not 
take  place  so  soon.  Nor  must  you  think  that  these  wars  will  herald 
national  deliverance :  instead  of  proclaiming  an  interference  of  God 
for  the  restoration  of  Israel,  they  mark  the  beginning  of  His  judg- 
ments. For  nation  will  rise  against  nation,  and  kingdom  against 
kingdom,  and  there  will  be  famines,  and  pestilences,  and  earthquakes, 
and  fearful  sights  in  the  heavens,  here  and  there,  over  the  earth.  Yet, 
do  not  think,  from  these,  that  God  is  about  to  appear  for  the  Jews, 
and  to  send  them  an  earthly  Messiah.  No ;  all  these  are  only  the  first 
pangs  of  the  coming  sorrow.  Your  Rabbis  have  told  you  that  such 
things  are  signs  of  the  speedy  advent  of  the  Messiah,  but  be  not  de- 
ceived. 

"  Instead  of  peace,  these  thiols  will  bring  you  evil.  Once  more, 
'be  on  your  guard.  I  shall  soon  leave  you,  and  w^ould  again  warn 
you  of  the  dangers  to  you  which  shall  precede  the  last  catastrophe. 
I  have  told  you  often,  what  perils  and  heavy  trials  await  you,  in  your 
founding  and  spreading  my  Kingdom,  so  different  in  its  spiritual  and 
i»oral  unworldliness,  from  all  others.  Before;  the  end  comes,  men 
VUl  proceed  to  violence  against  you,  for  my  name's  sake.     Your 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  -695 

countrymen  will  lay  hands  on  you,  accuse  you,  and  bring  you  before 
the  local  authorities;  you  will  be  scourged  in  tlie  synagoguea  and 
thrown  into  dungeons,  and  even  dragged  before  kings  and  Roman 
governors,  that  you  may  witness  for  Me,  my  Person,  and  my  Work, 
before  them. 

"  But  let  me  coiiifort  you,  in  prospect  of  such  trials.  Never  forget 
that  I  will  not  forsake  you  when  you  thus  suffer  for  tny  sake,  and 
shall,  myself,  by  the  Holy  Spirit  whom  I  shall  send  to  your  aid,  give 
you  words  and  wisdom  for  your  defence,  when  your  are  before  tribu- 
nals. Be  not  therefore  anxious,  Avhen  such  persecutions  rise,  for, 
in  the  hour  of  your  trial,  it  will  not  be  you  who  speak,  but  the  Holy 
Ghost. 

"  Yet,  let  me  not  conceal  from  you  that  they  will  deliver  you  up  to 
every  form  of  suffering,  and  even  kill  you,  and  that  you  will  be  hated 
not  only  by  your  own  nation,  because  you  proclaim  me  as  the 
Messiah,  but  by  all  the  heathen  nations  as  well.  In  this  world  you 
can  look  only  for  tribulation. 

"  But  a  greater  trial  awaits  you  than  mere  persecution  from  with- 
out. The  strife  of  creeds  will  enter  even  the  sacred  circle  of  the 
family;  the  father  will  give  evidence  before  the  Courts  against  his 
own  child,  the  brother  against  the  brother,  the  child  against  its  parent, 
the  friend  against  the  friend.  The  fury  of  heathen  and  Jewish 
fanaticism  will  feel  no  pity:  the  nearest  blood  will  rage  against  its 
own,  and  will  deliver  them  up  to  the  executioner.  And  even  in  your 
own  number,  many  will  renounce  their  faitli,  under  the  pressure  of 
persecution  and  trial,  and  will  even  betraj'  and  deliver  up  their  fellow- 
Christians  to  the  magistrate,  and  will  hate  those  from  whom  they  have 
thus  apostatized.  My  name  will  indeed  become  a  symbol  of  hatred 
and  scorn,  against  every  one  who  confesses  it.  Still  worse,  many 
false  Christian  teachers  will  rise  in  j'oarown  bosom,  and  will  mislead 
numbers.  And  all  this  spiritual  corruption  will  sap  the  brotherly  love 
and  religious  zeal  of  great  numbers  of  my  followers,  for  true  Christian 
life  cannot  thrive  where  there  is  moral  decay. 

"But  he  who  neither  renounces  my  name,  nor  lets  himself  be  led 
astray  by  false  teachers,  but  remains  true  and  loyal  to  me,  till  the 
evil  days  are  over,  will  receive  everlasting  honour  at  mj" final  coming. 
Such  good  and  faithful  servants  need  have  no  fear  of  losing  their 
reward,  for  nothing  can  befall  them,  to  hurt  or  lessen,  in  the  least, 
their  share  in  the  salvation  my  eternal  Kingdom  will  bring.  As  re- 
gards that,  they  are  perfectly  safe.  Xot  a  hair  of  their  head,  if  I 
may  so  speak,  will  perish,  so  far  as  their  heavenly  hopes  are  con- 
cerned. Their  faithfulness  will  gain  for  them  the  eternal  life  of  their 
souls,  even  should  they  die  as  martyrs  here. 

"  Meanwhile  the  Gospel  of   the  new  Kingdom  of   God  will  be 

preached  throughout  the  whole  world,  that  a  testimony  respecting 

me  may  be  given  to  all  nations,  however  they  may  hate  you.     Then, 

but  not  till  then,  shall  come  the  end  of  this  present  state  of  thinga— • 

L  of  c— 2». 


696  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  old  "Will  then  pass  away,  and  the  new  begin.  The  reign  of  the 
kingdom  of  God  will  begin  when  Judaism  has  fallen,  and  heathenism 
has  heard  its  doom. 

"The  full  spread  of  my  Kingdom  cannot  come  so  long  as  that 
which  it  is  to  displace  still  stands  in  Jerusalem.  The  Gospel  needs 
new  soil,  new  means,  new  powers.  The  old  religions  are  so  identi- 
fied with  the  old  civil  and  political  life  of  men,  with  their  customs 
and  modes  of  thought,  that  my  Kingdom  can  hope  to  found  its  peace- 
ful reign  only  after  great  and  terrible  revolutions  and  disturbances. 
The  way  will  be  opened  for  it  by  war,  with  all  its  horrors,  and  by  the 
widespread  judgments  of  God  on  the  world  at  large. 

"  When,  therefore,  ye  see  Jerusalem  compassed  with  armies,  it  will 
mark  the  beginning  of  the  end.  When  you  see  the  holy  place  in 
ruins,  and  desolation  reigning  there  in  its  hatefulness,  as  is  spoken  of 
in  Daniel,  let  him  who  is  in  Judea  flee  to  the  hills  of  Gilead,  where 
he  will  be  safe;  let  him  who  is  on  the  house-top  not  come  down  to 
take  away  his  things  from  the  house,  but  let  him  flee  along  the  flat 
roof,  to  the  town  wall,  and  thus  escape;  and  let  him  who  is  working 
in  the  lield,  where  he  has  no  outer  garment,  not  come  back  to  his 
house  to  get  it,  but  let  him  flee  for  his  life.  But  woe  to  those  who 
are  with  child  in  those  days,  and  cannot  flee,  and  to  those  who  have 
children  at  the  breast,  and  are  kept  from  escaping  by  vainlj'^  trying  to 
save  them  also.  Pray  that  your  flight  be  not  in  the  winter,  with  its 
rains  and  .storms  and  swollen  torrents,  nor  on  the  Sabbath  day,  when 
he  who  still  clings  to  Jewish  law  will  think  it  unlawful  to  travel  more 
than  two  thousand  cubits.  Whatever  hinders  your  swift  flight  will, 
indeed,  be  cause  of  regret,  for  the  troubles  of  those  days  will  be  great 
beyond  example. 

"There  will  be  great  distress  in  the  land,  and  the  fierce  wrath  will 
be  let  loose  on  this  nation.  Its  sons  will  fall  by  the  sword,  and  be 
led  off,  to  be  sold  as  slaves,  over  the  whole  earth,  and  Jerusalem  will 
be  trodden  under  foot  of  the  heathen,  as  a  captive  is  by  his  conqueror, 
till  the  times  allowed  by  God  to  the  Gentiles,  to  carry  out  thus  His 
avenging  wrath,  be  fulfilled. 

"  And,  indeed,  if  the  number  of  these  evil  days  had  not  been  short 
ened,  in  God's  pitying  mercy,  no  flesh  would  be  saved.  But  for  the 
sake  of  the  chosen  ones  of  the  Kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  whom  God 
has  determined  to  save  from  the  calamities  of  these  days  and  pre- 
serve alive,  they  have  been  shortened. 

"  But  when  the  Temple  has  been  laid  waste,  and  you  have  fled  for 
your  lives,  false  Messiahs,  and  men  pretending  to  be  prophets,  and  to 
speak  in  the  name  of  God  to  the  nation  in  its  affliction,  will  rise, 
once  more,  taking  advantage  of  the  commotion  and  anxiety  of  those 
days,  and  will  be  so  much  the  more  dangerous.  When  men  say  to 
you,  of  any  of  these,  '  The  Messiah  has  appeared  here,'  or  'He  has 
appeared  there,'  do  not  believe  it.  They  will  pretend  to  perform  such 
great  signs  and  wonders,  that  even  the  chosen  ones  of  my  KingdOBt 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  697 

— ^my  disciples — would  be  deceived,  if  it  were  possible,  I  have 
warned  you  of  this  ah'eady,  but  press  on  you  once  more  to  take  heed 
to  it.  If,  therefoi-e,  any  one  say  to  you,  '  Behold,  the  Messiah  is  in 
the  wilderness,'  do  not  go  out  with  him,  for  they  draw  their  dupe* 
to  the  wilderness  as  a  safe  place  for  mustering  them.  If  any  say, 
'Behold,  he  is  in  such  and  such  a  house,  shut  up  in  his  secret  cham- 
bers,' do  not  believe  it.  My  visible  and  final  coming,  respecting 
which  you  ask  me,  will  uot  be  such  that  men  need  point  to  this  pUic-e, 
or  to  that,  to  see  me;  it  will  be  like  the  lightning,  which  shines  witli 
instant  splendour  through  all  the  sky,  and  announces  itself  beyond 
mistake.  For,  from  east  to  wjest,  the  earth  will,  in  that  day,  be  ripe 
for  the  judgments  of  the  Messiah,  and,  as  the  eagles  gather  wherever 
the  carcase  is,  so  the  Son  of  Man,  then  the  minister  of  divine  wrath, 
will  reveal  Himself  to  all  who  have  fallen  under  His  condemnation. 

"Then,  in  a  future  age — when  the  time  of  the  Gentiles,  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  is  fulfilled — when  he  who  has  prayed  long  and  unfainting- 
ly,  like  the  importunate  widow,  shall  begin  to  wonder  if  ever  he  will  be 
heard — I  do  not  say  whether  in  the  second  watch,  or  in  the  third,  or 
even  in  the  morning:  when  the  bridegroom  has  tarried  while  his 
attendants  wait  longingly  for  him — when  the  unfaithful  servant  has 
encouraged  himself  by  the  thought  that  his  lord  delaj's  his  coming — 
when  the  Gospel  has  been  preached  to  all  the  Gentiles — and  when 
the  king  may  be  expected,  at  last,  from  the  far  country  to  which 
he  has  gone — then,  suddenly,  like  the  flood  in  the  days  of  Noah,  or 
the  destruction  of  Sodom,  shall  the  words  of  the  prophets  be  verified, 
and  earth  and  heaven  be  veiled,  and  darkened,  and  tremble,  before 
the  great  coming  of  the  Son  of  Man,  to  j  udgment.  And  then  shall 
they  see  the  sign  of  His  coming,  respecting  which  you  have  asked 
— the  far-shining  splendour  around  Him,  like  the  sun  in  its  strength 
— when  He  descends  in  the  clouds  of  heaven,  with  power  and  with 
great  glory.  And  He  shall  send  forth  His  angels,  from  the  midst  of 
the  unutterable  light;  and  the  great  trumpet  of  God,  which  will  wake 
the  dead,  shall  sound,  and  the  angels  will  gather  together  around  Him 
all  who  are  His — chosen  of  God  to  be  heirs  of  the  heavenly  king- 
dom of  the  Messiah — from  north,  and  south,  and  east,  and  west — over 
the  whole  round  of  the  world.  And  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  who 
have  rejected  me  shall  mourn,  when  they  see  me  thus  come  in  divine 
majesty.  And  when  these  wondrous  signs  begin,  then  lift  up  your 
lieads,  for  your  eternal  redemption  from  all  the  afllictions  of  time,  i3 
at  hand. 

"When,  therefore,  soon  after  my  departure  from  you,  ye  see  all 
these  wars,  and  hear  all  these  rumours  of  wars  of  which  I  have  told 
you,  know  that  I,  the  Messiah,  am  near  in  my  first  coming,  as  ya 
know  that  the  summer  is  close,  when  ye  see  the  branches  of  the  fig- 
tree,  and  all  other  trees,  swell,  and  put  forth  their  buds  and  tender 
leaves.  For  it  is  I  who  come,  unseen,  to  judge  Jerusalem  and  th« 
Temple,  as  I  shall,  in  the  end,  come  vLdbly  to  judge  all  mankind. 


693  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST, 

"  Verily  T  say  to  you,  This  generation  of  living  men  shall  not  have 
passed  away,  before  the  beginning  of  the  age  of  the  Messiah,  to  be 
ushered  in  by  the  fall  of  Israel,  and  to  be  closed  by  all  these  signs, 
has  come;  when  the  old  world  shall  have  drawn  to  an  end,  and  my 
Kingdom — the  new  age  of  the  world — shall  take  its  place  till  the  con- 
summation of  all  things.  Heaven  and  earth  shall  one  day  pass  away, 
but  my  words  shall  not,  for  all  I  have  told  you  must  happen.  All 
the  signs  I  have  predicted,  as  heralds  of  my  coming  to  judge  Jerusa- 
lem and  Israel,  will  assuredly  be  seen  by  some  of  you  now  round 
me.  And  my  coming  then,  will  be  the  revelation  of  my  Kingdom 
before  the  world,  and  of  its  triumph  over  its  Jewish  enemies,  for  my 
Kingdom  can  only,  then,  truly  rise,  when  the  Temple  has  been  de- 
stroyed. When  it  shall  lie  strewn  in  ruins,  and  desecrated  for  ever 
by  heathen  soldiery,  the  world  that  is  will  be  seen  to  have  passed 
away.  There  will  be  an  end  of  the  old  priesthood  and  sacrifice,  and 
the  earth  will  be  opened  to  the  victory  of  my  spiritual  reign. 

"But  the  exact  time  of  the  last  period  of  all,  of  which  I  have 
spoken — the  destruction  of  all  things  visible — the  resurrection  of  the 
dead,  and  my  return  in  glory,  to  judge  the  nations,  I  cannot  tell  you. 
Even  the  angels  do  not  know  it,  nor  oven  does  the  Son :  it  is  known 
to  my  Father  alone.  This  uncertainty  of  the  time  of  my  coming 
■will  make  men  secure  and  careless,  as  they  were  in  the  days  of 
Noah.  For  they  went  on,  dreading  no  catastrophe,  eating  and 
drinking,  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage,  and  neither  believed  nor 
^Ireamed  that  the  flood  would  really  happen,  till  it  came,  and  swept 
them  all  away.  Like  it,  my  coming  will  be  so  sudden,  that,  of  tw  o 
men  in  the  field,  one  shall  be  taken,  by  the  angels  sent  forth  to  gather 
the  saints,  and  the  other  left — for  they  will  have  no  time  to  flee — and, 
of  two  slave-girls  at  the  household  mill,  while  they  are  still  grinding, 
the  one  shall  be  taken,  in  like  manner,  to  be  with  me,  and  the  other 
left. 

' '  Take  heed  to  yourselves,  and  watch,  lest  at  any  time,  like  the 
people  before  the  flood,  you  give  way  to  sinful  pleasures  or  indul- 
gences, or  be  engrossed  in  the  anxieties  of  life,  so  as  to  be  careless, 
end  imprepared  for  my  return,  and  that  day  come  on  you,  as  the  flood 
did  on  them,  unawares.  For  it  will  burst  on  all  that  dwell  on  the 
face  of  the  whole  earth,  as  suddenly  and  unexpectedly,  as  the  snare 
flies  over  the  creature  caught  in  its  toils. 

"  Take  heed,  I  repeat,  and  watch:  for  ye  know  not  when  the  hour 
may  strike.  It  will  be  like  the  coming  of  a  man  who  has  taken  his 
journey  into  a  far  country,  and  has  lelt  his  house  in  the  hands  of  his 
servants,  and  given  authority  over  it  to  them — to  each  his  own  special 
•work — and  has  commanded  the  keeper  of  the  gate  to  watch  for  his 
return.  Watch,  therefore,  like  faithful,  diligent  servants,  for  ye 
know  not  the  hour  when  I,  tlie  Master  of  the  House,  shall  come, 
whether  it  will  be  in  the  evening,  or  at  midnight,  or  at  cock-crowing, 
or  in  the  morning;  lest,  if  I  come  suddenly,  i  find  you  asleep.     And 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  696 

wh.it  I  say  to  you,  my  apostles,  I  say  to  all.  Be  awake  and  watchful 
at  all  times,  that  ye  may  he  ahle  to  escape  all  the  terrors  of  my  com- 
ing, hy  heing  found  faithful,  and  thus  may  he  set  hefore  me  by  the 
holy  angels,  to  enter  into  my  glory,  and  stand  before  me,  as  my  ser- 
vants, in  my  heavenly  kingdom. 

"  You  know  how  a  householder  would  have  acted  had  he  known 
beforehand  at  what  watch  of  the  night  the  thief  would  come,  to  ]ilun- 
der  his  goods.  He  would  have  watched,  and  not  have  suffered  his 
house  to  he  broken  into.  Therefore,  be  ready  at  all  times,  for  the 
Son  of  Man  will  come,  when,  perhaps,  ye  least  expect  Him. 

"  Who  among  you  will  prove  himself  a  good  and  faithful  servant? 
He  will  be  like  a  servant  of  him  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  who  took 
his  journey  to  a  far  country — a  servant  set  over  the  househokl  to 
give  them  their  food  in  due  season,  during  his  absence;  who  faith- 
fully did  it.  Blessed  will  be  that  servant,  whom  his  lord,  when  he 
returns,  shall  find  so  doing!  Verily  I  say  to  you,  he  will  advarT'e 
him  to  a  far  liigher  post,  for  he  will  set  him  not  only  over  the  tood 
of  his  household,  but  over  all  his  substance.  And  blessed,  in  like 
manner,  will  he  be  whom  I,  on  my  return,  will  find  faithful  to  the 
charge  committed  to  him  in  my  kingdom! 

"But,  if,  instead  of  being  faithful,  you  fail  in  your  duty,  you  will 
be  like  a  servant  of  the  same  master  who  should  say  in  his  heart, 
'  ]\Iy  lord  delays  his  coming,'  and  begin  to  beat  his  fellow-servants, 
and  to  eat  and  drink  with  the  drunken,  at  his  master's  cost.  The 
lord  of  that  servant  will  come  in  a  day  when  he  does  not  look  for 
him,  and  in  an  hour  when  he  does  not  expect  him,  and  will  punish 
him  to  the  uttermost,  and  make  him  bear  the  just  fate  of  a  hypo- 
crite. Even  so,  the  hj'pocrite,  in  my  kingdom,  shall  be  cast  out  into 
outer  darkness.-  And,  oh!  what  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teetli  will 
be  tiiere! 

"In  that  day  of  my  final  coming  it  will  be  as  when,  at  a  marriage, 
the  maidens  invited  to  play  and  sing  in  the  marriage  procession,  pre- 
pare to  go  out  to  meet  the  bridegroom,  to  lead  him  to  the  house  of 
the  bride,  where  the  marriage  is  to  be  celebrated.  Let  me  suppose 
there  were  ten  such  maidens, — five  wise,  five  foolish.  The  five  fool- 
ish ones  took  their  lamps  with  them,  to  help  the  display,  and  ligliten 
the  path  of  the  bridegroom,  but  they  forgot  to  take  oil  with  them, 
besides,  to  refill  the  lam]-)S,  when  they  had  burned  out.  But  the  wise 
not  only  took  their  lami)s,  Init  oil  in  iheir  oil  flasks  as  well.  All  t!ie 
ten.  thus  differently  prepared,  went  forth  from  the  home  of  the  bride, 
and  waited  in  a  house,  on  the  way  by  which  the  bridegroom  must 
come,  to  be  ready  to  go  out  and  escort  him,  when  he  passed  by. 

"  But  he  delayed  so  long  tliat  thev  all  grew  heavy,  and  fell  asleep. 
At  last,  at  midnight,  they  were  suddenly  roused;  for  the  people  in 
the  streets  had  heard  the  loud  music  and  shouts,  and  had  seen  the 
light  of  the  lamps  and  torches  of  the  procession,  afar,  and  raised  the 
cry  at  the  doors — '  The  bridegroom  is  coming,  go  ye  out  to  meet 


700  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

him.'  Then  they  all  arose,  and  trimmed  each  her  own  lamp,  to  have 
it  ready.  The  foolish  ones  now  found  that  tlieir  lamps  were  goinsj 
out,  because  the  oil  was  all  burned,  and  asked  the  wise  ones  to  give 
them  of  theirs.  But  they  answered,  '  We  cannot  possibly  do  so,  for 
our  oil  would  assuredly  not  suffice  both  for  ourselves  and  you;  go, 
rather,  to  the  sellers,  and  buy  for  yourselves. ' 

"  While  they  were  aAvay  buying  it,  however,  the  bridegroom  came, 
and  the  five  who  were  ready,  joined  the  procession,  and  went  in  with 
the  hriclegroom  to  the  marriage  and  the  marriage-feast,  and  the  door 
was  shut.  After  a  time,  the  other  five  came,  and  knocked  at  the  gate 
with  anxious  entreaty — 'Lord,  lord,  open  to  us.'  But  he  answered, 
'  I  do  not  know  you.  You  were  not  among  the  other  maids  of  the 
bride  in  the  procession,  and,  therefore,  you  are  strangers  to  me,  and 
as  such  have  notliing  to  do  at  my  marriage.' 

"Learn  from  this  parable  that  they  who  patiently  watch  and  wait, 
doing  the  duty  I  have  assigned  them,  till  I  come,  though  the}'  know 
neither  the  day  nor  the  hour  when  I  shall  do  so;  will  have  a  part  in 
the  joys  of  my  heavenly  kingdom.  All  my  followers  will  then  be, 
as  it  were,  my  bride,  and  I  their  bridegroom;  but  those  who  are  not 
faithful  and  true  to  the  end,  will  be  shut  out  from  the  marriage- 
feast." 

The  Apostles  and  the  others  who  followed  Jesus  had  been  sit- 
ting long  in  the  cool  of  the  evening  on  the  pleasant  slope  of  Olivet, 
listening  to  this  wondrous  discourse,  but  their  Master's  stay  with 
them  was  now  nearly  over,  and  He  was  as  loath  to  end,  as  they  that 
He  should.  He  still  went  on,  therefore,  and,  next,  repeated  to  them 
the  parable  He  had  before  delivered  near  Jericho — of  the  talents  lent 
by  the  lord  to  his  servants.  Its  awful  close,  however,  which  repre- 
sents the  unprofitable  servant  as  cast  into  the  outer  darkness,  with 
Its  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  brought  before  Him  all  the  terrors 
of  the  last  judgment,  and  led  Him  to  close  by  a  picture  of  that  awful 
day  unequalled  for  sublimity  by  any  other,  even  of  His  own  utter- 
ances. 

"The  parable  of  the  talents,  my  beloved,"  said  He,  "shows  that 
every  one  of  you  must  needs  make  the  utmost  possible  use,  for  the 
interests  of  my  kingdom  in  your  own  hearts  and  among  men,  of  all 
the  different  gifts  entrusted  to  you  by  me,  for  my  service,  according 
to  your  respective  abilities.  For,  at  my  coming,  I  shall  reckon  with 
you  all,  and  those  who  have  been  faithful  to  me  shall  receive  high 
rewards  in  heaven,  but  those  who  have  left  their  gifts,  however  small, 
unused,  will  have  those  gifts  taken  from  them,  and  they  themselves 
will  be  thrust  out  of  my  kingdom. " 

He  then  proceeded — in  words  such  as  no  mere  man  could  ever 
dream  of  using — words  which  we  seem  to  hear  spoken  with  the  light 
as  of  other  worlds  sinning  from  the  speaker's  eyes,  and  a  transfigura- 
tion  of  His  whole  appearance  to  more  than  human  majesty. 

♦'  I  have  told  you  how  I  shall  return  invisibly,  to  earth,  before  Ihiit 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  701 

generation  shall  have  passed  awa}%  to  judge  Jerusalem  and  Israel, 
when  the  cup  of  their  iniquity  shall  be  full;  and  how,  also,  I  shall 
come  again,  in  spiritual  unseen  presence,  to  be  with  my  servants  in 
their  warfare  with  ^le  powers  of  darkness,  till  my  kingdom  passes 
from  victory  to  victory,  through  succeeding  ages,  and  the  prince  of 
this  world  "be  finally  cast  down  from  his  usurped  throne,  and  the 
world  become  the  kingdom  of  God  and  of  me.  His  Messiah. 

"Then  shall  come  that  day  which  I  have  warned  and  urged  you 
so  earnestly  to  keep  ever  in  mind — the  day  when,  like  the  lord  who 
returned  from  tlie  far  country  to  reckon  with  his  servants — I,  the 
Son  of  Man,  now  poor,  despised,  with  none  round  me  but  you;  re- 
jected by  my  brethren  of  Israel,  and  in  a  few  hours  to  be  nailed  on  a 
cross  like  the  meanest  slave ;  will  come  again  as  Head  of  the  great 
kingdom  of  the  Messiah,  which  will  then  embrace  all  nations. 

"The  Father  has  committed  all  judgment  in  this  kingdom,  to  me, 
His  Son,  and  has  given  me  all  power  in  it,  in  heaven  and  in  earth. 
And  at  that  day  I  shall  come  in  my  glory,  as  its  Prince  and  Head, 
amidst  the  splendours  of  heaven,  and  with  all  the  angels  of  God. 

"  Then  will  I  sit  on  the  throne  of  my  glory;  as  kings  of  the  earth 
when  they  sit  to  judge;  and  all  nations  shall  be  gathered  together 
before  me,  by  my  ministering  angels,  and  I  will  sepai^fite  them,  one 
from  another,  as  you  have  seen  a  shepherd  separate  the  white  sheep 
from  the  black  goats,  and  I  will  set  the  sheep  on  my  right  hand,  but 
the  goats  on  my  left. 

"^hen,  as  King,  coming  in  the  majesty  of  my  assembled  King- 
dom, shall  I  say  to  them  on  my  right  hand — 'Come,  ye  blessed 
of  my  Father,  inherit  the  kingdom  prepared  for  you  from  the 
foundation  of  the  earth — that  kingdom  which  I  promised  as  the  inheri- 
tance of  the  meek.  For  ye  have  proved  that  ye  have  truly  believed 
in  my  name,  by  the  love  towards  me  and  mine,  which  only  true  faith 
can  yield.  For  I  was  hungry,  and  ye  gave  me  to  eat:  I  was  thirsty, 
and  ye  gave  me  to  drink:  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  gave  me  welcome: 
naked,  and  ye  clothed  me:  I  was  sick,  and  ye  visited  me:  I  was  in 
prison,  and  ye  came  unto  me.' 

"Then  shall  the  righteous,  feeling  only  their  shortcomings,  and  for- 
getting their  good  deeds,  think  it  cannot  be  as  I  have  said.  '  When, 
Lord,'  they  shall  ask  me, '  saw  we  Thee  hungry,  and  gave  Thee  main- 
tenance; or  thirsty,  and  gave  Thee  to  drink?  Wlien  saw  we  Thee  a 
stranger,  and  gave  Thee  welcome;  or  naked,  and  clothed  Thee?  Or 
when  saw  we  Thee  sick,  or  in  prison,  and  came  unto  Thcc? ' 

"And  I,  the  King,  will  answer  them — 'Verily  I  say  to  you,  In- 
asmuch as  ye  did  it,  for  my  sake,  to  one  of  these  my  brethren,  even 
the  least  of  them;  the  poor,  the  lowly,  the  outcast,  the  persecuted,  the 
wretched,  who  believed  in  me,  and  are  now  round  my  throne — or  to 
one  of  the  least  of  all  my  brethren  of  mankind ;  for  the  love  ye  bore 
Me,  who  died  for  them — ye  did  it  unto  me.' 

"  Then  shall  I  also  say  to  those  on  my  left  hand — '  Depart  from  m«, 


70S  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

accursed,  into  the  everlasting  fire ;  prepared  for  the  devil  and  his  an- 
gels, but  now  to  be  shared  by  you,  his  servants.  For  I  was  hungry, 
and  ye  did  not  give  me  to  eat:  I  was  thirsty,  and  ye  did  not  give  me 
to  drink:  I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye  would  not  receive  me:  naked,  and 
ye  did  not  clothe  me:  sick,  and  in  prison,  and  ye  did  not  visit  me.' 

"Then  they  will  try,  vainly,  to  justify  themselves,  by  pleading 
innocence.  'Lord,' they  will  say,  'when  did  Ave  see  Thee  hungry, 
or  thirsty,  or  a  stranger,  or  naked,  or  sick,  or  in  prison,  and  did  not 
minister  to  Thee?  Lord,  we  never  saw  Thee  thus,  and,  therefore, 
have  never  refused  Thee  our  service.' 

"  But  I  will  answer  them — '  Verily  I  say  to  you,  Inasmuch  as  ye 
did  it  not  to  one  of  the  least  of  these,  my  brethren ;  whom  j^ou  had 
with  you  and  might  have  helped;  ye  did  it  not  to  me.  Had  ye 
truly,  and  not  in  name  only,  believed  in  me,  ye  would  have  shown 
fruits  of  your  faith,  in  deeds  of  love  for  my  sake.' 

"And  these  sliall  go  away  into  everlasting  punishment;  but  the 
righteous  into  life  eternal." 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

FAREWELL   TO   FRIENDS. 

It  was  the  twelfth  day  of  the  new  moon,  now  rounding  to  fulness, 
when  the  last  words  had  been  spoken  in  the  Temple,  and  farewell 
taken  of  it  for  ever.  Jesus  had  hitherto  lingered  in  its  courts  till  the 
gates  closed,  at  sunset,  after  the  evening  sacrifice,  but  His  soul  this 
clay  was  filled  with  immeasurable  sadness.  Israel  would  not  hear 
the  words  which  alone  could  save  it,  and,  by  its  representatives,  had 
not  only  rejected  and  blasphemed  Him,  but  was,  even  now,  plotting 
His  death.  He  had  left  the  Temple  courts,  therefore,  in  the  early 
afternoon,  to  spend  some  hours  with  the  little  band  of  followers  He 
was  so  soon  to  leave.  They  had  sat  on  the  slope  of  the  Mount  of 
Olives,  facing  the  Temple  and  the  city.  He  had  passed  quietly  and 
unheeded  through  the  stream  of  pilgrims  and  citizens,  and  had  been 
resting,  during  His  long  discourse,  in  the  privacy  of  His  own  circle, 
beneath  one  of  the  fig-trees  of  Olivet,  gazmg,  with  full  soul,  at  all 
He  had  left  for  ever.  Had  they  known  it,  the  liigh  priests  and  rulers 
would  have  seen,  in  His  final  abandonment  of  "  His  Father's  House," 
a  portent  more  awful  than  any  their  superstitious  fears  were  even 
then  noting.  For,  forty  years  before  the  destruction  of  the  Temi  le, 
and,  therefore,  in  the  very  days  of  our  Lord's  public  life,  it  had  been 
seen,  with  unspeakable  alarm, — if  we  nxay  trust  the  Talmud-^tliat 
the  hindmost  lamp  of  the  sacred  seven-branched  candleslick,  in  the 
Holy  Place,  one  night  went  out;  and,  that  the  crimson  wool  tied  to 
the  horns  of  the  scape-goat;  wliich  ought  to  have  turned  wliite  when 
the  atonement  was  made,  had  remained  red;  and  "the  lot  of  the 
Lord,"  for  the  goat  to  be  offered  on  the  Day  of  Expiation,  had  come 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  703 

out  on  the  left  hand;  and  the  g^tes  of  the  Temple,  duly  shut  over- 
night, had  been  found  open  in  the  morning.  A  generation  later,  it 
was  to  be  told,  ■witli  pale  lips,  among  the  heathen,  that  when  the  Tem- 
ple was  near  its  fall,  a  more  than  human  voice  had  been  heard  from 
tlie  Holy  of  Holies,  crying  "  The  gods  have  departed,"  and  that  pres- 
ently, a  great  sound,  as  of  their  issuing  forth,  had  been  heard. 

But  the  true  hom-  of  Jehovah's  leaving  it,  and  that  for  ever,  was 
when  His  Son  passed  that  afternoon  tiu'ough  its  gates,  to  re-enter 
them  no  more.  , 

Rising  after  He  had  ended  His  discourse  on  the  near  and  distant 
future.  He,  who,  a  breath  before,  had  anticipated  the  hour  when  He 
should  come  amidst  the  clouds  of  Heaven,  to  judge  all  nations  ; 
attended  by  all  the  angels,  and  robed  in  the  splendours  of  the  God- 
head ;  was  once  more  the  calm,  lowly  Teacher  and  Friend,  climbing 
the  slope  with  His  handful  of  followers,  on  the  way  to  the  well-loved 
cottage  at  Bethany. 

As  they  went.  He  once  more  broke  to  those  around  Him  His  ap- 
proaching fate.  "  You  know,"'  said  He,  "that  after  two  days  is  the 
Passover,  and  that  the  Son  of  Man  is  appointed,  by  the  eternal 
counsels  of  God,  to  be  delivered  over  to  His  enemies,  to  be  crucified." 
It  was  the  second  time  He  had  expressly  used  that  word  of  unspeak- 
able degradation  and  infamy,  to  men  of  His  day — The  Cross.  But 
tliough  they  heard  it  again,  they  could  not  even  yet  realize  so  disas- 
trous an  eclipse  of  their  cherished  dreams. 

Meanwhile,  His  enemies  were  not  idle.  It  was  now  Tuesday  even- 
ing, and  nothing  alarming  had  followed  the  jiopular  demonstration 
of  the  preceding  Sunday.  The  multitude,  indeed,  disappointed  by 
seeing  no  signs  of  the  national  movement  they  had  expected  that  day 
to  inaugurate,  had  lost  their  enthusiasm,  and,  in  many  cases,  grown 
even  hostile.  There  was  less  to  fear  than  the  authorities  had  appre- 
hended. Yet,  the  crowd  was  tickle,  and  thousands  of  Galilfeans,  the 
countrymen  of  Jesus,  were  at  the  feast,  which  was  always  so  restless 
a  time  that  the  Roman  Procurator  kept  a  double  garrison  in  Antonia 
while  it  lasted,  and  himself  exchanged  the  congenial  society  of 
Csesarea  for  Jerusalem,  with  its  hated  bigotry  and  muffled  treason. 
Even  the  governor-general  of  tlie  F*i-ovince  sometimes  indeed  thouglit 
it- worth  liis  while  to  be  present.  The  fiery  Gal ila?ans  might  rise  if 
Jesus  were  apprehended  during  the  feast-week,  and  any  tumult  would 
be  certain  to  bring  severe  measures,  at  the  hand  of  the  Romans,  on 
the  community  at  large. 

The  heads  of  the  priesthood  and  of  the  Rabbis,  were  hence  in  a- 
dirticulty,  and  met  to  consult  on  the  wisest  course.  The  acting  high 
priest,  Joseph,  known  among  the  people  as  "  Caiaphas,"  "the  Op- 
pressor," was  the  soul  of  the  movement  against  Jesus — for  his 
memorable  words,  "Why  not  this  one  man  die,  rather  tlian  the 
aation  perish?"  had  first  given  definite  expression  and  formal  sanc- 
tion, to  the  idea  of  putting  Him  to  death.     Throwing  all  Uis  <^Jicial 


704  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

dignity  into  the  plot,  he  put  the  upper  court  of  his  palace,  in  the 
upper  city,  at  the  disposal  of  those  engaged  in  it,  and  there  they  and 
he  met,  to  consult  liow  they  might  get  the  Hated  One  into  their 
power  without  the  knowledge  of  the  people,  in  order  to  hand  Him 
over  to  the  Romans  for  crucifixion,  without  fear  of  a  rescue.  The 
meeting  could  not,  however,  come  to  any  fixed  plan,  for  fear  of  a 
popular  rising.  No  more  could  be  done  than  watch,  and  take  ad- 
vantage of  the  course  of  events. 

While  murder  was  thus  being  discussed  in  the  halls  of  the  primate, 
peace  and  sacred  friendship  reigned  in  the  pleasant  home  at  Bethany, 
The  house  of  Simon,  once  a  leper,  hut  cured  by  Jesus;  now  the 
abode  of  Martha,  perhaps  his  widow,  perhaps  his  daughter;  of  Mary, 
her  sister,  and  of  Lazarus,  so  strangely  brought  back  from  the  un- 
seen world — the  one  man  raised  from  the  dead  of  whose  second 
earthly  life  we  know  any  incident — was  a  scene  of  tender  respect  and 
loving  homage.  To  do  Jesus  honour,  the  family  had  made  a  supper 
for  Him,  with  invited  guests,  and  Lazarus  reclined  with  Him  on  the 
table-couch.  The  company  consisted,  doubtless,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
little  household  itself,  of  such  as  owed  their  health,  perhaps  their 
life,  or  that  of  some  friend,  to  the  Great  Healer,  and  of  His  imme- 
diate followers. 

It  was,  in  itself,  a  tender  proof  of  reverent  love,  that,  at  such  a 
time,  when  the  life  of  their  guest  was  sought  by  the  Authorities  of 
the  Temple  and  Schools,  and  every  one  was  required,  on  pain  of  high 
displeasure,  to  help  them  to  arrest  Him,  He  should  have  been  thus 
honoured;  for  Bethany  was  close  to  Jerusalem,  and  the  act  might 
have  brouglit  disaster  on  a  household,  knoAvn,  like  that  of  Martha  and 
Mary,  to  the  dominant  class.  But  a  still  higher  tribute  was  paid 
Him;  touching  and  delicate,  beyond  expression,  under  the  circum- 
stances. The  sisters  had  often  pondered  how  they  could  show  their 
gratitude  for  all  He  had  been,  and  all  that  He  had  done  for  them. 
He  had  healed  Simon,  and  had  given  not  only  him,  but  the  sisters 
and  their  brother,  the  hope  of  Heaven,  by  winning  their  souls  to 
Himself,  and,  but  now,  He  had  shown  how  truly  He  was  the 
Messiah,  by  bringing  back  Lazarus  from  the  grave.  They  knew  that 
the  shadows  of  death  were  gathering  over  their  Mighty  Benefactor 
Himself,  for  the  disciples,  doubtless,  repeated  to  them  the  depressing 
intimations  He  had  given  them.  Mary  was  left  to  give  their  love  and 
gratitude  expression. 

It  was  common  to  anoint  the  heads  of  the  Rabbis  who  attended 
marriage  feasts,  with  fragrant  oil,  and  special  guests  were  sometimes 
similarly  honoured.  Jesus  Himself,  at  an  earlier  date,  had  had  even 
His  feet  anointed  by  a  grateful  penitent,  who  had,  besides,  washed 
them  with  her  tears,  and  wiped  them  with  her  hair,  flowing  loose,  in 
self-forgetfulness.  But  now,  Mary  outdid  all  former  honour  paid 
Him.  The  costliest  anointing  oil  of  antiquity  was  the  pure  spike- 
itard,  drawn  from  an  Indian  plant,  aad  exposed  in  flasks  of  alalmstei 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  705 

for  sale  throughout  the  Roman  Empire,  where  it  fetched  a  price  that 
put  it  licyond  any  but  the  wealthy. 

Of  this  Mary  liad  bought  a  flask,  containing  about  twelve  ounces 
wciglit,  and  now,  coming  behind  the  guests  as  tliey  reclined,  opened 
the  seal,  and  poured  some  of  the  perfume,  first  on  the  head  and  then 
on  the  feet  of  Jesus,  drying  them,  presently,  with  the  hair  of  her 
head,  like  her  predecessor.  She  had  rendered  a  tribute  than  which 
she  could  have  given  no  higher  to  a  King;  but  it  was  a  worthy 
symbol  of  the  rightful  devotion  of  all  we  have  and  are,  to  Christ, 
and,  as  such,  was  lovingly  accepted  by  Him.  The  act,  however, 
raised  different  thoughts  in  some  of  the  narrow  minds  around.  As 
the  fragrant  odours  filled  the  room,  voices  were  heard  muttering  that 
such  lavish  expense  for  such  an  object  was  wrong.  "  This  oint- 
ment," said  one,  "should  have  been  sold  for  three  hundred  pence, 
and  given  to  the  poor  That  would  have  been  a  worthy  act;  but 
this!'     It  was  Judas  Iscariot. 

With  that  perfect  gentleness  and  repose  which  He  always  showed 
in  such  circumstances,  the  answer  of  Jesus  showed  no  resentment,  to 
hurt  the  feelings  of  any,  but  yet  must  have  carried  joy  to  the  tender 
heart  that  had  felt  her  highest  offering  too  little  to  bestow  on  such  a 
guest. 

"  Why  do  you  blame  and  trouble  her?"  said  He  to  the  company, 
especially  to  Judas.  "Let  her  alone.  It  is  a  good  deed  she  has 
done  in  my  honour.  You  have  the  poor  with  you  always,  and  you 
can  never  want  an  opportunity  of  showing  kindness  to  them,  if  you 
wish.  But  you  have  not  me  always  with  you.  Mary,  as  if  she  knew 
I  was  soon  to  die,  has  cho.sen  the  strongest  way  she  could  of  showing 
how  inuch  she  loved  me.  She  has  done  for  me,  as  her  Teacher, 
INIcssiah,  and  Friend,  while  I  still  live,  what  she  would  soon  have 
had  to  do  to  my  dead  body — she  has  embalmed  me  for  the  grave. 
What  remains  will  do  for  the  day  of  my  burial.  I  tell  you,  wherever 
tlie  gospel  shall  be  preached  in  the  whole  world,  what  she  has  done 
will  a'so  be  told  for  a  memorial  of  her." 

Judas,  the  only  southern  Jew,  among  the  Twelve — the  only  man 
brought  up,  as  it  were,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Temple — must  have 
listened  to  such  praise  of  an  act  so  hateful  to  him  with  the  bitterest 
feelings.  He  had  been  with  Jesus  at  least  from  the  first  appointment 
of  the  Apostles,  and  must,  even  then,  have  been  conspicuous  as  a 
disciple.  The  good  seed  of  Christ's  words  had  sprung  up  in  those 
early  days  in  his  heart,  as  in  those  of  the  others;  but  the  evil, 
also,  small  and  unnoticed,  perhaps,  at  first,  had  been  let  spring  up 
erelong,  and  it  had  grown  to  rank  strength  that  slowly  choked  all 
else.  Like  all  his  brethren,  he  had  cherished  gross  and  selfish  views 
of  the  prospects  to  be  opened  for  them  by  their  Master.  If  some 
of  them  were  to  be  the  high  officials  in  the  expected  World-Mon- 
archy, he  had  trusted  to  get,  at  least,  some  post;  profitable,  if  less 
splendid.     Indeed,  the  lowest  digni  -y  promised  inconceivable  honour. 


706  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

for  were  not  all  the  TM^elve  to  sit  on  thrones  to  judge  the  Twelve 
Tribes  of  Israel?  In  the  minds  of  the  others,  the  dream  was  loyally 
subordinated  to  love  and  duty  to  the  Master:  in  his,  self  seized'  and 
held,  abidingly,  the  first  place.  The  mildew  of  his  soul  had  spread 
apace.  Trusted  with  the  common  purse  of  the  brotherhood,  into 
which  passed  the  gifts  of  friends,  to  meet  the  humble  expenses  of 
each  day,  the  honour,  sought  at  first,  perhaps  in  all  uprightness,  be- 
came a  fatal  snare.  His  religion  withered  apace.  Once  a  disciple 
from  honest  anxiety,  he  continued  one,  in  outward  form,  as  an  adven- 
turer. Gain  became  a  passion  with  him,  till,  under  the  very  eyes  of 
his  Master,  he  embezzled,  as  treasurer,  the  petty  funds  in  his  hands. 

The  entry  to  Jerusalem  had  kindled  his  hopes,  after  many  chagrins 
and  disappointments,  for  the  popular  excitement  promised  to  force 
on  Jesus  the  part  of  a  National  Messiah.  But,  blind,  as  he  must 
have  thought  Him,  to  His  own  interest.  He  had  made  no  use  of  the 
splendid  opportunity.  Instead  of  allying  Himself  with  the  dignitaries 
of  Judaism,  and  inaugurating  a  mighty  Jewish  uprising,  with  high 
priests  and  chief  Rabbis  as  His  supporters.  He  Imd  assailed  both 
Temple  and^  School,  and  proceeded  to  open  rupture  with  them.  In- 
stead of  a  crown,  He  had  spoken  of  a  cross:  instead  of  honours  for 
His  followers.  He  had  foretold  persecutions  and  martyrdom.  To  the 
mean  and  sordid  heart  of  Judas,  the  bounty  of  Mary  had  sufficed  to 
kindle  smouldering  resentment  and  disloyalty  to  a  flame.  If  ruiu 
Avere  certain,  he  would  profit,  if  he  could,  before  all  was  over.  If 
Jesus  must  fall  into  the  hands  of  His  enemies,  he  might  as  well  get 
money  by  what  was  unavoidable.  Had  not  He,  argued  the  diseased 
spirit,  disappointed  him :  led  him  about,  for  years,  in  hopes  of  gain  in 
the  end :  and  had  He  not,  now,  told  him  that  the  only  inheritance  he 
could  expect  was  poverty  and  suffering?  He  would  go  to  the  high 
priests,  and  see  what  could  be  done. 

Stealing  out,  therefore,  with  guilty  thoughts,  from  the  quiet  cot- 
tage, perhaps  when  they  and  Bethany  had  sunk  in  sleep : — unmoved 
by  the  divine  love  and  purity  of  his  Master;  forgetful,  in  the  blind- 
ness of  his  evil  excitement,  of  all  he  had  seen  and  heard,  through  the 
last  three  eventful  years,  he  made  his  way,  in  the  darkness  of  night, 
to  the  Temple.  The  watch  was  at  its  post  at  the  gates,  and  on  its 
rounds,  but  Judas  found  means  to  reveal  his  object  to  the  captain  in 
charge,  and  was  admitted.  Tlie  officers  hastily  gathered  round  to 
learn  %\hy  the  stranger  thus  disturbed  the  night.  "  I  come  to  betray 
Jesus  of  Nazareth, "  muttered  Judas.  ' '  lie  had  better  be  taken  to  the 
chief  priests,"  replied  those  round.  Some  of  the  council  were  hastily 
summoned  forthwith,  and  received  his  overtures  with  a  joy  that 
Lrighlcned  their  faces,  even  by  the  dull  light  of  the  night-lamps, — 
for  it  was  clear  that  a  cause  so  righteous  as  that  of  tlic  Ga1il;Ean,  could 
never  give  them  open  and  honest  grounds  for  Ilis  arrest.  Treason 
must  come  to  their  aid,  from  within.  So  they  bargained  with  him; 
meanly  enough,  indeed;  for  they  offered  for  his  villany,  if  successful. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  707 

only  tliirtv  shekels  of  the  Sanctuary,— the  price  of  a  slave.  But  the 
covetojisness  of  an  Oriental  was  fascinated  even  by  so  paltry  a  bribe. 
He  sold  himself  as  their  tool,  and  irom  that  time  sought  a  pod  oppor- 
tunity to  betray  Jesus,  when  the  people  were  not  roundHun. 

The  next  day  our  Thursday,  was  the  fourteenth  of  Nisan— the  day 
on  which  all  labour  ceased.  All  leaven  had  been  removed  from  every 
house  before  noon,  in  preparation  for  the  Passover  m  the  evemng. 
Towards  sunset,  the  Passover  lamb  was  killed  in  the  forecourts  ot  the 
Temple  by  any  one  chosen  to  do  so,  and  the  blood  and  fat  burned  on 
the  altar  as  an  offering  to  God.  The  rest  supplied  the  materials  for 
the  feast,  an  hour  or  two  later,  after  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth 
day  at  sunset.  The  fourteenth  was,  therefore,  very  busy  for  the 
whole  of  Jerusalem;  for  both  it,  the  villages  round  it,  and  the  open 
country,  were  filled  with  countless  thousands,  all  intent  on  the  same 

ol)SGrVtlQC8S. 

The  Passover  had  been  founded  to  commemorate  the  departure 
from  Eoypt  but  its  time  permitted  the  union  with  it  of  the  feast  of 
first-friiits,  to  celebrate  the  opening  harvest,  and  it  was  also  called, 
from  rites  connected  with  it,  the  feast  of  unleavened  bread. 

We  are  not  told  how  Jesus  spent  Wednesday,  for  the  supper  in  the 
home  at  Bethany  was  on  Tuesday  evening.  He  apparently  stayed  in 
privacy,  awaiting  the  coming  day.'  ,    i  .1    *  tr 

On  Thursday  morning  the  disciples,  taking  it  for  granted  that  He 
would  celebrate  the  feast  with  them,  came  to  Him  early  to  receive  in- 
structions Would  He  keep  it,  as  He  legally  might,  in  Bethany,  for 
the  village  was  counted  by  the  Rabbis  part  of  Jerusalem,  for  religious 
usages;  and  the  lamb  might  be  eaten  in  Bethany,  though  it  must  be 
killed  at  the  Temple.  It  had  already  been  bought  on  the  tenth  Nisan 
according  to  the  rule  of  the  Law,  for  though  the  strict  enforcement  of 
this  command  was  not  maintained,  Jesus  was  careful  to  fulfil  all  the 
innocent  duties  prescribed. 

No  doubt  the  disciples  expected  that  Bethany  would  be  chosen,  tor 
He  had  solemnly  turned  away  from  Jerusalem,  two  days  before,  and 
to  go  thither  a'gain  would  be  to  put  Himself  in  the  power  of  His 
enemies.  But  He  had  resolved  to  visit  the  city  so  dear  to  Him  once 
more.  It  was  the  place  appointed  by  the  Law  for  the  feast,  and  He 
would  there  be  in  the  midst  of  the  rejoicing  multitudes,  as  Himself  a 
son  of  Israel.  He  wished,  also,  to  throw  a  greater  sacredness  over 
the  institution  He  designed  to  inaugurate  that  night,  as  the  equivalent 
in  the  New  Kingdom  of  God,  of  the  Passover  in  the  Old.  It  was  well 
to  link  it  in  the  minds  of  the  Apostles  with  the  sacredness  of  the 
Temple,  under  whose  shadow;  the  City  of  the  Great  King,  in  whose 
bounds;'  and  the  gathering  of  Israel,  in  whose  midst,  it  was  founded. 

Turning,  tlierefore,  to  Peter  and  John,  His  usual  messengers.  He 
told  thenx'to  go  and  prepare  the  Passover,  that  He  and  the  Twelve 
mi-'-ht  eat  it  together.  "  On  entering  the  city,"  said  He,  "  you  will 
meet  a  man  bearing  an  earthen  jar  of  water;  follow  him  mk)  the 


708  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

house  he  enters,  ask  for  the  master,  and  say,  '  The  Teacher  told  -an 
to  ask  you  "  Where  is  the  room  intended  for  me,  in  -which  to  eat  the 
Passover  with  my  disciples?" '  And  he  will  himself  show  you  his 
guest-chamber,  on  the  upper  floor,  provided  with  couches,  ready  for 
us.    Get  the  supper  prepared  for  us  there." 

The  two  started  at  once,  and  found  everything  as  Jesus  had  said, 
and  by  evening  all  was  in  readiness  to  receive  Him  and  the  Ten, 
Who  it  was  that  thus  entertained  Him  is  not  told  us.  It  may  have 
been  John  Mark,  or,  perhaps,  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  the  early  scholar, 
and  the  friend  after  death.  The  Gospels  do  not  say,  and  even  tradi- 
tion is  silent.  Universal  hospitality  prevailed  in  this  matter,  and  the 
only  recompense  that  could  be  given  was  the  skin  of  the  paschal 
lamb,  and  the  earthen  dishes  Used  at  the  meal.  Not  fewer  than  ten, 
but  often  as  many  as  twenty — enough,  in  any  case,  to  consume  the 
entire  lamb — could  sit  down  together,  but  Jesus  wislied  to  have  none 
but  His  closest  circle  with  Him,  that  He  might  bid  them  a  final, 
tender  farewell.  Women  were  not  commonly  present,  and,  indeed, 
were  excluded  by  many;  but,  apart  from  this,  the  evening  was 
designed  as  a  time  of  deepest  communion  with  the  trusted  Twelve 
alone,  and,  hence,  neither  the  outer  circle  of  disciples,  nor  the  minis- 
tering women  who  had  lovingly  followed  Him  from  Galilee,  were  in- 
vited. 

Peter  and  John  had  had  much  to  do  beforehand.  It  may  be,  the 
lamb  was  yet  to  be  bought,  that  morning,  for  its  purchase  on  the  tenth 
had  fallen  rather  out  of  use.  They  had  to  choose,  from  the  countless 
pens  in  which  the  victims  were  otfered  for  sale,  a  male  lamb,  of  a 
year  old,  without  blemish  of  any  kind.  In  Galilee,  no  secular  work 
was  done  all  day,  but,  at  Jerusalem,  it  ceased  only  at  noon.  About  two, 
the  blast  of  horns  announced  that  the  priests  and  Levites  in  the  Tem- 
ple were  ready,  and  tlie  gates  of  the  inner  courts  were  opened,  that  all 
might  bring  their  lambs  for  examination,  and  might  satisfy  the  priests 
as  to  the  number  intending  to  consume  each.  Forthwith,  the  long 
lines  of  household  fathers,  servants,  disciples  of  the  Rabbis,  and, 
among  the  rest,  the  two  deputed  by  Jesus,  pressed  across  the  court  of 
the  men,  which  was  gaily  tapestried  and*  adorned,  to  the  gate  of  the 
priests'  court ;  the  lamb  on  their  shoulders,  with  a  knife  stuck  in  the 
wool,  or  tied  to  the  horn. 

About  half-past  two,  the  evening  offering  was  killed,  and  about  an 
hour  after,  it  was  laid  on  the  great  altar.  Forthwith,  three  blasts  of 
the  trumpets  of  the  priests,  and  the  choral  singing  of  the  great  Hallel 
by  the  Levites,  gave  the  signal  for  the  slaughter  of  the  Passover 
lambs,  which  had  to  be  finished  between  the  hours  of  three  and  five. 
As  many  offerers  were  admitted  as  the  courts  would  hold,  and  then 
the  gates  were  shut.  Heads  of  families,  or  servants  deputed  by  them, 
killed  the  lambs,  and  the  priests,  in  two  long  rows,  with  great  silver 
and  gold  vessels  of  curious  shape,  caught  the  blood,  and  passed  it  to 
•there  behind,  till  it  reached  the  altar,  at  the  foot  of  which  it  was 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  709 

poured  out.  The  victims,  hung  on  the  iron  hooks  of  the  walls  and 
pillars  of  the  courts,  or  on  a  stick  between  the  shoulders  of  two  men, 
were  then  skinned,  and  cut  open;  the  tail,  the  fat,  the  kidneys,  and 
liver,  set  apart  for  the  altar;  the  rest  wrapped  in  the  skin,  and  carried 
home  from  the  Temple,  towards  evening.  As  the  new  day  opened, 
at  sunset,  the  carcass  was  trussed  for  roasting,  with  two  skewers  of 
pomegranate  wood,  so  that  they  formed  a  cross  in  the  lamb.  It  was 
then  put  in  an  earthen  oven  of  a  special  kind,  resting,  without  bot- 
tom, on  the  ground,  and  was  roasted  in  the  earth.  The  feast  couM 
begin  immediately  after  the  setting  of  the  sun,  and  the  appearing  of 
the  stars,  on  the  opening  of  the  lifteenth  of  Nisan,  which  was  pro- 
claimed by  new  trumpet  blasts  from  the  Temple. 

Judas  had  stolen  back  to  Bethany  before  daylight,  that  his  absence 
might  not  be  missed,  and,  after  another  day's  bitter  hypocrisy,  under 
the  burning  eyes  of  Ins  Master,  followed  Him,  with  the  other  Apos- 
tles, to  Jerusalem,  in  the  evening.  They  must  have  breathed  heavily 
in  the  troubled  air,  for  presentiments  of  unknown  dangers  filled  every 
heart.  They  still  clung  to  their  old  dream  of  a  visible  earthly  king- 
dom of  God,  under  their  Master,  but  their  spirits  must  have  sunk 
within  them  as  they  passed  through  the  vast  multitudes,  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  the  approaching  feast,  with  no  sign  of  preparation  for  a 
national  Messianic  movement;  and  along  the  illuminated  streets,  in 
which  no  one  took  notice  of  them.  That  the  hierarchy  had  de- 
nounced Jesus,  was,  itself,  enough  to  fill  their  simi.le  minds  with 
dismay,  for  its  splendour  and  power  seemed  reflected  in  the  millions 
assembled  from  the  whole  world,  to  honour  the  faith  and  the  Tem- 
ple, of  which  they  were  the  public  representatives.  And  was  not 
the  tiara  worn  by  a  fierce  Sadducee?  were  not  the  governing  families 
exclusivel}'  of  this  cruel  and  inhuman  party?  As  they  passed  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Temple,  with  its  gleaming  lights,  its  marble  bas- 
tions, and  its  immemorial  traditions,  tbey  must  have  felt,  that,  unless 
Jesus  chose  at  last  to  do  what  lie  had  never  yet  done,  even  for  a 
moment — unless  He  used  Ills  supernatural  power  in  self-defence,  and 
for  self -aggrandisement,  they  were  hopelessly  lost. 

To  Jesus  Himself  the  moment  was  unspeakably  solemn.  His 
scarcely  founded  Kingdom  was  about  to  pass  through  the  severest 
trial.  The  temporary  and  earthly  in  it  were  to  be  violently  sepa- 
rated, for  ever,  from  the  heavenly  and  eternal.  All  hopes  of  a  worldly 
kingdom,  so  deeply  rooted  in  the  minds  of  His  followers,  were  to  be 
destroyed,  and  He,  the  visible  head  of  the  Kingdom,  to  be  appre- 
hended, dishonoured,  and  crucified.  The  thoughts  of  His  disciplea 
were  to  be  raised  from  the  idea  of  a  present,  incarnate  Messiah,  to  a 
Messiah  in  heaven ;  to  appear,  henceforth,  no  more,  but  by  His  return 
from  the  invisible  world.  To  be  true  to  Him,  meant,  from  this  time, 
the  reaUzation  of  a  spiritual  conception  as  yet  unattained  by  eveu  tikd 
most  enlightened  of  the  Twelve. 


710 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 


But  Christ  was  in  no  degree  turned  aside,  or  paralyzed  in  His  ree- 

olution,  by  such  dangers.  While  in  no  sense  courting  death,  and 
even  "wisliful,  if  it  pleased  His  Father,  to  escape  its  attendant  horrors, 
He  moved  towiircLs  the  appointed  and  foreseen  end,  with  sublime 
self-possession,  and  holy  peace  of  soul,  recognizing  all  that  yet  re- 
mained for  Him  to  do,  and  doing  it  with  a  divine  serenity.  His 
bearing  to  the  great  world,  to  tlie  last;  His  action  and  His  self-re- 
straint, are,  alike,  wonderful;  hut  it  must  strike  us  still  more,  as  we 
observe  it  closely,  bow  He  bore  Himself  in  the  circle  of  His  chosen 
ones  as  the  catastrophe  pressed  nearer  and  nearer. 

When  the  Twelve,  with  their  Master,  had  entered  the  room,  to 
take  their  places  on  the  cushions,  for  the  meal,  the  greatness  of  the 
change  yet  to  be  wrouglit  on  their  minds  was  once  more  strikingly 
show-n.  In  spite  of  all  He  had  said,  the  question  of  precedence  was 
uppermost  in  their  thoughts. 

As  the  head  of  the  group,  Jesus  naturally  took  the  first  place  on 
the  highest  couch — the  outermost,  on  the  right  of  the  hollow  square ; 
-»His  face  towards  the  second  place ;  His  feet  outwards.     Resting 


Middle  Couch. 

■ 

1 

^ 

^A 

tn 

PUIows  or  Cushions. 

Highest. 

9       8       7       6       5 

Lowest. 

§ 

10               

4 

.§ 

1 

1 

.    /^ 

8 

O 

1 

g 

,„     I          Table.           1 

u 
o 

^ 

k 

12      \                                   J 

2 

^ 

o 

^             \                       / 

o 

i-i 

3 

K  13     V           y 

1 

Ph 

Lowest, 

1                  ^ 

1 

___ 

Highest, 

Triclinium. 

His  left  elbow  and  side  on  a  cushion  the  whole  breadth  of  the  couch. 
His  right  hand  was  thus  free,  while  the  Apostle  next  Him  reclined 
so  that  his  head  lay,  as  it  were,  in  his  Master's  bosom.  It  had  been 
the  custom,  in  ancient  times,  to  eat  the  Passover  standing,  but  the 
Rabbis  had  changed  it  for  the  Gentile  practice  of  reclining.  It  was 
like  slaves,  they  said,  to  eat  standing,  and  as  Israel  was  not  a  race  c^ 


THE  LIFE  ur  CHRIST.  711 

slaves  but  of  free  men,  they  should  eat  the  feast  reclining;  a  flattery 
so  pleasing  to  Jewish  pride  tliat  even  the  poorest  adopted  the  new 
mode. 

But  this  Jewish  pride  in  the  Apostles,  made  still  more  fierce  by 
selfish  ambition,  in  prospect  of  the  political  glorj-  they  still  per- 
versely hoped  for,  could  ill  brook  to  talvC  a  lower  place  than  others. 
It  was  a  grave  matter  for  them,  as  for  the  Pharisees,  who  should 
have  the  higher  seats,  for,  in  their  delusion,  they  assumed  that  it 
miglit  affect  their  future  position  in  the  Messianic  Slate,  to  be  founded, 
as  they  dreamed,  presently.  So  the  strife  that  had  bi'okeu  out  on  tlie 
other  siile  of  Jericho,  once  more  distressed  their  Master,  and  He  could 
only  still  it  by  repeating  the  keen  rebuke  He  then  gave  them.  "  In 
my  kingdom,"  said  He,  "to  be  humble  is  to  be  great:  the  lowliest  is, 
in  it,  the  highest."  No  more  was  needed;  the  struggle,  now,  would 
rather  be  for  tlie  lowest  place. 

But  He  did  not  confine  Himself  to  words.  Rising  from  the  couch, 
•when  the  supper  was  just  about  to  begin,  and  girding  Himself  with 
a  towel,  like  a  slave,  after  laying  aside  His  upper  gitrments.  He 
poured  water  into  a  basin,  and  began  to  wash  the  feet  of  His  dis- 
ciples. Pride  and  selfish  ambition  could  not  be  more  strikingly  and 
touchingly  reproved,  than  by  such  an  act  on  the  part  of  one  who 
knew  that  He  had  had  all  things  given  into  His  hands  by  God  His 
Father,  and  that  He  had  come  forth  from  Him,  and  was  about  to 
return  to  Him.  No  greater  proof  could  be  shown  of  His  love,  than 
that  such  an  act  of  humilitj^  should  be  its  natural  expression.  Had 
they  all  been  true-hearted,  it  would  have  been  amazing  in  one  so 
transcendently  above  them,  but  it  was  still  more  so,  when  He  knew 
that  one  of  them  was  already  a  traitor.  He  had  proclaimed  Himself 
the  Son  of  God.  the  future  judge  of  the  world,  the  Messiah  in  whose 
gift  were  the  honours  o'f  heaven,  and  whose  voice  was  to  raise  the 
dead,  and  they  were  simple  Galila?an  fishermen.  There  could  be  no 
commentary  on  His  demand  for  lowliness,  as  the  true  ground  of  ad- 
vancement in  His  kingdom,  more  vivid  than  His  voluntarily  per- 
forming the  lowliest  act  of  personal  service  to  them  all. 

He  seems  to  have  begun  with  Simon  Peter,  His  chief  Apostle,  but 
the  warm  heart  and  the  impulsive  nature  of  the  rock-like  man  shrank 
from  letting  his  Master  humble  Himself  thus.  "Lord,"  said  he, 
"  dost  Thou  wash  mi/  feet !  "  He  had  not  realized  the  meaning  of  an 
act  intended  as  S3rmbolical.  "  What  I  do,"  replied  Jesus,  "thou  un- 
derstandest  not  now,  but  wilt  know  hereafter."  "  Thou  shalt  never 
wash  my  feet.  Lord."  reiterated  the  Apostle.  "If  I  do  not  wash 
thee,"  said  Jesus,  "  thou  hast  no  part  with  me."  "Lord,  if  that  be 
the  case,"  broke  out  Peter,  "  wash  not  my  feet  only,  but'  my  hands 
-and  my  head."  "It  is  not  necessary,"  said  Jesus.  "He  who,  ac- 
cording to  Jewish  ways,  has  taken  a  bath  before  his  meal,  needs  no 
more  than  to  cleanse  the  dust  from  his  feet,  which  has  clung  to  them 
on  the  way  from  the  bath.     Except  this,  he  is  clean,  and^it  is  the  . 


713  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

same  wfth  you,  except  him  -who  intends  to  betray  me.  By  my  word, 
■which  I  have  spoken  to  you,  and  the  faith  waked  in  you  by  it,  you 
are  already  clean  in  the  sense  I  mean — riglit  in  the  desireof  your 
heart  towards  me.  Yet,  though  thus  clean,  the  dust  of  earth  still 
clings  to  j'ou  in  part,  and  makes  a  last  washing  needful."  The  hour 
was  at  hand  for  this  last  crowning  act  of  love — the  shedding  His 
blood  for  them  for  the  remission  of  their  sins — and  He  would  now 
prepare  them  for  it  by  this  tender  symbol,  for  it  taught  not  only 
humility,  but  that  He  alone  could  take  away  sin. 

Having  washed  their  feet  and  resumed  His  garments.  He  once  more 
took  His  place  on  the  couch. 

"  Do  you  know,"  He  asked,  as  He  did  so,  "the  meaning  of  what  I 
have  now  done  to  you?  You  call  me  Teacher  and  Lord,  and  you  are 
right,  for  I  am  both.  Learn,  then,  that,  if  I,  your  Master  and  Lord, 
wash  5'our  feet,  you,  also,  ought  to  wash  one  another's  feet,  for  I  have 
done  this  as  an  example  to  you,  that  you  should  do  to  each  other  as  I 
have  done  to  you.  You  know,  and  I  would  have  you  remember  it, 
that  a  servant  is  not  greater  than  his  lord,  nor  an  apostle  than  He 
who  sent  him  forth,  so  that  you  may  well  imitate  me,  your  superior, 
in  my  humility.  If  you  understand  what  I  say,  it  will  he  well  for 
you  if  you  act  on  my  teaching.  I  do  not,  indeed,  speak  of  you  all. 
I  know  your  characters  and  hearts,  but  all  has  happened  in  fulfilment 
of  the  divine  will,  for  the  Scripture  must  needs  be  fulfilled,  which 
says,  'He  that  eats  bread  with  me,  craftily  lifts  up  his  heel  against 
me;'  to  trip  and  overthrow  me.  I  tell  you  before  it  happen,  that, 
when  it  does  take  place,  you  may  believe  that  I  am  indeed  the  Mes- 
siah, and  that  no  other  is  to  be  expected.  That  I  should  be  betrayed 
by  one  of  ourselves  might  have  shaken  your  faith  in  me.  but  it  cannot 
do  so  when  I  have  foreseen  and  foretold  it,  as  part  of  the  counsel  of 
God.  But  to  cheer  and  encourage  you  in  your  faithfulness,  let  me  tell 
you  that  you  may  go  forth  to  the  mission  on  which  I  have  sent  you, 
with  joyful  hearts.  Your  high  position,  as  my  apostles,  remains 
unaffected  by  the  treachery  of  one  of  your  number.  For,  as  I  have 
said  before,  I  now  solemnly  repeat — he  who  receives  you  is  accounted 
by  me  as  if  he  had  received  myself,  and  he  who  receives  me  receives 
God  the  Father  who  sent  me,  for  He  dwells  in  me,  and  I  in  Him." 

The  supper  now  began,  but  the  spirit  of  Jesus  was  still  clouded  and 
troubled  by  the  presence  of  the  traitor.  At  last  His  feelings  broke  out 
into  irrepressible  words.  "  Verily,  verily, "  said  He,  "One  of  you, 
who  eat  with  me,  will  betray  me.  His  hand  is  with  me  on  the  table. " 
They  had  never  hitherto  realized  His  hints,  and  the  very  thought  of 
treason,  to  their  honest  and  faithful  hearts,  was  almost  beyond  belief. 
They  could  not  think  who  was  meant,  for  Judas  had  managed,  by  hi  i 
hypocrisy,  to  hide  his  character  from  them  all.  One  by  one,  they 
began  to  ask,  "Lord,  is  it  I?"  "It  is  one,"  replied  Jesus,  "who  dips 
with  me  into  the  dish.  The  Son  of  Man,  indeed,  goes  in  this  way  by 
the  counsels  of  God,  from  this  world,  but  woe  to  that  man  by  whom 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  718 

He  is  betrayed !  It  would  have  been  well  for  him  if  he  had  not  been 
born!"  Words  thus  general  only  increased  the  pain  and  emotion  of 
all.  At  last,  Peter,  not  venturing  to  ask  directly  who  it  could  be,  but 
conscious  of  his  own  integrity,  beckoned  to  John,  who  lay  next  ouf 
Lord,  to  ask  Him  who  could  be  so  base.  "It  is  he,"  whispered  Jesus, 
"who  is  just  about  to  dip  the  bitter  herbs  into  this  charoseth  with  me, 
and  to  whom  I  shall  give  some  of  it  presently." 

He  then  dipped  the  piece  of  bread  into  the  charoseth,  and  handed  it 
to  Judas.  "Is  it  I?"  asked  the  guilty  man,  conscience-stricken,  and 
yet  unmelted.  He  had  not  heard  the  words  of  John,  but  his  guilty 
soul  could,  not  help  stammering  out  the  question,  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
keep  up  the  mockery  of  true-heartedness  he  had  acted  so  long.  The 
awful  reply — that  "it  was" — tore  away  the  mask  at  once,  and  un- 
veiled his  heart.  That  all  was  known  would  have  overwhelmed  some, 
in  shame  and  contrition,  but  it  only  hardened  the  betrayer.  The  wild 
madness  of  evil  was  on  him  for  the  time.  He  could  think  only  of 
himself:  his  fancied  wrongs;  his  full  resolve.  Satan  had  entered  his 
soul,  and  bent  his  whole  nature  to  his  own  dark  ends.  It  may  be  that 
the  exposure  roused  him  to  the  heedlessness  of  despair,  as  when  the 
arch  enemy  bade  hope  farewell, 

'•  and,  with  hope,  farewell  fear, 
Farewell  remorse:  all  good  to  me  is  lost; 
Evil,  be  thou  my  good ! 

It  was  vain  for  him  to  seek  to  hide  the  workings  of  his  soul  by  aa 
affected  outward  calm.     He  had  long  veiled  falsehood 

"  under  saintly  show, 
Deep  malice  to  conceal,  couch"d  with  revenge." 

But  the  eyes  of  his  Master  shone  into  the  depths  of  his  being,  and  saw 
the  tumult  of  his  worst  passions,  in  their  mastery.  ' '  What  j'ou  have 
to  do,"  said  Jesus,  "do  quickly."  He  could  not  breathe  freely  till  the 
miserable  man  liad  left,  and  besides.  He  would  fain  meet  the  inevi- 
table as  soon  as  might  be,  for  the  .slow  advance  of  a  catastrophe  is 
harder  to  bear  than  the  catastrophe  itself.  Judas  knew  the  meaning 
of  the  command  at  once,  and,  having  received  the  piece  of  bread, 
dipped  in  the  charoseth,  moodily  took  it,  and  silently  withdrew  into 
the  outer  night.  The  Eleven  were  too  much  confused  to  realize  the 
end  as  at  all  so  near.  Betrayal  might  come,  but  at  some  future,  per- 
haps distant,  time.  They  only  fancied,  therefore,  that  Judas  had  left 
eitiier  to  buy  what  might  be  needed  during  the  week  of  the  feast,  or 
for  tliat  special  night;  or  that  Jesus  had  bethought  Himself  of  some 
deed  of  mercy  to  the  poor,  and  sent  him  to  carry  it  out.  The  traitor 
gone,  Christ  felt  free  to  speak,  and,  as  if  relieved  of  a  load,  broke  out 
into  a  joyful  anticipation  of  His  fast-coming  triumph.  In  the  near 
vision  of  the  Cross,  His  work  seemed  already  finished;  His  glory,  as 
conqueror  of  Death  and  Hell,  and  Redeemer  of  Mankind,  attained, 
and  that  of  Grod  the  Father  illustrated. 


714  TKE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"Now,"  said  lie,  in  effect,  "the  Son  of  Man  is  already  glorified. 
All  things  are  hastening  to  His  triumph,  and,  in  that  triumph,  God 
Himself  will  also  be  glorified,  for  it  is  His  work  which  I  shall  pres- 
ently complete.  And,  if  God  be  thus  glorified  in  my  death  for  the 
salvation  of  man,  He  will  assuredly  crown  me  with  His  own  heavenly 
glory,  when  I  return  to  Him:  the  glory  that  I  had  with  Him,  before 
I  came  to  earth  to  become  man,  and  that,  even  now,  is  close  at  hand, 
through  my  death,  which  will  usher  me  into  it.  The  betrayer  has 
gone  to  accomplish  it! 

"  My  children,  for  I  call  you  so  in  love,  I  shall  be  only  a  little  while 
longer  with  you,  and  you  will  feel  the  want  of  my  presence,  and  wish 
for  me;  but,  as  I  once  said  to  my  enemies,  I  shall  be  where  you  cannot 
follow  and  find  me.  For  a  parting  word,  let  me  give  you  a  last  com- 
mand,— my  very  last:  a  new  command,  to  be  kept,  as  such,  so  much 
the  more ; — that,  henceforth,  ye  love  each  other  because  I  have  loved 
you  all,  and  because  you  all  love  me.  I  have  often,  before,  told  you 
to  love  all  men,  and  so  be  like  God,  but  I  now  tell  you  to  do  so,  for  the 
love  I  bear  to  you,  and  for  that  which  you  boar  to  m^.  You  must, 
henceforth,  be  known  as  members  of  my  kingdom,  by  the  love  you 
show  to  each  other,  as  such.  And  the  love  you  have,  as  brethren, 
mu.st  be  such,  and  as  great,  as  mine  has  been  towards  you  all." 

As  He  thus  spoke,  Peter  still  dwelt,  in  his  thoughts,  on  the  sad 
words  which  seemed  to  foreshadow  a  lasting  separation  between  him 
and  his  Master.  "Lord,"  said  he,  in  his  bold,  impetuous  way, 
"You  speak  of  going  away;  pray  tell  us  whither  you  are  going? 
%Vill  you  leave  us  and  go  to  the  Gentiles?"  "  I  go  to  a  place,"  replied 
Jesus,  "where  you  cannot  follow  me  at  present,  however  willing  you 
may  be  to  do  so.  Yet,  do  not  fear.  We  shall  not  be  separated  for 
ever.  You  will,  one  day,  follow  me,  in  the  same  way,  and  then  you 
will  come  to  me."  Peter's  heart  could  not  be  silent.  "I  shall  be 
glad  to  come  to  Thee,  Lord,"  said  he,  "even  after  a  time,  but  why  can 
I  not  go  with  Thee  now?  Thou  knowest  me.  I  am  ready  to  lay 
down  my  life  for  Thee." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  replied  Jesus,  with  a  look  full  of  friendship, 
and  yet  also  of  earnest  sadness.  "  You  little  know  your  own  heart. 
All  of  you  will  forsake  me,  and  leave  me  to  my  enemies  this  very 
nigiit,  as  Zechariah,  the  prophet,  has  foretold — 'I  will  smite  the  shep- 
li.'rd,  and  the  sheep  of  the  flock  will  be  scattered  abroad.'  But  Ik3  not 
cast  down  with  too  much  sorrow.  After  I  have  risen  from  the  dead, 
I  will  go  into  Galilee,  and  gather  you  round  me  once  more."  The 
i:lea  of  forsaking  his  ^Master,  whom  he  loved  so  dearly,  was  too  incon- 
ceivable, however,  to  Peter,  in  the  self-confidence  of  his  affection,  to 
allow  him  to  accept  it  as  possible.  "Other  men  may,  perhaps,  be 
offended  on  account  of  Thee,  Lord,"  said  he,  "but  if  all  the  world 
were  to  be  so,  there  is  no  fear  of  my  failing.  I,  at  any  rate,  will  never 
leave  Thee." 

"Simon,  Simon,"  replied  Jesus,  using  the  old  name  by  which  He 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  715 

bad  know  him  long  ago— "  take  care.  Self-confidence  will  be  your 
andoing.  Satan  has  seen  it,  and  has  sought  to  get  God  to  give  you 
aver  into  his  power,  as  he  once  did  Job,  and  he  has  got  you  for  the 
liine,  to  sift  you  as  wheat  is  sifted.  He  would  fain  have  it  that  your 
professions  are  only  chalf,  and  he  will  shake  and  test  you  by  tempta- 
tions, dangers,  and  troubles,  to  try  to  make  you  turn  against  me,  and 
thus  prove  that  it  is  so.  But  I  am  mightier  than  yoiu-  enemy,  and  I 
have  prayed  for  you  that,  thougli  you  fall,  you  may  rise  again,  and 
that  your  faith  in  me  may  not  give  way  altogether,  and  separate  you 
entirely  from  me.  Though  you  will  assuredly  fall,  yet  you  will  re- 
pent, and  when  you  have  done  so,  see  that  you  strengthen  the  faith 
of  your  fellow-disciples,  and  become  their  helper,  to  support  and  con- 
firm them,  if  they,  like  you,  waver. " 

Peter  was  sorely  distressed  at  such  words.  Conscious  of  his  honest 
love  and  fidelity,  it  seemed  as  if  Jesus  doubted  both.  His  warm 
Galilaean  heart  was  full.  He  felt  as  if  his  jNIaster  spoke  of  his  acting 
in  a  way  of  which  he  could  not  believe  himself  capable.  "Lord," 
said  he,  "  I  care  not  what  happens  to  Tliec.  I  am  ready  to  go  with 
Thee  to  prison,  or  to  die  with  Thee,  but  I  will  never  leave  Thee,  nor  be 
untrue  to  Thee."  "  Do  y6n  think  so,  Peter?"  replied  Jesus,  with  a 
voice  full  of  tenderness—"  I  tell  you  that  this  very  night,  before  the 
cock  crow  the  second  time,  you  will  thrice  deny  that  you  know  me." 
"If  I  were  to  die  for  it, "  answered  the  Apostle,  ' '  no  one  will  ever  hear 
me  deny  Thee."     "  I  can  say  thasame,"  added  all  the  other  Apostles. 

There  was  now  a  paiise  for  a  short  time  in  the  conversation.  Pres- 
ently Jesus  re-commenced  it.  "  You  may  wonder  at  my  speaking  as 
I  have  done  to-night,"  said  He,  "but  there  are  good  grounds  for  it. 
Your  circumstances  will  be  entirely  different,  henceforth,  from  what 
they  have  been  in  the  past.  A  time  of  care  and  struggle  lies  before 
you.  When  I  sent  you  to  travel  through  the  country,  preaching  the 
Kingdom,  and  you  had  neither  purse,  nor  bag  for  food,  nor  sandals, 
—did  you  miss  any  of  these,  or  want  for  anything?"  "Nothing, 
Lord, "'said  all  the  Eleven.  "  It  will  be  very  different  now,"  replied 
Jesus.  "  Whoever  has  money,  let  him  take  it,  and  let  him  take  pro- 
visions for  tlie  way,  as  well;  a"ud  let  him  that  has  no  sword  sell  his 
coat  to  buy  one,  to  defend  himself.  He  who  has  money  and  provi- 
sions can  "help  himself  on  by  them  in  his  journeys,  but  he  who  has 
none  will  need  to  ask  hospitality,  and,  as  he  needs  not  hope  to  receive 
it,  let  him,  at  least,  have  the  means  of  protection.  I  speak  in  a  fig- 
ure, for  I  do  not  really  mean  you  to  fight,  or  to  carry  or  use  a  sword, 
but  I  wish  to  impress  on  you  how  hostile  the  world  will,  henceforth, 
be  to  you,  as  you  go  on  your  journeys  as  my  apostles;  and  what 
earnest  energy  and  struggle  will  be  needful,  on  your  part,  while  you 
are  thus  carrying  the  news  of  the  Kinerdom  through  the  world.  For 
I  tell  you,  solemnly,  that  the  words  of  Isaiah,  '  And  He  was  reckoned 
among  transgressors,'  must  be  fulfilled  in  me,  for  that  which  has 
been  written  of  me  in  Scripture  is  about  to  be  accomplished." 


Tie  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  disciples,  always  ready  to  understand  ■whatever  they  heard,  in 
the  most  maiorial  sense,  had  failed  to  catch  the  real  meaning  of  Jesus 
in  His  reference  to  the  sword.  They  fancied  that  He  wished  them  to 
provide  weapons  to  resist  approachine  dan.i^er.  "We  have  two 
swords,"  said  one  of  them.  "That  will  do,"  replied  Jesus,  {gently 
avoiding  further  explanation.  "  You  will  not  need  more  thaxi  the 
two," — a  touch  of  sad  irony  which  sufHced  to  show  even  then  *hat 
He  had  thought  of  something  very  different  as  their  defence  thai?  the 
purchase  of  arms ;  for  how  were  the  nine,  who  had  no  swords  at  a)l, 
to  protect  themselves,  when  scattered  on  the  apostolic  journeys  oi' 
whicli  lie  had  spoken? 

The  evening  was  now  somewhat  advanced,  according  to  Easterl 
Dotions,  but  the  Passover  meal,  in  its  diffei'ent  rites,  could  not  ba 
hurried.  The  feast  began  thus,  in  other  circles,  though  we  cannot 
tell  how  far  the  usual  customs  were  followed  by  Jesus.  A  cup  of 
red  wine,  mingled  with  a  fourth  part  of  water,  to  make  it  a  pleasant 
and  temperate  drink,  was  filled  by  one  of  the  company,  and  given  to 
the  liead  of  the  family,  who  took  it  in  his  right  hand,  as  he  rested, 
supporting  himself  on  his  left  side  and  arm,  and  thanked  God  in  the 
■words — "  Blessed  be  Thou,  O  Lord  our  God,  Thou  King  of  the  world, 
who  createdst  the  fruit  of  the  vine."  He  then  tasted  the  cup,  and 
passed  it  round.  Thanks  for  the  institution  of  the  washing  of  hands 
followed,  and  then  the  washing  itself,  which  w:;s  merely  formal. 
"Bitter"  herbs,  such  as  endives,  lettuce,  and  the  like,  were  next  set 
on  the  table,  to  represent  the  hard  life  of  Egj'pt.  Thanks  were  given 
for  them  also,  and  then  they  were  passed  round  and  eaten,  after  dip- 
ping them  in  a  mixture  of  salt  and  vinegar.  The  unleavened  bread 
— the  bread  of  affliction — which  gave  one  of  its  names  to  the  feast, 
followed  next,  and  then  the  bowl  of  charoseth  and  the  Passover  lamb. 
After  this,  the  head  of  the  company  once  more  gave  thanks  to  Him 
"who  created  the  fruit  of  the  earth,"  and  the  bitter  herbs  were  dip- 
ped by  each  in  the  charoseth,  and  a  piece  of  it,  "  the  size  of  an  olive," 
eaten,  with  them,  by  all.  A.<?econd  single  cup  of  wine,  mingled  with 
water,  was  now  poured  out,  discourse  on  the  lessons  of  the  feast  was 
held,  and  then  the  hundred  and  thirteenth  and  hundred  and  fourteenth 
Psalms,  part  of  the  Hallel,  were  sung.  Another  short  tlianksgiving 
followed,  and  the  cup  was  once  more  passed  round  and  tasted. 

The  Household  Father  now  washed  His  hands  again,  and  then  took 
two  of  the  unleavened  cakes,  broke  one  in  two,  and  laying  the  pieces 
on  the  unbroken  cake,  pronounced  a  thanksgiving — "Blessed  be  He 
who  makes  bread  to  grow  from  the  earth," — wrapped  some  bitter 
herbs  round  a  piece  of  the  broken  bread,  dipped  it  in  the  charoseth, 
ate  it,  after  another  special  thanksgiving,  and,  with  it,  a  part  of 
the  lamb;  the  others  following  His  example.  The  supper  had  only 
now  properly  begun.  Each  ate  and  drank  at  his  will;  all.  alike,  in 
the  patriarchal  ■way  of  the  East,  lifting  what  they  wished,  with  their 
fingers,  from  the  common  dish.  A  third  cup  of  wine,  passed  round, 
marked  the  close  of  the  feast  as  a  religious  solemnity. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  717 

The  meal  had  advanced  thus  far,  and  was  now  virtually  finished, 
vvhen  the  warning  had  been  given  of  the  approaching  denial  of  their 
Master  by  Peter,  and  the  weak-minded  desertion  of  the  Eleven.  The 
fcolemn  words,  foretelling  the  dangers  and  trials  before  them,  had 
been  added,  when  Jesus,  now  in  tlie  bosom  of  the  little  band,  nearest 
and  dearest  to  Him  on  earth;  His  companions  througli  the  past  years, 
since  His  public  work  began — introduced  l)y  an  act  befitting  a  spirit- 
ual religion  like  His,  in  its  simplicity,  the  institution  which,  hence- 
forth, should  supersede  in  His  kingdom  on  earth  the  feast  they  had 
ended.  Homage  had  been  paid  for  the  last  time,  as  in  farewell,  to 
the  Past:  they  were,  hereafter,  to  honour  the  new  Symbol  of  the 
Future. 

He  was  about  to  leave  them,  and,  as  yet,  they  had  no  rite,  however 
simple,  to  form  a  centre  round  which  they  might  permanently  gather. 
Some  emblem  was  needed,  by  which  they  might,  hereafter,  be  dis- 
tinguished: some  common  bond,  which  should  outwardly  link  them 
to  each  other,  and  to  their  common  Master.  The  Passover  had  been 
vhe  symbol  of  the  theocracy  of  the  past,  and  had  given  the  people  of 
God  an  outward,  ever-recurring,  remembrance  of  tlieir  relations  to 
each  other,  and  their  invisible  King.  As  the  founder  of  the  New 
Israel,  Jesus  would  now  institute  a  special  rite  for  its  members,  in  all 
Hges  and  countries.  The  Old  Covenant  of  God  v.'ith  the  Jew  had 
found  its  vivid  embodiment  in  the  yearly  festivity  He  had  that 
aight,  for  the  last  time,  observed.  The  New  Covenant  must,  hence- 
forth, have  an  outward  embodiment  also;  more  spiritual,  as  became 
It,  but  equally  vivid. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  touching  and  beautiful  in  its  sim- 
plicity than  the  symbol  now  introduced.  The  Third  Cup  was  known 
as  "  the  cup  of  blessing,"  and  had  marked  the  close  of  the  meal,  held 
to  do  honour  to  the  economy  now  passing  away.  The  bread  had 
been  handed  round  with  the  words,  "  This  is  the  bread  of  affliction:" 
and  the  flesh  of  the  lamb  had  been  distributed  with  the  words,  "  This 
is  the  body  of  the  Passover."  The  feast  of  the  Ancient  People  of 
God  having  been  honoured  by  these  striking  utterances, — Jesus  took 
one  of  the  loaves  or  cakes  before  Him,  gave  thanks,  broke  it,  and 
handed  it  to  the  Apostles  with  words,  the  repetition,  almost  exactly, 
of  those  they  had  heard  a  moment  before — "Take,  eat;  this  is  my 
body,  which  is  given  for  you:  this  do  in  remembrance  of  me."  Then, 
taking  the  cup,  which  had  been  tilled  for  the  fourth  and  last  handing 
round.  He  gave  thanks  to  God  once  more,  and  passed  it  to  the  circle, 
with  the  words,  "Drink  ye  all  of  it,  for  this  cup  is  the  New  Cove- 
nant" presently  to  be  made  "  in  my  blood;"  instead  of  the  covenant 
made  also  in  blood,  by  God,  with  your  fathers:  "it  is,"  in  abiding 
symbol,  "  my  blood  of  the  Covenant"  of  my  Father,  with  the  Nev/ 
Israel,  "which  is  shed  for  you  and  for  many  for  the  remission  of 
sins.     This  do,  as  often  as  ye  drink,  in  remembrance  of  Me." 

For  Himself ,  He  declined  to  taste  it.  "I  will  not  drink,  hence- 
forth," said  He,  "of  the  fruit  of  tlw  vine— for  it  was  still  only  wins 


718  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

— till  that  day,  "when,  at  the  end  of  all  things,  the  kingdom  of  God, 
which  I  have  founded,  shall  finallj^  triumph,  and  my  followers  be 
gathered  to  the  great  heavenly  feast.  Then,  I  shall  drink  it  new, 
with  you  and  them." 

Such,  and  so  simple,  was  the  new  rite  of  the  Spiritual  Theocracy. 
To  those  around  Him,  at  its  institution,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  its 
meaning  and  nature,  for  it  was,  even  in  words,  a  counterpart  of  that 
which  He  had  superseded,  with  a  purer  and  more  spiritual  form. 
The  cup.  He  told  tliem,  was  a  symbol  of  the  New  Covenant,  under 
which,  as  His  followers,  they  had  come;  in  .distinction  from  that 
which  they  had  left,  for  His  sake.  It  was  to  be  a  memorial  of  Him, 
and  a  constant  recognition  of  their  faith  in  the  virtue  of  His  atoning 
death — that  death,  Avhose  shed  blood  was  the  seal  of  this  New  Cove- 
nant between  the  subjects  of  His  kingdom,  and  God,  His  Father.  It 
symbolized  before  all  ages,  to  the  New  Israel,  the  cardinal  virtue  of 
His  death.  The  Apostles  could  have  had  no  simpler  or  more  unmis- 
takable intimation  that  as  the  blood  of  the  Passover  lamb  redeemed 
the  people  of  God,  of  old,  from  the  sword  of  the  angel  of  wrath.  His 
blood  would  be  a  ransom  for  man,  from  far  deadlier  peril.  A  cove- 
nant, to  them,  implied  a  sacrifice,  and  His  blood,  as  the  New  Cove- 
nant, was,  therefore,  sacrificial:  the  blood  of  a  Covenant  which 
pledged  His  followers  to  faith,  and  duty;  the  blood  of  a  new  paschal 
lamb,  with  which  His  disciples  must,  in  figure,  be  sprinkled,  that  the 
destroying  angel  might  pass  over  them,  in  the  day  of  judgment.  The 
custom  of  the  nation  to  make  a  common  meal  rhe  special  occasion  of 
religious  fellowship,  made  the  new  institution  easy  and  natural  to  the 
Apostles,  and  the  constant  use  of  symbols  in  their  hereditary  religion 
prevented  their  misconceiving  the  meaning  of  those  now  introduced 
for  the  first  time.  They  saw  in  it  an  abiding  memorial  of  their  Lord : 
a  vivid  enforcement  of  their  dependence  on  the  merits  of  His  death, 
as  a  sacrifice  for  their  salvation :  the  need  of  intimate  spiritual  com- 
munion with  Him,  as  the  bread  of  life:  and  the  bond  of  the  new 
brotherhood  He  had  established.  The  joint  commemoration  of  His 
broken  body  and  shed  blood,  was,  henceforth,  to  distinguish  the 
assemblies  of  His  followers  from  the  world  at  large.  Excepting  bap- 
tism, it  was  the  one  outward  form  in  the  Society,  established  by  their 
Master. 

From  a  rite  thus  simple,  aoctrines  have  been  developed  by  theo- 
logical zeal  and  heated  fancy,  which  would  have  alike  startled  and 
shocked  t!iose  who  first  partook  of  it.  It  has  been  forgotten  how 
Jesus,  Himself,  in  answer  to  the  cavil — "How  can  He  give  us  His 
flesh  to  oat?"  repudiated  the  literalism  which  caught  at  sound,  and 
missed  the  sense.  "  Jly  flesh — my  bodily  person, "  said  He,  "  proflteth 
nothing  towards  procuring  elernal  life:  to  talk  of  eating  it  to  gain 
that  life  is  unworthy  trifling:  it  is  the  Spirit  who  quickens  the  soul 
to  a  new,  immortal,  and  heavenly  existence,  and  that  Spirit  actss 
through  the  words  of  sacred  truth  which  I  speak  to  you.  They  are 
spirit,  and  they  are  life. " 


■     CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE     FAREWELL. 

jETirsALEM  wss  tlic  briijhtest  and  happiest  of  cities  on  this  Pass- 
over niglit.  But  thouirli  tlie  hum  of  universal  rejoic  iiip^  rose  on  every 
side,  tliere  'xas  oniy  sadness  in  the  little  band  round  Jesus.  One  of 
their  number  had  proved  a  traitor,  and  their  Master  had  told  them, 
once  more,  that  He  would  very  soon  leave  them.  They  were  sore  at 
heart  from  shame  at  the  baseness  of  Iscariot;  at  the  dread  of  losing  a 
IVIaster  they  passionately  loved ;  and  at  the  utter  miscarriage  of  all 
their  half-worldly,  half-religious,  e.Kpectations  of  earthly  glory.  Their 
Waster  had  instituted  a  rite  to  mark  tliem  as  apart  from  all  other 
men,  but  it  looked  as  if  there  would  be  little  use  for  it,  in  the  appar- 
ently near  overthrow  of  His  infant  Kingdom. 

As  they  reclined,  sad  and  silent,  Jesus  read  their  thoughts,  and  be- 
gan to  cheer  them,  by  lifting  their  hearts  from  the  gloomy  present  to 
the  glorious  future. 

"Let  not  your  hearts  be  troubled  with  care  and  anxiety  in  such  a 
way,"  said  He;  "believe  in  God,  and  in  me.  His  Son,  who  speak 
in  His  name,  and  let  that  faith  lead  you  to  trust  confidently  that  the 
promises  made  you  will  be  f  ulfilk'd.  I  have,  indeed,  told  you  that  I 
must  go  to  my  "Father,  but  I  have  told  you,  also,  that  I  will  return. 
You  have,  assuredly,  nothing  to  expect  on  earth  except  trial,  but  your 
reward  in  the  world  to  come  may  well  raise  you  above  all  sorrow  on 
that  account.  In  heaven,  my  Father's  house,  are  many  mansions; 
you  need  not  fear  that  everlasting  habitations  in  glory  will  fail  you. 
if  it  were  not  so,  I  would  have'told  you,  for  I  never  deceive  you. 
Nay,  more,  I  am  your  forerunner  thither.  If  I  go  away,  it  is  to  pre- 
pare a  place  for  you.  I  am  your  friend,  gmng  home  before  you,  to 
get  all  ready  for  your  glad  reception  when  you  follow  me. 

"  Nor  is  this  all;  I  will  return  to  fetch  you  to  my  heavenly  home, 
that,  where  I  am,  you  may  be.  also,  forever.  If  you  remember  what 
I  have  said  in  the' past,  you  will  know  not  only  whither  I  am  going, 
but,  since  it  is  1  who  prepare  a  place  for  you  above,  and  I,  and  no 
other,  who  will  come  to  lead  you  thither,  you  must  also  know  the 
way."  — 

He  alluded  to  His  spiritual  return  at  the  blissful  death  of  His  ser- 
vants, to  guide  them  to  Himself,  above,  and  He  had  told  them,  not 
long  before,  that  He  was  the  door  of  the  great  fold,  and  that  if  any 
man  entered  by  Him,  he  would  be  saved.  But  they  had  forgotten 
this,  as  the}'  had  so  much  else. 

A  full  and  satisfying  answer  to  the  question  of  Peter,  lay  in  these 
words.  But  it  was  not  enough  to  still  the  fears  and  doubts  in 
the  minds  of  the  Apostles.     They  still  clung  fondly  to  tli«ir  earthly 


720  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

hopes  of  the  Messiah's  Kingdom,  and  though  they,  perhaps,  realized 
the  near  departure  of  their  Master,  tliey  had  not,  even  yet,  come  to 
comprehend  that  it  meant  His  death.  Hence  His  figurative  language 
remained  so  dark  to  them,  that  Thomas,  constitutionally  given,"as  he 
Avas,  to  seek  clearness  and  certainty,  interrupted  Him  with  a  reverent 
freedom — 

' '  Lord,  we  do  not,  as  yet,  know  whither  Thou  art  going,  and  how 
can  we  know  the  way  in  which  to  follow  Thee?"  The  questioner 
wished  to  find  out  the  way  by  learning  the  goal,  but  Christ,  in  His 
answer,  pointed  him  to  the  w^ay  as  revealing  all  else. 

"I  myself,  and  no  other,  am  the  way,"  said  He,  "  because  no  one 
comes  to  the  Father,  in  His  heavenly  glory,  but  through  me.  I  am 
the  true  way,  for  I  speak  only  the  truth  given  me  from  above  to  make 
known  the  way  to  life,  for  he  who  believes  in  me  shall  live  by  me, 
and  shall  have  everlasting  life,  and  I  shall  raise  him  up  at  the  last  day. 
If  ye  have  known  me — tlie  Way — ye  will  know  whither  I  am  going 
— to  my  Father — for,  since  he  who  sees  the  Son,  sees  the  Father  also, 
you  know  Him  from  this  time,  and  have  seen  Him,  in  seeing  me.  I 
am  the  Way,  because  no  one  can  reach  my  Father's  presence,  but 
through  faith  in  me  as  the  Saviour:  the  Truth,  because  I  am  the  self- 
revelation  of  God;  the  Light,  come  into  the  world,  without  following 
which,  no  one  can  gain  salvation:  the  Life,  because  I  am  the  source 
and  spring  of  eternal  life,  so  that  he  who  does  not  receive  me  intohia 
heart,  by  faith,  is  already  condemned." 

Philip  had  listened,  but  could  not  understand.  He  could  only 
think  that  Jesus,  in  speaking  of  seeing  ihe  Father,  alluded  to  some 
invisible  appearance  of  Jehovah,  for  the  purpose  of  founding  the 
earthly  kingdom  of  the  Messiah.  With  a  child-like  simplicity,  there- 
fore, he  turned  to  Christ — "Lord,  show  us  the  Father,  and  all  our 
wishes  will  be  satisfied." 

No  one  who  had  thought  over  the  words  "If  ye  have  known  me, 
ye  will  have  known  my  Father  also,"  and  had  imderstood  them, 
could  have  asked  such  a  question.  It  marked  an  amazing  want  of 
intelligent  appreciation  of  the  teaching  of  our  Lord,  and  of  His  mode 
of  speech.  Hence,  the  answer  of  Christ  sounds  almost  sad.  "Have  I 
been  so  long  with  you,  and  do  you  know  so  little  of  me,  Philip?  If 
you  really  knew  me,  you  would  not  ask  me  to  show  you  the  Father. 
He  cannot  be  shown  to  the  natural  sight.  But  he  who  sees  me,  and 
rightly  understands  who  I  am,  knows  the  Father,  in  thus  knowing 
me.  Such  an  one  realizes  that,  in  me,  the  highest  revelation  of  God 
that  is  possible  has  appeared,  and  has  no  wish  to  have  any  higher  or 
other  outward  and  material  manifestation  of  Him.  You  speak  as  if 
ypu  did  not  believe  that  I  am  in  the  Father,  and  the  Father  in  me,  and 
that  hence,  as  I  said,  he  who  sees  me  sees  the  Father  also.  The  proof 
that  it  is  so,  is  in  my  words,  for  they  are  not  my  own,  but  His.  If 
you  doubt  this,  you  do  not  need  to  believe  merely  because  I  say  so: 
believe  it  on  the  proof  of  the  works  that  I  do,  for  it  is  not  I,  who  do 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  721 

them,  but  the  Father.  Put  away  your  gross  earthly  ideas.  "What  I 
mean  is,  that  the  Father  is  revealed  by  the  Son,  as  His  image  and 
likeness,  but  only  in  a  spiritual  sense,  to  the  eye  of  faith  and  of  the 
soul." 

Jesus  now  turned  to  the  Apostles  at  large,  and  resumed  His  dis- 
course at  the  point  He  had  left,  when,  lirst  Thomas,  and  then  Philip, 
broke  in  with  tlieir  questions. 

"I  have  promised  you  eternal  life,"  said  lie,  "if  you  trust  me  and 
my  Father.  Let  me  do  more,  that  you  may  be  cheered  and  supported 
in  your  future  labours  for  my  Kingdom.  I  tell  you,  with  all  solem- 
nity, that  if  j'ou  have  this  true  faith  in  me,  and  love  towards  me, 
you  will  have  the  power  to  do  just  such  wonderful  works  as  I  have 
done,  and  even  greater,  for  I  am  going  to  ]\[y  Father  to  be  raised  to 
all  power  in  heaven  and  earth;  so  that  you  may  feel  sure  that  your 
prayers,  as  my  Apostles,  offered  in  my  name,  for  the  advancement 
of  my  Kingdom,  will  be  heard  and  answered,  in  all  their  fulness. 
You  will  receive  power  from  above  to  overcome  the  world  by  your 
labours  as  my  Apostles; — to  spread  the  Gospel  among  all  nations, 
and  to  triumph  over  all  Jewish  and  Gentile  opposition.  I  mean  this 
when  I  speak  of  your  doing  greater  works  than  my  outward  mira- 
cles on  one  here  and  one  there.  It  is  I  who  will  give  you  this  power, 
for  I  am  in  my  Father,  and  my  Father  is  in  me,  and  He  works  through 
me.  and  I  shall  give  it  that  my  Father  may  be  glorified  by  my  triumph ; 
for  His  glory  is  the  great  end  of  my  work,  now  and  hereafter.  So 
mighty,  indeed,  will  be  your  prayers  in  my  name,  as  my  Apostles, 
that  I  will  do  not  only  what  you  ask,  for  the  spread  of  my  Kingdom, 
but  I  will  do  it  whenever,  and  as  often  as  ever,  you  ask  it. 

"But  if  you  desire  that  so  great  an  honour  should  be  granted  you, 
that  I  should  hear  and  answer  all  your  prayers,  you  must,  above  all 
things,  keep  my  commandments,  for  by  doing  so  you  best  show  your 
love  for  me. 

"  I  know  you  feel  sad  at  the  thought  of  losing  my  presence  and 
help,  and  wonder  who  will  stand  by  you,  and  aid  you,  when  I  am 
gone.  Be  not  afraid.  I  will  not  leave  you  alone,  but  will  see  that 
my  place  be  supplied,  so  that  you  want  for  nothing.  For  I  will  ask 
the  Father,  and  He  will  give  you  another  Helper  and  Counsellor, 
who  will  not  leave  you,  as  I  must  now  do,  but  will  abide  with  you 
for  ever — protecting,  helping,  strengthening^  you,  in  all  your  needs; 
the  Spirit  of  Truth^  who  imparts  the  divine  Truth  to  the  hearts  of 
men,  leads  them  to  know  it,  and  quickens  them  to  all  sjiiritual  power. 
The  unbelieving  world  cannot  receive  Him,  becau.se  they  have  not 
the  inward  sight  to  know  Him,  and  He  is  not  visible  to  the  outward 
sense.  But  tiiey  cannot  comprehend,  and  will  not  receive,  anything 
that  is  not  material,  and  apparent  to  the  bodily  eye.  You,  hov/evcr, 
who  believe  in  me,  will  know  Him,  for  He  will  remain  with  you,  and 
will  be  in.  you,  and  your  own  experience  will  make  you  feel  that  He 
iaso. 


722  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

"  Nor  is  this  all,  my  dear  ones.  I  will  not  leave  you  like  orphans; 
■with  me,  your  spiritual  Father,  gone  from  you  for  ever.  Not  only 
will  you  have  the  Spirit  of  Truth  with  you,  but  I,  myself,  will  shortly 
return  to  you.  In  a  very  little  while  longer  the  world  will  see  me  no 
more,  but  you  will  see  me,  though  not  bodily  present.  You  will  see 
me  in  spirit,  and  feel  that  I  commune  with  you  and  work  in  you, 
llirough  the  Spirit,  whom  I  will  send.  I  shall  be  alive,  though  un- 
seen, for  1  will  rise  from  the  dead  and  live  for  evermore,  and  shall 
make  you  partakers  of  my  heavenly  and  deathless  life.  By  tbis 
higher  spiritual  life  ye  shall  know,  iii  that  day,  when,  by  the  gift  of 
my  Spirit,  I  come  to  you  in  power,  that  I  am  in  mj"^  Father,  and  you 
in  me,  and  I  in  you.  When  I  come,  finally,  in  outward  glory,  as  I 
have  told  you  already,  at  the  last  day,  you  will  have  no  more  doubts 
or  fears,  as  you  now  have,  in  this  time  of  my  lowliness  and  humilia- 
tion. You  will  then  know,  when  you  see  me  descend  in  heavenly 
majesty,  as  you  shall  have  already  felt  when  I  come,  very  soon,  by 
the  Spirit;  that  my  words  are  true — that  I  am  indeed  in  my  Fatlier, 
and  you  in  me,  and  1  in  you — that  we  are  for  ever  inseparably  one 
with  the  Father,  and  with  each  other. 

"But  only  he  who  has  my  commandments  in  his  heart,  and  prac- 
tises them  in  his  life,  truly  loves  me,  and  will  be  loved  by  my  Father 
and  by  me.  To  him  will  I  reveal  my  presence  in  his  soul,  by  the 
Spirit  through  whom  I  commune  with  him." 

Here,  Judas  Thaddoeus,  "the  brave,"  the  son  of  an  imknown 
James,  interrupted  the  discourse  by  a  reverent  question.  With  the 
simple  literal  ideas  of  his  age  and  nation,  he  could  not  understand 
what  Jesus  had  said  about  manifesting  Himself  only  to  individual 
believers,  and  not  to  all  men.  He  still  expected  a  visible  appearance 
of  Christ,  in  glory,  as  the  Messiah,  to  judge  the  unbelieving  world, 
and  set  up  His  own  Kingdom.  "  What  has  happened,  Lord,"  asked 
he,  "  to  make  Thee  determine  to  show  Thyself  as  the  Messiah  only  to 
us,  and  not  to  the  world  at  large?    How  comes  it?" 

"The  reason,"  replied  Jesus,  "  is,  that  the  world,  so  long  as  it  does 
not  believe  in  me  and  love  me,  is  neither  morally  capable  hi  receiving 
such  a  manifestation  of  me,  as  I  mean — a  spiritual  communion  with 
the  soul — nor  worthy  of  it.  Only  believing  and  faithful  hearts  can 
become,  or  desire  to  become,  the  abode  of  my  Father  or  of  myself,  so 
that  We  may  live  in  that  loving  fellowship  with  them  Avhich  reveals 
Us  to  them.  I  do  not  speak  of  such  an  outward  and  visible  dwelling 
with  men  as  .when  the  divine  glory  rested  between  the  cherubim,  or 
over  the  Tabernacle ;  but  an  unseen  abode,  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  in  the 
soul  as  in  a  Temple.  Only  he  who  loves  me,  and,  loving  me,  keeps 
my  commandments,  can  have  this  honour  and  blessedness.  Such  an 
one  My  Father  will  love  as  well  as  I,  and  we  will  come  to  him  and 
make  our  abode  with  him.  He  who  does  not  love  me  Avill  not  keep 
my  commandments.  I  call  my  commandments  mine,  but,  in  reality, 
they  are  those  of  my  Father  who  sent  me.     With  such  an  one,  ther«« 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  723 

fore,  who  rejects  God's  ■words  and  does  not  obey  them,  the  Father  and 
I  cannot  make  our  abode,  and,  thus,  I  cannot  manifest  myself  in  tliif 
spiritual  Avay,  of  which  alone  I  speak,  except  to  individual  souls." 

There  was  now  a  short  pause,  i)ut,  after  a  time,  Jesus  began  again. 
Glancing  back  at  all  He  had  said  to  tlieni  during  the  evening,  and 
knowing  that  much  of  it  must  be  darl  and  enigmatical  to  their  simple 
minds.  He  lovingly  cheered  them  by  some  further  kind  words. 

"I  have  said  these  things  to  you,  while  I  am  still  with  you,  but  I 
know  that  you  hardly  understand  some  of  my  sayings,  and  that  you 
will  necessarily  forget  others.  The  Holy  Spirit,  whom  the  Father 
will  send  in  my  name,  at  my  request,  to  be  your  heavenly  Friend 
and  Helper,  will,  however,  throw  light  on  every  point,  and  bring  to 
your  vivid  remembrance  all  that  I  have  now  told  you;  giving  you 
a  fuller  and  wider  understanding  of  the  truths  I  have  only  briefly 
opened." 

"Fear  not,  my  beloved  ones,  all  will  be  well  with  you,"  added  ITc, 
for  they  wero.  sorely  troubled.  "You  know  how  you  wish  your 
friends  '  Peace '  when  you  part  from  them.  IMy  farewell  greeting  is 
'  Peace  be  with  you' — the  peace  of  reconciliation  to  God,  of  eternal 
salvation  in  my  Kingdom,  which  I  have  gained  for  you  as  your 
Saviour.  My  peace,  coming  from  me,  and  by  me,  I  leave  you;  for 
it  will  be  won  for  you,  as  an  undying  gift,  by  my  death,  now  so  near. 
This  gift — my  peace — is  of  a  wholly  different  kind  from  that  which 
men  wish  each  other  in  their  farewells — mere  earthly  joy  and  pros- 
perity, which  leave  the  soul  unblessed.  My  peace  carries  with  it 
lasting  good,  and  true  unfading  happiness,  for  it  is  that  of  the  soul. 

"  As  I  began,  therefore,  I  shall  end — Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled, 
neither  let  it  be  afraid,  either  now  or  hereafter.  Why  should  it  be 
either?  Instead  of  sadness,  you  ought  to  feel  joy,  for  1  have  told  you 
that,  though  I  go  away  now,  I  shall  come  to  you  again.  .Indeed, 
if  you  love  me,  as  I  know  you  do,  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  me  say 
that  I  am  going  back  to  my  Father,  for  here  my  Father  has  used  my 
human  weakness  to  speak  His  words  and  do  llis  works,  for  the  sal- 
vation of  man.  The  mortal  nature  I  now  wear  has  been  His  feeble 
and  indirect  instrument.  But  when  I  return  to  Him,  my  Kingdom 
will  be  under  His  direct  power.  My  work,  thenceforth,  will  rest  alone, 
and  directly,  in  His  hand,  and  He  will  complete  what  I  have  begun 
on  earth,  by  His  mighty  power,  through  His  Spirit;  without  hmnan 
limitation,  such  as  has  been  inevitable  while  He  wrought  through  me 
as  the  Son  of  Man — a  man  like  yourselves.  He,  working  with  His 
Almighty  power,  directly,  through  His  Spirit,  is  greater,  as  a  help  to 
my  Kingdom,  than  I  can  be  while  I  act  for  Him  through  this  dying 
body. 

"I  have  told  you  now,  while  I  am  still  with  you,  that  I  shall 
presently  leave  you,  that  your  faith  may  not  be  shaken  when  I  am 
gone.  The  hour  of  mj'  departure  approaches:  I  shall  not  speak  much 
with  you  after  this.     For  the  prince  of  this  world — the  evil  one — 


724  •  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

is  already  coming  against  me.  But  fear  not,  lie  has  no  power  over 
me.  There  is  nothing  in  my  soul  which  he  can  assail;  no  sin  by 
which  he  can  claim  me  as  his.  Nor  do  I  need  to  yield  to  him  in  any- 
thing, for  I  could,  if  I  chose,  avoid  the  death  with  which  he  threatens 
me.  But,  that  the  world  may  know  my  love  to  the  Father,  and  that 
I  do  what  He  has  appointed  for  me  as  His  will,  though  it  be  to  die; 
let  us  rise  now  from  the  table,  and  go  forth  to  meet  "the  powers  of 
darkness,  before  whom,  according  to  the  counsels  of  God,  I  shall 
fall." 

The  whole  company  hereupon  rose,  and  prepared  to  leave  the 
room.  But  Jesus,  full  of  thoughts  which  He  longed,  even  yet,  to 
utter,  before  His  ever  nearer  separation,  stood,  as  it  were,  fixed  to 
the  spot  by  His  love  to  them,  and  once  more  began  to  speak.  He 
could  not  bring  Himself  to  break  up  this  last  communion  He  should 
have  with  them. 

He  began  by  the  well-known  and  beautiful  comparison  of  Himself 
and  the  Apostles  to  a  vine  and  its  branches.  Perhaps  the  thought 
rose  from  the  sight  of  the  Avine-cup  on  the  (able  and  its  recent  use 
at  the  evening's  feast,  or,  perliaps,  the  house  stood  amidst  vines,  and 
branches  may  have  been  trained  round  the  window,  or  the  vineyard 
itself  may  have  lain  below  in  the  bright  moonlight. 

"This  vine,  with  its  branches  and  fruit,"  said  He,  pointing  to  the 
■wine-cup,  or  to  the  vines  outside,  "is  a  (ype,  in  its 'earthly  and 
visible  way,  of  a  heavenly  and  divine  truth.  I  am  the  true  vine, 
ye  are  the  branches,  and  my  Father  is  the  husbandman.  He  sent  me 
into  the  world:  He  has  given  me  such  faithful  souls  as  you,  and 
joined  you  with  me,  in  living  fellowship  and  communion:  He  has 
tended  the  growth  of  the  truth  in  the  past,  for  it  has  been  He  who 
has  been  working  through  me,  and  He  will  continue  to  do  so  after  I 
leave  you,  by  His  Holy  Spirit. 

"As  in  the  natural  vine  there  are  fruitful  and  unfruitful  branches, 
so,  in  my  fellowship,  there  arc  some  who  bear  fruit  both  in  word  and 
in  act,  and  some  who  do  not.  Only  those  who  are  pure  and  sincere 
— those  who  truly  love  me  and  keep  my  commands,  have  the  abiding 
communion  with  me  from  which  such  fruitfulness  springs;  for,  as 
the  careful  husbandman  cuts  oflf  the  unfruitful  branch,  and  cleans 
away  with  his  pruning-knifc  all  that  would  hinder  the  full  fruitful- 
ness of  the  good  one,  so  does  my  Father  with  my  disciples. 

"  But  be  ye  comforted.  You  have  been  pnmed  and  made  clean  by 
your  loving  and  obedient  reception  of  the  truths  I  have  told  you,  and 
b)^  the  discipline  through  which  you  have  passed.  Dismiss  anxious 
care!  You  will  not  be  cut  off  as  unfruitful  branches.  My  Father 
will  make  j'ou  still  more  fruitful  ;  will  cleanse  aAvay  all  that  hinders 
your  progress  in  grace,  and  will  perfect  you  in  the  end.  But,  to 
eecure  this  growing  fruitfulness,  }^ou  must  cherish  fondly  j'our  com- 
munion with  me;  grafted  into  me,  as  the  branches  into  the  stem  of 
the  vine.     If  you  do  so,  I  will  not  separate  myself  from  you,  any 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  725 

more  than  the  vine  tears  itself  from  its  branches,  but  will  strengthen 
you  by  my  spiritual  aid.  As  the  branch  cannot  bear  fruit  of  itself  if 
it  do  not  abide  in  the  vine,  you  cannot  bring  forth  good  fruit  except 
ye  abide  in  me.  I  am  the  vine,  you  are  the  branches;  the  living 
power  to  bear  fruit  conies  only  from  me.  But  if  you  abide  in  me, 
you  will  bear  much  fruit.  All  true  work  as  my  disciples — all 
spiritual  life — comes  only  from  fellowship  with  me — fellowship  close 
as  that  of  the  vine  and  its  branches — each  in  the  other — for  apart 
from  me  ye  can  do  nothing.  As  unfruitful  branches  are  cut  off  by 
the  husbandman,  and  cast  out  of  the  vineyard  and  left  to  dry  up, 
and  then  gathered  and  cast  into  the  fire  and  burned,  so,  those  who 
break  away  from  living  in  union  with  me  will  be  cut  off  from  me 
here,  by  my  Father;  the  religious  life  hence  will  wither  up  in  them 
while  they  live,  and  at  the  last  day  they  will  suffer  the  judgment  of 
God.  But  if  ye  abide  in  loving,  spiritual  union  with  me,  and  hold 
fast  my  commandments  and  keep  them,  you  may  ask  what  you 
will,  and  it  will  be  done  to  you,  for  you  will,  then,  ask,  in  my 
name,  only  such  things  as  are  in  keeping  with  my  will.  And  it  is 
a  great  motive  for  your  abiding  in  me,  that  your  doing  so  glorifies 
my  Father  by  leading  to  your  bearing  much  fruit,  through  my 
answers  to  your  prayers.  You  will  further,  by  this  fulfilment  of 
your  prayers,  become  truly,  and  in  the  strict  sense,  my  disciples, 
for  the  enjoyment  of  it  is  the  special  distinguishing  mark  of  my 
true  disciples  only. 

"That  you  may  thus  continue  in  living  fellowship  and  spiritual 
union  with  me,  let  me  remind  you  that  the  uniting  bond  of  this 
fellowship  between  me,  my  Father,  and  you,  is  love;  and  that,  on 
your  side,  all  depends  on  your  showing  yourselves  true  and  obedient, 
in  this  love  to  me  and  in  the  practice  of  my  commands,  as  I  have 
shown  and  still  sliow  my.self  towards  my  Father  and  llis  com- 
mands. As  He  has  loved  me,  I  have  loved  you ;  see  tliat  j'c  con- 
tinue henceforth,  for  ever,  to  love  and  obey  me,  that  I  may  still  for 
ever  be  able  to  love  you.  I  have  spoken  thus,  that  the  same  joy 
which  I  have  in  knowing  that  I  abide  in  my  Father's  love,  may  be 
felt  by  you,  from  your  knowing  that  you  abide  in  my  love,  and 
that  this  holy  joy  of  soul  may  increase,  more  and  more,  to  a  heavenly 
fulness." 

The  sound  of  the  word  "love,"  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  Christ,  led 
Ilim  back  to  the  new  commandment  He  had  given  a  few  minutes 
before.  That  His  disciples  should  love  one  another  was  the  true 
secret  of  keeping  His  commandments,  and  so  of  retaining  their 
place  in  His  heart,  and  securiag  the  holy  joy  of  soul  He  desired 
lor  them.  He  now  defined  His  requirements  more  narrowly.  They 
were  to  love  each  other,  as  He  had  loved  them,  and  that  meant,  He 
tcld  them,  self-sacrifice,  even  to  death,  for  their  sakcs. 

"  You  wish,  I  am  sure,"  said  He,  "to  retain  my  love  after  I  leave 
you,  and  will  strive  to  keep  my  commandments  that  ytu  may  do  so. 


726  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

These  commandments  are  summed  up  in  the  one  which  I  gave  you 
to-night,  already,  tliat  ye  love  one  another.  I  only  add,  that  that 
love  must  be  sucli  as  I  liave  sliown  and  will  presently  show  to 
you; — love  so  great,  that,  in  furtherance  of  the  divine  purpose  for 
your  salvation,  i  willingly  lay  down  my  life  for  you.  There  can  be 
none  greater  between  man  and  man,  and  this  highest  example — this 
joyful  sacrifice  of  life  itself  for  each  other — must  be  your  standard. 
Nothing  less  is  the  ideal  I  require  in  my  New  Society.  That  spirit 
alone  which  would  not  shrink  from  this,  makes  true  and  full  obedi- 
ence to  my  command  possible,  with  ail  the  blessings  it  brings. 

"If  you  thus  rise  to  a  love  like  mine,  you  will  bind  me  to  you  in 
closest  undying  affection ; — affection  not  as  from  master  to  servant, 
or  teacher  to  disciple,  but  as  of  friend  to  friend.  If,  by  liaving  this 
love,  you  do  the  things  I  command  3-ou,  I  shall  call  j'ou  my  friends, 
my  loved  and  trusted  ones;  for  doing  is  the  only  pi  oof  I  accept  of 
loving.  I  know,  indeed,  that  you  will,  and  therefore,  henceforth,  I 
call  you  no  longer  mere  servants,  as  in  the  past,  but  trusted  friends. 
For  the  servant  obeys  without  knowing  his  lord's  thoughts  and  plans, 
bat  you  have  been  told  all  I  have  heard  from  my  Father,  so  far  as  you 
are  able  to  hear  and  miderstand  it; — told  it,  not  as  mere  servants  and 
messengers, — tlie  blind  instruments  of  my  will;  but  in  the  fulness  of 
loving  confidence,  as  sharers  of  my  inmost  thoughts  and  heart. 

"  But  great  though  the  honour  be  I  thus  give  you,  never  forget 
that  you  have  not,  like  the  disciples  of  the  Rabbis,  with  him  whom 
they  follow,  chosen  me  for  your  teacher,  master,  and  friend.  On  the 
contrary,  I  chose  you,  not  for  mere  idle  friendship,  but  that  I  miglit 
appoint  you  to  go  forth  as  my  disciples,  and  work  in  spreading  my 
Kingdom,  and  bear  fruit  in  winning  men  to  the  truth; — fruit  that 
would  remain  for  ever,  both  for  yourselves,  and  for  tho.se  you  led  to 
the  light.  Thus  you  owe  all  to  me;  your  first  discipleship,  no  less 
than  the  friendship  to  wliich  I  have  now  advanced  you ;  and  also  that 
amazing  honour  I  have  promised  you,  that  so  long  as  you  keep  my 
commands,  the  Father  will  give  you  whatever  you  ask  in  my  name. 
How  much  fruit  may  ye  not  bear  with  this  heavenly  help,  and  how 
great  the  reward  before  God  when  ye  have  borne  it! 

"  Once  more,  never  forget  that  without  true  brotherly  love  all  your 
labour  is  valueless,  for  the  spirit  that  prompts  them  alone  gives  its 
worth  to  your  acts  or  words. 

"  Wonder  not  that  I  enforce  this  call  to  mutual  love.  Let  it  reign 
within  my  New  Society,  for  outside  you  will  have  only  hatred.  But 
let  me  comfort  you  by  the  thought  that,  as  you  know,  it  has  hated  me 
first.  To  be  hated  by  it,  is  only  to  share  my  lot.  And  let  it  still  more 
console  you,  to  remember  that  this  very  hatred  by  the  unbelieving 
world,  is  a  proof  that  you  no  longer  belong  to  it.  If  you  belonged  to 
it,  it  would  love  its  own,  for  like  loves  like.  It  hates  you,  because  I 
have  cliosen  you  out  of  it,  and  made  you  mine.  To  be  hated  of  the 
ungody  is  a  testimony  to  your  worth,  as  to  be  loved  by  them  would 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  737 

be  of  the  reverse.  How  ought  this  to  cheer  you  in  all  your  future 
trials ! 

"  Remember  what  I  said  to  j'oxi  to-night,  alread}'',  '  A  servant  is  not 
greater  than  liis  Im-d.'  If  they  have  persecuted  me,  as  j-ou  know  they 
have,  they  will  also  persecute  yoii ;  if  they  have  received  my  teach- 
ing, as  you  know  they  have  not,  they  will  receive  yours  as  little. 
They  will  hate  you  and  persecute  you,  because  you  come  in  my 
name,  confessing  me  as  the  Messiah  and  Saviour, — "for  they  know  not 
Him  who  sent  me. 

"  This  hatred  of  my  name  has  no  excuse,  for  I  have  dwelt  among 
men,  and  tauglit  them  the  truth,  and  have  done  works  among  them, 
such  as  no  other  messenger  of  God,  or  prophet,  has  done; — works 
which  should  have  made  them  feel  that  God  had  sent  me,  for  they 
were  such  as  Israel  itself  had  agreed  to  accept,  as  proof  of  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Messiah,  and  they  proved  that  my  teaching  was  His 
divine  word  to  tiiem.  But  though  tliey  have  both  heard  my  teaching, 
and  seen  my  mighty  works,  they  have  not  believed.  They  have,  thus, 
I  repeat,  no  excuse.  Nor  is  their  hatred  of  My  Name,  ha'trcd  of  me 
alone;  it  is  hatred  of  God,  my  Father,  no  less;  for  my  words  and 
works,  which  they  hate  and  reject,  are  not  mine,  but  His.  And  as 
these  words  and  works  are  thus  the  self-revelation  of  my  Father; — as 
He  thus,  by  them,  had  made  Himself  visible  in  me,  so  far  as  the  in- 
visible God  can  do  so,  their  hatred  of  me  involves  the  awful  wicked- 
ness of  a  hatred  of  the  Eternal  Father.  Yet  tliis  hatred  of  me  by  the 
unbelieving  world,  is  not  a  mere  accident  or  chance,  but  was  fore- 
seen by  God  and  spoken  of  in  ancient  prophecy,  as  you  read; — •  They 
hated  me  without  a  cause.' 

"You  may,  however,  say  in  your  hearts,  '  If  they  have  persecuted 
Thee,  and  have  not  kept  Thy  word;  if,  after  having  been  taught,  and 
having  seen  .such  things,  tliey  would  not  recciA'c  them;  if  they  have 
hated  Thee,  and  Thy  Father,  and  if  we  are  to  find  the  same  treatment, 
what  good  is  there  in  your  sending  us  to  them?'  Let  me  encourage 
you,  and  dissipate  such  thoughts.  For  when  the  Helper  comes,  whom 
I  shall  send  unto  you  from  the  Father — tlie  Spirit  of  Truth, — who 
goes  forth  from  the  Father,  and  therefore  is  able  to  help  you  in  all  j'our 
needs, — He  will  bear  witness  of  me  in  your  souls;  teaching  you  more 
deeply  concerning  me,  and  glorifying  me  to  you  in  doing  so,  that  you 
viixy  be  able  to  make  right  and  elTective  use,  in  your  witness  before 
fnen,  of  all  you  have  seen  and  heard  while  with  me,  from  the  begin- 
ning of  my  public  work  as  the  Messiah. 

"T  have  told  you  these  things  about  the  hatred  the  world  will  show 
]fou,  for  my  sake;  that  you  may  be  prepared  for  it,  and  not  stumble, 
ijpr  be  offended  on  account  of  it;  but  may  meet  it  with  so  much  the 
',*iore  earnest  zeal  and  tidelity.  As  T  have  often  told  you,  they  wili 
5^ut  you  out  of  the  synagogues;  but  this,  hard  though  it  be  in  its  con- 
sequences, is  not  the  worst  their  fanatical  hatred  will  do.  You  know 
how  the  Rabbis  teach,  that  '  he  who  sheds  the  blood  of  the  wicked  is 

L  of  c— 24. 


728  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

as  if  he  offered  sacrifice.'  They  will  act  on  this  principle  towards 
you,  for  the  hour  comes  when  every  one  who  kills  you  will  think 
your  blood  is  an  acceptable  sacrifice  offered  to  God.  Nor  will  the 
heathen  treat  you  better.  Israel  knows  neither  the  Father  nor  me; 
and  this  wilful  ignorance  of  divine  things  makes  them  act  thus.  I 
tell  you  all  this,  that,  when  these  times  of  persecution  come,  you  may 
be  strengthened  in  your  faith  in  me,  and  in  your  patient  endurance  of 
suffering  for  my  sake.  I  did  not  speak  of  these  things  till  now,  be- 
cause they  were  still  distant  when  you  first  followed  me,  and  because 
they  might  then  have  frightened  you  away  from  me.  Besides,  as 
long  as  I  live,  the  hatred  of  men  will  be  directed  against  me,  not 
against  you." 

It  is  hard  for  even  the  best  to  rise  superior  to  the  present  or  near, 
by  thinking  of  the  distant  or  future.  The  Eleven  were  thoroughly 
cast  down  and  dispirited,  and  stood  silent;  unable  to  break  the  still- 
ness, oyen  by  a  few  of  those  questions  which  the  disciples  of  Jewish 
teachers  were  in  the  habit  of  putting  to  their  masters.  The  lofty 
promises  of  Jesus  would  one  day  strengthen  their  faithful  souls,  but, 
for  the  time,  they  had  no  ear  for  them.  As  He  spoke.  He  saw  this, 
and  gently  reproved  it. 

"Now  that  I  am  on  the  point  of  retarning  to  my  Father,"  said  He, 
"  how  are  you  so  wholly  engrossed  in  sadness,  that  while  friends  are 
always  wont  to  ask  often  from  one  about  to  leave  them, — 'where  he 
is  going,' — you  have  not  been  eager  to  do  so'?"  He  wished  to  be 
asked  more  closely  about  His  going  away,  for  it  seemed  as  if  His  dis- 
ciples had  not  fully  understood  His  previous  words,  else  they  could 
Dot  be  so  dejected. 

"  You  forget  the  comfort  I  have  given  you,  and  dwell  only  on  my 
near  leaving,  and  the  troubles  to  come  after  it.  But  I  tell  you  only 
the  truth,  when  I  say  that  it  is  better  for  you  that  I  go  away.  For  if 
I  were  not  to  do  so,  your  great  Helper  would  not  come  to  you,  but,  if 
I  go  away,  I  will  send  Him  to  you." 

The  history  of  the  Church,  after  the  ascension  of  Jesus  and  the 
effusion  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  explains  and  confirms  these  words.  Only 
the  once  Crucified  but  now  Risen  One;  the  glorified  Son  of  God,  sit- 
ting at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father,  could  have  been  proclaimed  by 
the  Apostles  as  the  Lord  of  a  new,  eternal,  and  spiritual  kingdom  of 
heaven.  Only  the  Conqueror  of  Death ; — the  Son  of  God,  returned 
triumphant  to  the  glory  of  the  Father,  could  have  been  announced  to 
the  world  as  the  Righteous  One,  the  Victor  over  the  Prince  of  this 
world ;  as  He  not  to  believe  in  whom  was  sin. 

Jesus  continued — "  You  will  have  to  strive,  even  to  blood,  with  the 
opposition  of  the  unbelieving  world  to  me,  and  their  evil  opinion  of 
me;  against  their  illusion  that  they  are  doing  right  in  their  unbelief 
and  in  their  persecution  of  my  servants;  and  against  their  belief 
in  the  invincible  power  of  wicked  men,  and  of  the  prince  of  darkness. 
AH  these  you  must  oppose  and  overcome^    But  human  eloquence  is 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  729 

far  too  weak  for  this  great  task.  Without  assistance  and  help  from 
above,  you  will  never  be  able  to  convince  men  of  their  sin  and  error,  or 
to  drive  out  the  reign  of  evil.  But  when  your  Heavenly  Helper  has 
come,  He  will,  through  you,  show  the  world  their  sin  in  not  believ- 
ing in  me,  and  in  persecuting  you,  my  servants.  He  will  also  con- 
vmce  them  of  my^rigliteousness— that  is,  that  I  am  not  unrighteous 
and  smful,  as  they  suppose,  but  that  my  righteousness  and  innocence- 
have  been  shown  by  my  not  shrinking  even  from  the  death  of  the 
Cross  in  the  fulfilment  of  my  great  work;  by  my  rising  from  the 
grave,  and  thereby  proving  that  my  deatli  was  a  voluntary  act  of  love  to 
man,  and  by  my  returning  to  my  Father,  which  will  show  that  I  am  His 
Son,  sent  by  Him  as  the  Messiah.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  my  cause 
is  righteous,  and  that  I  am  the  righteous  and  holy  one  of  God.  He 
will,  finally,  convince  men  of  the  utter  weakness  of  all  the  powers  of 
evil,  and  of  their  having  been  judged  and  condemned  of  God,  by  re- 
vealing tcT  them  the  complete  overthrow  of  the  reign  of  the  devil,  and 
of  the  works  of  darkness,  by  my  life,  my  teaching,  my  death  my 
resurrection,  my  return  to  my  Father,  and  my  victorious  help  to  'you 
my  servants." 

He  had  touched  the  confines  of  great  and  mysterious  truths  in  the 
future  economy  of  His  kingdom,  but  felt  Him.self  forced  to  go  no 
farther.  A  wider  field  of  higher  teaching  lay  before  Him,  but  their 
present  weakness  and  incapacity  to  understand  lofty  spiritual  thino-s 
forced  Him  to  break  off  further  revelations.  "I  have  yet  many- 
things,"  He  continued,  "to  say  to  you,  but  you  cannot  hear  them 
now.  Yet  be  not  cast  down.  When  your  Helper,  the  Spirit  of 
Truth,  comes  from  above.  He  will  give  you  fuller  instructions  and 
will  strengthen  your  minds  to  understand  them.  He  will  lead  you 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  truth  in  its  whole  extent,  and  will  illuminate 
for  you  all  the  heights  and  depths  of  my  meaning,  in  all  that  I  have 
said  to  you.  Nor  need  you  fear  to  trust  Him  less  than  you  have 
trusted  me;  for  just  as  I  have  not  spoken  of  myself,  but  have  only 
repeated  what  I  have  heard  from  my  Father,  He,  the  Spirit  of  Truth 
will  not  speak  for  Himself,  or  of  His  own  promptings  but  will  utter- 
only  what  He  has  heard  from  God.  Nor  will  He"  simply  explain 
say  words,  and  reveal  higher  aspects  of  the  truth.  He  will  also  an- 
aounce  to  you  things  future.  He  will  give  j^ou,  my  apostles,  the  gilt 
©f  prophecy,  by  which  the  future  development  of  my  Kingdom  will 
be  revealed  to  you,  to  fill  you  with  comfort  and  triumph. 

"You  must  not  think,  however,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  will  teach 
you  any  new  or  different  truths,  not  connected  with  me,  vour  Saviour. 
He  will  only  purify  and  enlighten  your  hitherto  imperfect  concep- 
tions concerning  me,  and,  while  thus  fitting  you  to  spread  mv  king- 
dom,  will  but  develop,  expand,  and  complete  what  I  have 'taught 
you  and  thus  increase  my  glory.  All  that  the  Father  has  is  mine 
as  the  Son,  consecrated  and  sent  forth  by  Him  to  carry  out  Ills  work- 
the  Son,  m  whom  the  Father,  for  this  end,  dwells  and  works  in  closest 


730  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

communion,  as  He  also  dwells  in  like  communion  with  the  Father, 
Therefore,  as  tlie  Holy  Spirit  will  teach  you  only  what  He  hears  from 
the  Father,  He  can  teach  you  no  other  doctrine  than  mine." 

But  all  the  instruction  and  comfort  Jesus  could  administer;  all  the 
warnings,  on  the  one  hand,  of  the  difficulties  and  sufferings;  and  all 
the  supports,  on  the  other,  in  rich  promises  of  power,  help,  and 
blessing  from  above,  could  not  dispel  the  sadness  of  the  Apostles, 
or  bring  them  joy  and  courage.  I'lie  near  departure  of  their  loved 
Master  tilled  their  minds  with  abiding  dejection  and  anxious  fear. 

In  tender  sympathy,  therefore,  Jesus  once  more  sought  to  cheer 
them.  "  I  said,  indeed,"  He  went  on,  "that  very  soon  you  would 
see  me  no  longer,  but  yet,  a  little  while  more,  and  you  tcill  see  me 
again." 

The  Apostles  were  more  than  CA-er  perplexed  by  these  words. 
They  thought  only  of  an  earthly  communion  with  their  Master,  such 
as  they  still  enjoyetl,  and  could  not  understand  the  sudden  change 
of  not  seeing  Him,  and  seeing  Him  again,  or  the  double  use  of  the 
words — "  A  little  while," — or  what  He  meant  by  saying  so  often  that 
He  was  going  to  the  Father.  Wondering  questions  followed  between 
them,  and  they  were  anxious  to  ask  an  explanation,  when  Jesus, 
seeing  their  perplexity,  anticipated  their  wish. 

" Do  you  inquire  among  yourselves,"  said  He,  "what  I  mean  by 
saying,  'A  little  while,  and  ye  will  not  see  me:  and,  again,  a  little 
Avhile,  and  j^e  will  see  me ;'  and  '  I  am  going  to  the  Father?  '  Ye  shall, 
indeed  be  in  great  trouble  at  my  death,  for  I  am  presently  to  die, 
though  you  seem  as  if  you  could  not  credit  it.  Indeed,  ye  will  be 
sad,  when  the  world  that  rejects  me  will  rejoice.  But  your  sorrow 
"will  be  turned  into  joy,  as  sudden  as  that  of  the  mother  when  she 
bears  a  sou,  and  forthwith  forgets  the  past  for  gladness  that  a  man 
is  born  into  the  world;  for  you  know  that  no  joy  is  so  great  to  a 
woman,  in  our  nation,  as  that  of  having  a  son.  So,  truly,  you  will 
have  sorrow  now  at  my  death,  but  it  wiil  pass  into  abiding  joy  when 
you  see  me  again,  in  my  spiritual  retvmi. 

"In  that  day  the  Spirit  of  Truth  will  have  given  you  such  a  full 
and  satisfying  knowledge  of  all  that  concerns  me  and  my  Kingdom, 
that  you  will  have  no  need,  as  now,  to  ask  me  respecting  any  words 
or  matters  you  do  not  understand.  You  will  no  longer  miss  my 
earthl)^  presence,  but  be  joyful  in  the  possession  of  full  enlightenment. 
For  most  truly  do  I  assure  you,  that  all  you  ask  my  Father  in  my 
name — all  illumination,  all  gifts,  and  joys  of  the  Spirit — He  will  givo 
you.  Hitherto,  from  want  of  insight  and  experience,  you  have  asked 
nothing  in  my  name,  and,  therefore,  have,  as  j'ct,  no  dream  of  the 
boundless  gifts  your  Father  in  Heaven  is  ready  to  give  you — no 
dream  of  His  comforting  and  supporting  grace.  From  this  time, 
ask  in  my  name,  and  you  will  receive  what  you  ask,  that  your  joy 
may  be  complete. 

'  *  I  have  spoken  of  my  going  away,  and  of  your  seeing  me  again, 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  731 

and  of  what  woTild  flow  from  it,  in  figures,  and  darkly.  But  a  time 
comes  when  I  will  no  more  speak  to  you  in  this  way,  but  will  instruct 
you  clearly  and  plainly,  through  the  Spirit,  respecting  tlie  Father. 
In  that  day  ye  shall  ask  in  my  name,  because  you  will  then  be  en> 
lightened  by  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  and  you  Avill  not  need  that  I  inter- 
cede for  you  that  your  prayers,  thus  offered,  may  be  heard;  for  the 
Father  Flimself  loves  you  because  you  have  loved  me,  and  have  be- 
lieved that  I  came  forth  from  Him,  and  will  therefore  hear  you, 
without  my  intercession.  ISTor  must  you  ever  forget  this  great  truth 
• — the  sum  of  my  life  and  work — that  I  came  forth  from  the  Father 
to  appear  in  the  world,  and  now  leave  the  world  to  go  back  to  Him 
again." 

The  disciples,  listening  to  these  words,  fancied  they  now  under- 
stood, in  part,  at  least,  what  had  before  seemed  so  dark.  They 
had,  at  least,  realized,  from  His  last  sentence,  that,  as  He  had  come 
forth  from  God,  and  Avas  about  to  return  to  Him,  He  must  be  going 
to  heaven.  Perhaps  they  thought,  in  their  simple  way,  that  they 
also  understood  better  what  He  had  said  about  their  seeing  Him 
again.  It  seemed  as  if  He  had,  already,  fulfilled  His  promise  to 
speak  clearly,  and  without  metaphor,  to  them.  That  He  should, 
moreover,  have  known,  without  being  told  them,  the  questions  they 
had  in  their  hearts,  so  astonished  them,  that  they,  further,  felt  sure 
He  was  omniscient,  and  did  not  need  any  one  to  ask  Him,  but  could 
answer  their  questions  without  having  been  told  them.  Awed  and 
vividly  impressed,  they  felt  a  fresh  corroboration  of  their  belief  in 
Him,  as  having  come  forth  from  God,  and  hastened  to  tell  Him  their 
Strengthened  conviction. 

"Is  it  so,  that  you  now  feel  sure  you  believe  in  me?"  asked  Jesus. 
"  An  hour  is  coming,  and,  indeed,  has  come,  when  your  faith  Avill 
have  a  hard  test.  Will  you  stand  firm?  Alas!  how  soon  will  you 
waver;  for,  in  that  hour,  you  will  be  scattered,  each  to  his  own 
home,  and  leave  me  alone!"  "Yet,"  added  He,  after  a  pause,  in 
calm  and  clear  assurance  that,  though  forsaken  of  man.  He  would 
have  the  helping  and  protecting  presence  of  the  Father — "yet  I  am 
not  alone,  for  the  Father  is  with  Me." 

"I  have  spoken  as  I  have,"  He  continued; — "have  given  you  these 
consolations  and  promises,  that  you  might  have  rest  and  peace  in 
Me,  by  communion  with  Me  as  the  loving  and  loved.  In  the  world, 
indeed,  aflhction  is  your  lot,  for  men  will  hate  and  persecute  you,  as 
I  have  said,  for  my  sake;  but,  be  of  goot^heart,  I  have  conquered 
and  broken  the  might  of  the  world  and  its  prince,  and  they  can 
neither  hinder  your  salvation,  nor  check  the  triumph  of  My  King- 
dom." 

The  farewell  discourse  was  ended  with  this  note  of  triumph — "I 
have  conquered  the  world!"  But  now,  before  He  went  forth  into 
the  night,  so  big  with  fate.  He  could  not  break  up  for  ever  the  com- 
nauuiou  He  had  had  with  them  so  long,  thiough  joy  and  sorrow. 


732  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

■without  gathering  them  round  Him  in  a  parting  prayer.  He  was 
about  to  die  for  the  redemption  of  the  world,  and,  as  the  Grciat  High 
Priest  of  humanity,  Avould  malve  intereession,  before  yielding  Him- 
self the  sacrifice.  I  venture,  reverently,  to  amplify  the  expression, 
that  the  import  may  be  more  easily  caught. 

Lifting  up  His  ej'es  to  heaven — the  Apostles  standing,  as  the  man- 
ner of  their  nation  was,  while  He  prayed — He  began,  "Father,  the 
hour  of  my  death  has  now  come.  Glorify  Thy  Son  on  the  completion 
of  the  work  of  salvation,  that  Thy  Son  may  glorify  Thee  as  its  author, 
before  man.  Glorify  Him,  in  accordance  with  Thy  will,  by  which 
Thou  hast  given  Him  power  over  all  men;  for  Thou  hast  appointed 
Him  the  only  Saviour  and  Redeemer,  to  cariy  out  Thy  purpose  of 
salvation,  which  regards  the  world;  that  He  should  give  eternal  life 
to  all  whom  Thou  hast  given  Him.  And  this  is  everlasting  life,  that 
they  should  know  Thee,  the  only  true  God,  and  Him  whom  Thou 
hast  sent — Me,  Jesus,  the  Messiah.  I  have  glorified  Thee  on  earth, 
for  I  have  made  known  Thy  name,  Thy  will,  and  Thy  plan,  of 
salvation  for  man,  and  have  thus  completed  the  work  Thou  hast 
given  Me  to  do.  Therefore,  glorify  Me,  now,  O  Father,  when  I 
rise  from  my  work  on  earth  into  Thy  presence,  in  heaven,  with  the 
glory  which  I  had  with  Thee,  before  the  world  was.  Let  me  enter 
again  into  that  divine  communion  in  Thine  uncreated  glory,  which  I 
had  before  the  creation  of  the  world!" 

He  had,  till  now,  prayed  for  Himself.  He  passed  next  to  inter- 
cession for  His  disciples,  urging  His  faithful  obedience  to  His  divine 
mission,  as  a  ground  for  His  being  heard. 

"  I  have  made  known  Thy  name  unto  the  men  whom  Thou  hast 
given  me  out  of  the  unbelieving  world.  They  were  Thine  own,  for 
they  were  of  Thy  true  Israel,  and  Thou  gavest  them  to  Me,  and  faith- 
fully and  truly  did  they  receive  my  words  as  Thine,  and  they  have 
kept  them.  In  much  they  may  have  failed  to  understand,  but  they 
have  been  true  and  firm  in  their  belief  in  Me,  as  having  been  sent  by 
Thee,  and  as  speaking  Thy  truth.  Now,  also,  they  have  learned  to 
know,  and  do  acknowledge,  that  all  that  Thou  hast  given  me— all 
that  I  have  said  and  done — is,  as  it  tndy  is,  from  Thee ! 

"I  pray  for  them.  I  pray  not,  now,  for  those  who  know  Thee 
not;  the  unbelieving  world,  but  for  Thine  own,  now  in  Thy  presence 
—Thine  own,  whom  Thou  hast  given  Me.  My  whole  life  and  work 
has  been,  and  is,  a  prayer  for  the  world  at  large,  from  which  My 
people  must  be  gathered, .but  I  pray,  now,  for  these,  Thy  servants, 
because  they  are  Thine,  though  Thoii  hast  given  them  to  Me.  And 
all  things  that  are  JMine  are  also  Thine,  and  Thine  are  Mine :  the 
work,  the  aim,  the  means,  the  power,  the  grace,  are,  alike,  ^line  and 
Thine,  for  I  am  in  Thee  and  Thou  in  Me.  Neither  I,  nor  Thou, 
•  Eternal  Father,  work,  nor  have,  for  Himself,  but  each  for  the  other, 
and,  thus,  though  they  are  Thine,  I  am  glorified  in  them.  Great  is 
their  need  of  Thy  help,  for  I,  their  friend  and  helper,  am  about  to 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  735 

leave  them,  but  they  remain  in  the  world  that  hates  them  for  my 
sake.  Without  Thy  heavenly  aid  and  protection,  they  will  not  be 
able  to  do  the  work  Thou  hast  appointed  them.  Therefore,  Holy 
Father,  keep  them  true  to  Thy  name,  which  Thou  gavest  Me  to  make 
known  to  them,  that  by  their  common  faith  and  love  they  may  be 
one,  as  Thou  and  1  arc  one.  While  I  was  in  the  world,  I  watched 
and  protected  those  whom  Thou  thus  committedst  to  My  care,  and 
kept  them  faithful  to  Thy  name; — kept  them  from  tlie  evil  one,  from 
denying  Thee,  from  falliiig  away  from  Thee;  and  none  of  them  has 
perished  but  tlie  son  of  perdition — as  could  not  but  be,  for  the  Scrip- 
ture must  be  fulfilled.  Thou  must  watch  and  keep  them,  now  that 
I  shall  leave  them! 

"  But,  now,  I  come  to  Thee,  and  these  things  I  speak,  being  yet  ia 
the  world,  that  they  may  have,  in  their  own  souls,  the  perfect  joy 
that  is  in  Mine,  feeling  assured  confidence  thi'.t  the  grave  will  not 
have  dominion  over  Me,  and  that  they  will  have  Thee  for  their  helper. 
I  have  given  them  Thy  word,  and  for  their  receiving  it,  the  world 
has  hated  them;  because  they  do  not  belong  to  it,  as  I  do  not.  There- 
fore, O  Father,  keep  them!  I  ask  not  that  Thou  shouldest  take  them 
out  of  the  world  because  it  hates  them ;  for  suffering  and  struggle  are 
needed  to  perfect  their  spiritual  life,  and  to  spread  abroad  my  King- 
dom. But  I  ask  that  Thou  shouldest  protect  them  from  the  evil  one, 
that  they,  too,  become  not  sons  of  perdition.  They,  like  Me,  are  not 
of  tlie  world,  for  it  is  the  kingdom  of  the  evil  one;  therefore,  they 
need  Thy  protecting  care,  and  as  Thine  own  will  surely  have  it. 

"Thoii  hast  brought  them  out  from  amidst  the  unbelieving  and 
hostile  world,  and  hast  given  them  to  Me,  and  they  have  received, 
and  kept.  Thy  Word,  made  known  to  them  by  Me.  Thus  they  live 
in  the  Truth,  for  Thy  Word  is  Truth;  sanctify  them  in  this,  the 
sphere  of  their  new  spiritual  life:  not  only  keep  them  in  it,  but  con- 
secrate and  prepare  them  for  their  great  Avork,  by  giving  them, 
through  the  Spirit  of  holiness  and  truth,  divine  enlightenment,  power, 
boldness,  love,  zeal.  Even  as  Thou  didst  send  Me  into  the  world, 
but  didst  first  consecrate  ]\Ie  by  the  Spirit,  given  without  measure, 
that  I  might  accomplish  the  work  Thou  gavest  Me  to  do,  I  have  also 
sent  them  into  the  world,  and  they,  O  Father,  need  a  similar  conse- 
cration, in  Thine  own  measure,  to  prosper  in  Thy  work. 

"  For  their  sakes  I  consecrate  myself  to  Thee,  in  Mj'  death — as  a 
holy  offering — for  I  am  both  high  priest  and  s;^rifice ;  that  thej', 
also,  may  be  made  holy  in  the  Truth,  by  Thy  Spirit — the  Helper 
whom  Thou  wilt  send,  because  I,  the  Iloly  One,  have  thus  died  for 
them. 

"  But  I  praj^  not  for  these,  Thy  servants  now  before  Thee,  alone, 
but  for  all  them,  also,  who  will'lienceforth  believe  in  Me,  through 
their  word — that  they  all,  teachers,  believers,  and  converts,  may  bo 
one,  in  nmtual  fellowship  and  communion  of  love;  the  copy  of  that 
between  Thee,  Father,  and  Me : — communion  so  deep  and  holy  that 


734  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Thou  art  in  Me,  and  I,  in  Thee.  May  they  be,  thus,  one  in  each 
other,  by  being  one  in  Us,  by  loving  vital  communion  with  Thee  and 
Me,  that  the  unbelieving  world  may  have  a  visible  proof,  and  may 
believe,  that  Thou  didst  send  Me— the  source— the  centre— the  stay 
of  such  heavenly  love. 

"That  all  who  shall,  now,  or  hereafter,  believe  in  Me,  may  be 
thus,  one,  in  holy  love  and  life,  even  as  We  are  One — I  have  given 
them,  as  their  future  inheritance,  at  My  coming,  in  My  eternal  King- 
dom, part  in  that  heavenly  glory  which  Thou  hast  given  Me ;  that 
they  may  share  it  with  Me,  for  ever.  I  have  given  it  them,  that  they 
may  be  one,  even  as  We  are  one,  for  how  strong  must  it  be  as  a  bond 
of  unity  that  they  are  heirs  together  of  the  same  glory  with  Me  in 
heaven.  I  have  given  it  them  that  they  may  thus  be  perfectly  joined 
in  one ;  I  dwelling  in  them  and  Thou  in  Me ;  that  the  world  may 
know  that  Thou  hast  sent  Me,  and  hast  loved  them  with  the  same 
Father's  love,  with  which  Thou  hast  loved  Me ;  and  may  thus  believe 
on  Me — the  Saviour  of  the  Avorld. 

"Father,  I  will  that  they  whom  Thou  hast  given  Me,  from  all  the 
generations  of  men,  be  with  Me  hereafter,  to  enjoy  eternal  life,  and 
everlasting  communion  with  Me,  in  that  heavenly  world  whither  I 
am  now  going.  It  is  the  high  reward  of  their  faithfulness,  their 
supreme  consolation  amidst  all  earthly  trials,  their  glorious  animating 
hope.  I  will  that  their  joy  may  be  full,  in  seeing  and  sharing  My 
heavenly  glory,  as  they  have  seen  and  shared  My  humiliation  on 
earth — that  glory  with  Thyself,  which  Thou  hast  given  Me  because 
Thou  lovcdst  Me  before  the  foundation  of  the  world. 

"  Eightcous  Father,  I  know  that  Thou  wilt  carry  out  this  My  will, 
for,  though  the  world  has  not  known  or  acknowledged  Thee,  as  re- 
vealed ia  My  words  and  deeds— I  have  known  Thee,  as  working  in 
Me,  and  revealing  Thyself  through  Me— known  Thee  by  direct 
immediate  knowledge — and  these.  Thy  servants  before  Thee,  having 
opened  their  hearts,  and  received  My  word,  have  known  and  believed 
that  Thou  hast  sent  Me.  I  have  made  known  unto  them  Thy  Name, 
and  will  make  it  known  through  the  Spirit  whom  I  will  send;  that 
the  love  Avherewith  Thou  hast  loved  Me,  Thou  mayest  also  make 
dwell  in  their  hearts,  and  that  I,  by  the  Spirit,  may  dwell  in  them 
for  ever." 

How  sublimely  this  prayer  was  realized  in  the  history  of  the 
Apostles,  the  "  Aqjs"  and  the  Epistles  abundantly  illustrate.  It  was 
their  common  glory  to  believe  that  nothing  could  separate  them  from 
the  ^ve  of  God  in  Christ;  that  He,  by  His  Spirit,  was  wUh  them, 
and  that  thay  overcame  all'  that  opposed,  through  His  help.  The 
contrast  between  the  dejected,  faint-hearted,  materializing  Galila^an 
fishermen  and  peasants  of  the  Gospels,  and  the  heroic,  spiritual  con- 
fessors of  Pentecost  and  after-times,  is,  itself,  a  miracle,  great  beyond 
all  others.  The  illumination  of  soul,  the  grandeur  of  conception, 
Ihe  loftiness  of  aim,  are  a  transformation  from  a  lower  to  an  indefi- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  "TSS 

nitely  higher  mental  and  moral  condition,  as  complete  as  the  change 
from  early  twilight  to  noon,  and  find  their  only  solution  in  the 
admission  that  they  must  have  received  the  miraculous  spiritual 
enlightenment  from  above  which  Jesus  had  promised  to  send  them. 


CHAPTER   LX. 

THE  AKREST. 

"While  Jesus  was  tenderly  bidding  farewell  to  His  few  follower^ 
in  the  upper  room,  all  was  bustle  and  excitement  among  the  Church 
\uthorities,  now  on  the  track  of  His  blood  by  the  help  of  Judas. 

It  was  the  great  holiday  of  the  year  at  Jerusalem :  the  week  in 
'  ^hich,  beyond  any  other  time,  the  whole  population  gave  themselvea 
up  to  rejoicing.  The  citizens,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  were 
reaping  the  great  gold  harvest  of  the  year  from  the  myriads  of 
pilgrims,  and  they,  on  their  side,  had  the  excitement  of  numbers,  and 
novelty,  and  religious  enthusiasm.  A  mere  mountain  city,  Jerusalem 
lived  by  the  Temple,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  and  it  was  now  the 
loadstone  that  had  drawn  the  whole  Jewish  world  around  it. 

With  the  craft  that  liabitually  marked  him,  the  tetrarch  Antipas  had 
come  up  from  Tiberias,  to  show  how  devoutly  he  honoured  the  Law, 
and  had  taken  his  residence  in  the  old  castle  of  the  Asmoneans, 
which  still  remained  in  the  hands  of  his  family.  It  was  near  the 
Xystus,  and  exactly  opposite  the  Temple,  to  which  he  could  cross  by 
the  upper  bridge,  over  the  Tyropoeon  Valley,  between  Zion  and 
Moriah. 

Pilate,  also,  had  arrived  from  Caesarea,  to  secure,  in  person,  the 
preservation  of  order  in  the  dangerous  days  of  the  feast.  His  quar 
ters  were  in  the  new  palace,  built  by  Herod  the  Great  on  Zion.  It 
was  the  pride  of  Jerusalem.  "  The  kinds  of  stone  used  in  its  con- 
struction," says  Josephus,  "were  countless.  Whatever  was  rare 
abounded  in  it.  The  roofs  astonished  every  one  by  the  length  of 
their  beams,  and  the  beauty  of  their  adornment.  Vessels,  mostly  of 
gold  and  silver,  rich  in  chasing,  shone  on  every  side.  The  great 
dining-hall  had  been  constructed  to  supply  table-couches  for  three 
hundred  guests.  Others  opened  in  all  directions,  each  with  a  different 
style  of  pillar.  The  open  space  before  the  palace  was  laid  out  in 
broad  walks,  planted  with  long  avenues  of  different  trees,  and  bor- 
dered by  broad  deep  canals  and  great  ponds,  flowing  with  cool,  clear 
water,  and  set  off  along  the  banks  with  innumerable  w^orks  of  art." 
It  was  the  vast  citadel-palace  in  which  the  tragedies  of  the  family  of 
Herod  has  been  enacted.  Here  Archelaus  had  reigned,  and  Glaphyra 
had  died,  By  right  of  war,  the  Romans  had  taken  it,  as  the  chief 
building  of  the  city,  for  the  residence  of  the  procurators,  and  had 
mside  it  the  Prietorium,  or  headquarters.    Its  enclosure — Iarg«  eoougl) 


^  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST 

to  permit  almost  an  army  to  be  gathered  in  it,  if  necessary — ran  along 
the  inner  side  of  the  first  city  wall,  and  was  connected  with  the  great 
castles  of  white  stone — ]Mariamne,  Hippicus,  and  Phasaelus,  which 
Herod  had  built;  the  whole  constituting,  in  fact,  a  vast  fortification. 

The  high  priest  at  the  time  of  tlie  Passover,  as  we  have  seen,  was 
Caiaphas.  The  real  head  of  the  priesthood,  however,  was  the  crafty 
Hannas,  or  Ananus,  without  whom  nothing  of  moment  was  done  in 
the  affairs  of  the  tlieocracy.  As  father  of  the  greatest  Sadducean 
family,  he  was  fitly  notorious  for  his  harsh  judgments,  and  was  pres- 
ently to  take  the  chief  part  in  the  death  of  Jesus,  as  his  son  after- 
\vards  did  in  that  of  St.  James.  He  had  been  appointed  high  priest 
by  Quirinius  in  the  year  a.d.  7,  but  had  been  deprived  of  the  dignity 
seven  years  latter  by  Valerius  Gratus.  The  unique  honour  was  re- 
served to  him,  however,  of  seeing  his  five  sons  successively  pontiffs 
■ — one  of  them  twice — a  distinction  which,  in  later  years,  gained  for 
him,  among  his  countrymen,  the  name  of  the  most  fortunate  of  men. 

Intrigue  and  unwearied  plotting  were  the  very  life  of  Hannas  and 
his  house.  The  gliding,  deadly,  snakelike  smoothness  with  which 
they  seized  their  prey  was  a  wonder  even  to  their  own  generation, 
and  had  given  tliem  a  by-name  as  hissing  vipers.  Wlien  Quirinius, 
after  the  census,  sacrificed  the  high  priest  Joazer,  who  had  brought  on 
himself  universal  hatred  by  his  services  to  the  Romans,  Hannas  was 
chosen  as  the  one  of  the  Temple  aristocracy  least  displeasing  either 
to  the  Romans  or  the  Jews.  He  had  managed  to  maintain  his  in- 
fluence under  three  procurators  through  difficult  times.  Under  Vale- 
rius Gratus,  he  had  had  to  give  way  to  Ismael  Ben  Phabi,  but,  after 
a  year,  had  had  him  displaced,  in  favour  of  Eleazar,  one  of  his  own 
sons.  He  himself  declined  to  take  the  place  again,  on  the  same 
ground  on  Avhich  Jonathan,  another  of  his  sons,  afterwards  did  so,  in 
the  days  of  Herod  Agrippa,  when  that  king  wished  him  to  take  it  a 
second  time.  The  family,  though  loose  enough  in  more  serious  mat- 
ters, were  very  strict  as  to  hierarchical  order.  No  one,  they  held, 
should  put  on  again  the  sacred  vestments  after  having  once  laid  them 
off,  and  released  himself  from  the  obligations  under  which  their 
wearer  lay.  Hannas  bowed  to  this  rule,  as  vital  to  the  theocratic  con- 
stitution, by  the  help  of  which  his  house  stood  at  tlie  head  of  Israel. 
He  chose,  therefore,  henceforth  to  guide  the  reins  in  safe  obscurity, 
but  with  a  firm  hand. 

His  sons,  Eleazar,  Jonathan,  Theophilus,  Matthias,  and  Hannas, 
successively  became  high  priests,  biit  when,  at  his  death,  the  leading 
spirit  was  gone,  the  brutality  of  the  Sadducee  came  more  prominently 
into  play,  and  speedily  led  to  the  ruin  of  the  house. 

Among  the  high  priests  who  had  interrupted  the  direct  reign  of  this 
family,  Caiaphas,  son-in-law  of  Hannas,  nded  longest.  At  the  time 
of  the  condemnation  of  Jesus,  he  had  held  the  high  priestliood  for 
seventeen  years,  having  given  Pilate  no  excuse  for  setting  him  aside, 
in  apite  of  the  conflict  respecting  the  eagles,  the  shields,  and  the  eon- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  737 

diiits  of  Jerusalem.  He  even  retained  it  till  after  the  great  day,  in 
the  year  a.d.  36,  when  the  sacred  vestments,  so  long  held  from  them 
were  handed  over  by  Vitellius  permanently  to  the  Jews,  instead  of 
being  given  out  to  them  from  the  strong  room  of  Antonia,  a  week 
before  each  great  feast,  for  seven  days'  pm-ihcations,  washings,  and 
consecrations,  to  free  them  from  heathen  defilement,  before  they 
could  be  worn,  Caiaphas,  however,  had  little  to  do  with  procuring 
this  great  favour,  and  was  almost  immediately  after  deposed;-  Jona- 
than, the  son  of  Hannas,  being  appointed  in  his  stead. 

Thus,  at  the  time  of  the  condemnation  of  Jesus,  the  acting  high 
priest  was  only  a  puppet  in  the  hands  of  a  powerful  family,  at  the 
head  of  which  stood  Hannas,  his  father-in-law,  sorely  envied  by  the 
rest  of  tlie  priestly  aristocracy. 

Jewish  tradition  describes  the  grades  of  the  ancient  hierarchy  as 
consisting  of  the  high  priest ;  his  deputy,  or  Sagan ;  two  suffragans 
of  the  Sagans;  seven  priests,  to  whom  were  entrusted  the  keys  of  the 
Temple;  and  three  treasurers,  whose  office  it  was  to  give  out  the 
sacred  vessels.  Of  those  holding  these  offices  when  Jesus  was  con- 
demned, we  can  still  darkly  make  out  some.  Beside  Caiaphas,  at  his 
right  hand,  sat  Hannas,  the  titular  second,  but  real  head.  Joclianau 
Ben  Zacchai,  called  John  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and  one 
Alexander,  seem  to  have  held  the  next  dignities,  and  after  them  came 
the  live  sons  of  Hannas,  already  an  old  man,  Eleazar,  Jonathan, 
Theophilus,  Matthias,  and  Hannas— the  five  apparently  hinted  at  m 
the  awful  parable  of  Dives  and  his  live  brothers— all  to  be  highpnests 
hereafter,  and  Hannas,  the  younger,  to  stain  his  pontificate  by  the 
murder  of  James,  the  brother  of  Jesus. 

The  names  of  some  other  members  of  what  we  may  call  the  self- 
constituted  high  ecclesiastical  council,  still  survive.  Among  these 
were  Joazer  and  Eleazar,  the  sons  of  that  Simon  Boethus  of  Alex- 
andria, father  of  the  second  Mariamne,  the  belle  of  Jerusalem, 
married  by  Herod.  The  father,  though  well-nigh  a  heretic  in  the 
eyes  of  the  national  party,  had  been  made  high  priest  by  his  royal 
son-in-law,  and  his  sons  had  succeeded  him  in  the  dignity,  but  bore 
an  evil  name  for  their  state  and  violence.  Their  guard  of  spearmen, 
indeed,  became  an  object  of  popular  hatred.  Simon,  surnamed  Kan- 
thera— the  Quarrelsome— the  murderer  of  St.  James,  the  son  of  Zab- 
dai,— and  his  son  Elioneus,  afterwards  high  priest,  had  a  right  to 
attend,  and  did  so  with  a  pomp  which  brought  on  the  family  the  curse 
of  the  people—"  Woe  to  your  fine  feathers,  ye  family  of  Kantheral' 
Ismael  Ben  Phabi,  the  handsomest  man  of  his  day,  was  another 
mitred  high  counsellor,  to  be  famed  hereafter  for  the  clubs  and  blows 
of  his  serving  men,  the  greed  of  his  bailiffs,  his  shameless  nepotism, 
and  the  Oriental  luxury  of  his  dress;  one  outer  tunic  of  which  cost 
a  hundred  minaj- equal,  perhaps,  at  this  day,  to  eighteen  hundred 
pounds.  There  were,  also,  Johanan  Ben  Nebcdai— the  jjersecutor  of 
Bt.  Paul;  infamous  in  later  days  as  a  sensual  glutton,  who  seised 


738  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

even  the  holy  sacrifices  for  his  feasts ;  and  Issachar,  of  Kef ar  Barkai, 
Who,  in  his  pontificate  of  a  later  day,  would  not  sacrifice  except  in 
Bilk  gloves,  for  fear  of  soiling  his  hands,  and  lived  to  have  those 
hands  barbarously  cut  off  by  King  >  Agrippa.  Such  were  the  men 
about  to  seize  Jesus.  No  wonder  that  even  the  Talmud  relates  that 
voices  were  heard  from  the  Holy  of  Holies,  crying — "Depavtfrom 
the  Temple,  ye  sons  of  Eli;  ye  defile  the  house  of  Jehovah!" 

The  elders  of  the  people — a  body  equivalent  to  a  Jewish  Senate — 
•were  in  no  less  agitation  respecting  Jesus;  for  they,  also,  were  identi- 
fied with  the  preservation  of  things  as  they  were.  One  or  two  of 
them — Nicodemus,  and  Joseph  of  Arimathea — were  secretly  in  his 
favour,  but  they  had  not  moral  courage  to  take  his  part  openly.  The 
names  of  the  rest  have  perished. 

The  college  of  Rabbis  took  an  equally  vigorous  part,  but  its  mem- 
bers at  this  time  can  only  be  guessed,  though  some  who  had  met 
the  boy  Jesus,  twenty  years  before,  in  the  Temple  school,  doubtless 
survived. 

It  was  late  in  the  night  of  Thursday  when  Jesus  had  ended  His  last 
discourse  and  farewell  prayer.  Accordiug  to  the  immemorial  custom 
of  the  nation  to  mingle  songs  of  praise  to  God  with  their  feasts,  the 
little  band  had  already  sung  the  first  two  of  the  six  Psalms — the 
one  hundred  and  thirteenth  to  one  hundred  and  eighteenth — which 
formed  the  great  Hallelujah  of  the  Passover  and  all  other  feasts. 
The  stillness  of  the  night  had  been  broken  by  the  sound  at  the  time 
Tvhen  the  second  cup  had  been  poured  out.  Now,  at  the  close,  the 
voices  of  the  eldest  of  them  chanted,  with  slow,  solemn  strains,  the 
remainder  of  the  Hallelujali — the  rest  responding  with  tlie  word, 
Hallelujah,  at  the  close  of  each  verse.  The  anthem  began  fitly — 
*'  Not  unto  us,  not  unto  us,  but  unto  Thy  name  give  glory,  for  Thy 
mercy  and  for  Thy  truth's  sake,"  and  closed  with  the  words  of  the 
hundred  and  eighteenth  Psalm — '.'  Blessed  be  He  that  cometh  in  the 
name  of  Jehovah;"  the  Apostles  responding — "In  the  name  of 
Jehovah,  Hallelujah!"  And,  now,  all  was  over,  and  the  Eleven, 
following  their  Master,  went  out  into  the  night.  They  w^ere  on  their 
way  to  Gethsemane. 

The  spirit  of  Jesus  had,  hitherto,  been  calm  and  serene.  But  the 
final  close:  the  break  Avith  all  tlie  past:  the  shadow,  deeper  than  that 
of  Kedron,  before  Him,  for  the  time  brought  on  a  reaction,  which, 
till  it  passed,  overwhelmed  Him  with  trouble.  No  wonder  the 
Apostles  had  been  cast  down  when  even  He,  who  had  been  exhorting 
them  to  dismiss  sorrow,  was  Himself  moved.  Behind  Him  lay  life, 
before  Him  death:  He  was  about  to  leave  friends;  and  the  fair  earth, 
which,  as  a  man.  He  loved  so  well;  and  His  infant  Church,  the  hope 
of  the  world  He  had  come  to  save.  Before  Him  lay,  not  only  natural 
death,  but  shame,  derision,  misconception.  He  whose  whole  soul 
was  truth,  was  to  be  crucified  as  a  deceiver:  the  one  on  earth  abso- 
lutely loyal  to  God,  He  was  to  die  as  a  blasphemer.     To  be  misrepre' 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  129 

sentcd:  to  feel  the  utter  falseness  of  charges,  and  to  be  crucified  on 
the  ground  of  them !  How  might  it  affect  the  little  band,  to  whom 
the  future  of  His  kingdom  was  entrusted?  He  had  liitherto  restrained 
Himself  from  using  His  supernatural  power  in  His  own  behalf-^ 
would  He  still  do  so?  He  had  but  to  speak,  and  all  would  he  changed; 
for  He  who  could  calm  the  waves  of  the  sea,  could  still  the  tumult  of 
the  people,  and  what  were  Temple  guards  or  Roman  soldiers  against 
legions  of  angels?  Would  He  still  absolutely  subordinate  all  thought 
of  self?  Would  He,  to  the  end,  let  men  do  with  Him  as  they  pleased, 
though  He  had  at  His  command  all  the  powers  of  heaven?  The 
temptation  of  the  desei't  and  of  the  mountain  may,  for  a  moment, 
have  returned,  and  who  can  tell  the  struggle  it  must  have  been  to 
overcome  it? 

Nor  was  even  this  all.  The  mysteries  of  the  divine  counsels  must 
be  for  ever  unknown,  but  they  pressed,  in  all  their  weight,  on  His 
absolutely  sinless  soul.  He  was  to  give  His  life  a  ransom  for  man:  to 
be  made  an  offering  for  sin,  though  He  knew  none :  to  be  repaid  for 
infinite  love  and  goodness  by  ignominy  and  shame.  Perfect  inno- 
cence freely  yielding  itself  to  misconception  and  death,  for  the  un- 
worthy and  vile,  would  be  transcendent  even  in  a  man,  but  in  the 
Son  of  God.  Who  can  tell  what  it  was  to  have  left  the  right  hand  of 
the  Majesty  in  the  .heavens  to  stoop  to  Calvary ! — for  Him  who  could 
raise  the  dead  to  descend  to  the  tomb!  No  wonder  His  human  soul 
was  for  the  moment  eclipsed  and  clouded. 

Thej'  passed,  silent  and  sad,  down  the  steep  .side  of  the  Kedron,  for 
the  town  gate  was  open  that  night  as  it  was  Passover,  and,  crossing 
by  the  bridge,  were  on  the  road  which  leads  over  the  Mount  of  Olives 
to  Bethany.  The  noise  of  the  multitude  had  passed  away,  and  the 
world  lay  asleep  under  the  great  Passover-moon.  The  path  lay 
among  stone-walled  orchards  and  gardens,  which  Titus  was,  here- 
after, to  find  so  many  deadly  battle-grounds,  with  the  walls  for  ram- 
parts. He  had  gone  out  of  the  city,  each  night,  to  Bethany,  but  had 
no  intention  of  doing  so  now,  for  He  knew  that  His  hour  had  come. 
Always  given  to  solitary  prayer,  among  the  hills  so  dear  to  Him  as 
a  Galilsean,  He  had  often  turned  aside  to  commune  with  His  Father 
on  one  part  or  other  of  Olivet,  and,  this  night,  chose  the  stillness 
and  shade  of  a  spot  which  His  presence  made,  henceforth,  sacred 
for  ever.  An  olive  orchard  lay  near — known  by  the  name  of  the  Oil- 
Press — or,  as  we  are  accustomed  to  think  of  it — Gethsemane.  It  was 
Coiled  so  from  a  rock-hewn  trough  in  it,  in  which  the  rich  olives  were 
trodden  with  the  feet,  the  oil  flowing  into  a  lower  vat  at  hand.  The 
new  leaves  were  opening  over  the  branches  as  they  passed,  and  the 
moonlight  fell  through  their  motionless  network,  on  the  tender  spring 
grass.  Stillness,  peace,  solitude,  filled  earth  and  air :  even  the  birds 
slept  safely  on  the  boughs,  under  the  great  sky ;  for  they,  too,  liad  ^ 
Heavenly  Father.  Moriah  rose  in  richly  wooded  terraces  behind, 
crowned  with  the  snow-white  Temple  in  its  magnificence,  and,  be- 


740  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

fore  them,  from  its  border  of  gardens  and  orchards,  the  yellow  slopot 
of  Olivet  swelled  between  them  and  the  loved  cottage  of  Bethany. 

Amidst  this  quiet  and  beauty  of  nature  Jesus  turned  aside,  and 
entered  the  enclosure  of  Gethsemane,  to  strengthen  His  soul  for  the 
coming  crisis.  It  was  a  fitting  place — amidst  olives,  the  emblems  of 
peace ! 

A  square,  stone-walled  spot,  close  by  the  path  to  Bethany,  on  the 
edge  of  the  Kedron  ravine,  under  the  shadow  of  the  Temple  hill,  is 
still  shown  as  the  spot.  Venerable  olive-trees,  tended  with  supersti- 
tious care,  are  claimed  as  the  very  witnesses  of  our  Saviour's  agony, 
but  it  is  fatal  to  the  belief  in  their  age,  that  Titus  afterwards  cut 
down  all  the  trees  around  Jerusalem,  for  military  use,  and  that  th6 
same  fate  has  befallen  the  whole  neighbourhood  even  in  later  sieges. 
But  the  gnttried  trunks,  twenty  to  thirty  feet  high,  the  broad  branches, 
and  the  still  seclusion,  at  least  reproduce  the  outward  features  of  the 
scene. 

When  the  soul  is  overwhelmed  it  seeks  to  be  alone,  and  yet  not  too 
far  from  himian  sympathy  and  help.  To  take  all  the  Eleven  with 
Him,  into  the  depths  of  the  garden,  would  have  invaded  the  sacred- 
ness  of  His  retirement.  Only  three,  the  most  trusted — His  long-tried, 
and  early  followers — Peter,  whose  guest  He  had  been  in  the  bright 
Capernaum  days,  and  James  and  John,  knit  to  Him  by  special 
tenderness,  if  not  even  by  relationship — wei-e  let  follow  Him  beyond 
the  first  few  steps  into  the  enclosure.  The  others  were  to  sit  down 
and  rest,  while  He  went  into  the  deeper  shade,  to  pray. 

Followed  by  the  Three,  He  passed  out  of  hearing  of  the  rest,  and 
presently,  leaving  even  these  three  behind,  with  the  words,  "My 
soul  is  exceeding  sorrowful,  even  unto  death — tarry  ye  here,  and 
watch  with  Me,"  He  went  on,  about  a  stone's  cast — alone.  And, 
now,  the  great  pent-up  sorrow  burst  forth.  It  had  been  gathering, 
no  one  knows  how  long,  but  the  excitement  of  action  had  repressed 
it  as  yet — as  the  wind  keeps  a  heavy  rain  cloud  from  breaking.  But, 
here,  instead  of  the  city  and  its  multitudes  of  men,  there  was  silence 
and  loneliness:  instead  of  the  distractions  of  conflict  with  enemies, 
or  discourses  with  friends,  He  was  face  to  face  with  His  own  thoughts, 
and  with  the  Past  and  the  Future,  and  that  in  the  night,  and  in  such 
awful  isolation.  For  it  seemed  as  if  even  heaven  .were  as  far  from 
Him  as  the  sj'mpathy  of  earth :  as  if  even  its  lights  had  gone  out,  and 
He  was  treading  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  in  a  horror  of 
thick  darkness,  Must  He  bear  all?  Must  the  cup  be  drunk  to  the 
dregs  ?  Was  redemption  possible  only  at  the  awful  price  that  so 
oppressed  His  soul  ?  Could  the  hour  not  pass?  Was  it  not  possible 
for  the  Eternal  Father  to  save  Him  from  it  ? 

The  sacred  writers  labour  to  describe  the  agony  that  overwhelmed 
Him.  They  tell  us  that  He  first  kneeled,  then  fell  on  His  face  on  the 
earth,  and  prayed  with  strong  crying  and  tears,  till  His  sweat  became, 
as  it  were,  great  drops  of  blood,  falling  down  to  the  ground.     He 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  ^il 

was  "exceedini?  sorrowful,"  "sore  amazed,'  "7^1^  Jip/'^J';"  S^ 
Zl  as  it  were,  sank  under  the  vision  that  rose  before  it  "  O  my 
Fa"he?"  He  cried  -if  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  from  me  : 
Lvertbeless  not  my  will,  but  Thine,  be  done. "  But  as  long  as  there 
wasTSuSle  of  the  frai  human  nature,  and  aery  however  reverent 
Tnrllowlv  for  change  if  possible,  in  the  burden  laid  on  Him,  there 
to  llbenoi/eTct^^  m^^  from  the  ground,  in  His  agony  of  spirit, 
^ven  human  svmpathy  and  presence  seemed  as  if  they  would  be  a  re- 
t?  HecineSore  to  the  Three,  butonly  to  find  that,  mHislong 
wrestlin-  luDPlications,  even  they.  His  nearest  ones,  overcome  by 
weSne°s  o^body  and  spirit,  lay  sunk  in  deep  sleep  Rousing 
Peer-iate?y  00  boastful-He  gently  reproved  and  warned  h.m,  and 
iih  him  he  others.  "  What !  could  you  not  watch  with  me  one 
hour  r  Waich  and  pray  as  ye  do  so,  that  ye  may  not  expose  your- 
SvL  to  temSatton  to  be  untrue  to  me,  and  to  be  offended  at  me,  as 
f hive  sad  you  would.  The  spirit  indeed  is  willing  to  stand  by  me 
faAthfulTy,  liu^^^^  nature,  with  its  instinct  of  self-preservation,  is 

wpik    nnd  if  vou  heed  not,  will  make  3'ou  fall! 

Leaving  hem  a^in,  He  once  more  prostrated  Himself  in  prayer, 
butthecfoidswefe  already  breaking    for  His  whole  being  ^-f^J^^ 
turned  to  its  habitual  harm.my  with  the  will  of  God.     Every  desire 
or  wish  of  His  own,  was  passing  like  a  troubled  dream.        O  my 
Father  "cried  He  now,  "if  this  cup  may  not  pass  away  from  me. 
fxcept  I  dr  nk  i"  Thy  will  be  done."    Perfec^  peace  of  soul  can  only 
be  found  in  absolute  submission  to  the  One  Supreme  Wil,  and  that 
He  wis  fast  attaining.     Returning  to  -the  Three-who  know    for 
what^-He  found  them  asleep  again.      They  were  losing  by  their 
hour  s  sloth   the  opportunity  of  cheering  and  helping  their  Master  in 
His  sorest  trial.     Man  had  thus  failed  Him,  but  the  need  of  human 
coXTwas  passing  away.   .  Retiring,  tl^^-e  ore    once  more^nd 
prostrating  Himself  a  third  time,  the  same  calm   childdikesubm^ 
Ln  to  His  Father  again  rose  from  His  lips.     He  had  triumphed, 
He  had  been  heard  in^that.  He  feared.     He^no  longer  craved  a  change 
m-n  if  pospible,  in  the  ordered  course  of  the  divine  purposes:  His 
arnest  crv  had  passed  into  still  submission;  His  intense  desire  into 
iolv   acquiescence.     He  thought  no   longer  of  Himself,  but  of  the 
Sect  love  and  wisdom  of  the  Father.     He  had  ceased  to  have  a 
S?h    enou-h  for  Hin.,  henceforth,  the  all-holy,  all-wise,  aUdoving. 
win  of  the  Father.     Hi^  spirit  had  broken  through  the  cloud   hat  for 
r  moment  darkened  it,  and  reposed  once  more  i"  .th'^5^^1"\ 'ght  °f 
the  face  of  God.     The  tempter  had  lied    and,  in  Ij';^  .P]^^;?'  f -if  ^er 
the  victory  of  the  wilderness,  we  are  told  by  bt.  Luke       there  ap- 
peared an"angel  unto  Him  from  Heaven,  strengthening  Him.  \ 
^Meanwhile:  Judas  had  been  busy.     E.xpo^ed,  and  ;1-,™;  ^7  J;^ 
Master  from  the  company  of  the  Apostles,  1^^^  f  ^  o^^ly  ^'^^^^^''^."'Sie 
set  to  carry  out  his  miserable  purposes.      Hastening  through  the 
muiSxiateT  streets  to  the  authorities,  he  had,  forthwith,  reported 


J43  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

fliat  the  favourable  moment  seemed  to  have  come.  Jesus  had,  OQce 
more,  ventured  into  Jerusalem,  and  though  it  might  not  be  safe  to 
take  Him  in  the  thronged  city,  it  would  be  easy  to  come  upon  Him 
outside  the  walls,  as  He  was  in  the  habit  of  going  each  night  for 
prayer  to  a  spot  at  the  foot  of  the  Mount  of  Olives.  The  traitor 
meant  Gethsemane. 

The  authorities  remained  in  permanent  session  till  the  arrest  was 
effected,  and  at  once  detached  part  of  the  Temple  Watch,  a  body 
acting  as  tlie  police  of  the  Temple  and  only  armed,  in  a  few  cases, 
with  wooden  batons-  or  clubs.  The  officers  of  the  watch,  and  even 
(some  of  the  chief  priests  and  elders,  in  their  excitement,  accompa- 
nied them.  It  had  been  thought  unwise,  however,  to  trust  so  grave  a 
matter  to  an  imdisciplined  and  weak  force,  and  the  high  priest  had, 
therefore,  communicated  with  Pilate,  representing,  doubtless,  that 
he  proposed  the  arrest  of  a  fal.se  Messiah,  dangerous  to  the  Roman 
power,  and  feared  a  rescue.  A  ' '  band  "  had,  therefore,  been  told 
off  from  the  troops  in  Antonia,  and  these,  under  the  chiliarch  in 
command  of  the  garrison,  waited  their  orders.  A  rabble  of  the 
servants  of  the  high  priests  and  chief  men,  with  lanterns  and  torches, 
to  discover  Jesus  should  He  attempt  to  hide  Himself,  led  the  way. 
behind  .Judas,  who  went  foi'cmost  as  guide.  It  was  the  full  moon  of 
April,  but  the  trees  and  recesses  might  aid  an  attempt  at  escape, 

Jesus  had  just  returned  from  His  third  prayer,  and  was  rousing 
His  disciples;  when  He  heard  the  noise  of  the  soldiers  and  the  crowd, 
and  saw  their  lights  approaching.  Tlie  disappointment,  even  in  His 
most  trusted  friends,  asleep  when  they  should  have  watched,  and 
leaving  it  to  Himself  to  discover  Judas  and  his  band,  wounded  His 
heart.  With  keen  but  gentle  irony,  thorefore,  He  told  them  that 
they  might  sleep  on  now  and  take  their  rest,  if  they  chose;  their 
watching  was  no  longer  needed.  His  hour  had  come.  Then,  speak- 
ing in  a  serious  strain.  He  bade  them  "rise  and  go  out  with  Him,  for 
the  traitor  was  at  hand." 

Judas  and  his  employers  had  utterly  misjudged  the  character  of 
Jesus.  Knowing  all  that  was  before  Him,  and,  now,  calmly  victo- 
rious over  momentary  human  weakness,  He  did  not  wait  for  His 
enemies,  but,  taking  His  disciples  with  Him,  went  out  of  the  garden 
enclosure  to  meet  them.  "Whom  seek  ye?"  said  He,  as  they  ap- 
proached. "Jesus  the  Nazarene,"  answered  the  foremost.  To 
their  confusion,  the  calm,  self-possessed^  speaker  presently  told  them 
that  He  was  Jesus.  Not  a  few  in  the  Jewish  crowd  now  gathered 
before  Him,  had  heard  Him  spoken  of  as  a  prophet,  and  had,  per- 
haps, even  accepted  Him  as  such.  They  had  all  heard  of  His  super- 
natural power,  from  whatever  source,  and  He  might  now  use  it 
against  them,  though  hitherto  He  had  never  availed  Himself  of  it  for 
personal  ends.  His  kingly  composure  and  dignity,  moreover,  awed 
them,  for  grandeur  of  soul  and  bearing  enforce  acknowledgment. 
Withul,   it  may  be,   He  revealed  a  momentary  glimpse  of  His  trana- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  743 

Sguration  splendour,  to  show  that  He  freely  surrendered  Himself, 
because  His  hour  had  come.  From  whatever  cause,  the  crowd  fell 
baclc  in  confusion,  overturnins^  each  other  in  their  alarm.  "Whom 
seek  ye?"  asked  Jcstis  once  more.  "  Jesus  the  Nazarene,"  muttered 
the  boldest.  "  I  told  you,"  replied  He,  "  that  I  am  He:  if  you  seek 
me,  let  these  men,  my  disciples,  go  their  way."  He  had  said,  that 
of  those  whom  the  Father  had  given  Him  He  had  lost  none,  and 
even  in  an  earthly  sense,  He  would  now  protect  them. 

Fear,  as  yet,  paralyzed  the  crowd.  Jesus  had  calmly  owned  Him- 
self, but  no  one  dared  to  lay  hold  of  Him.  Judas,  still  imder  the 
weird  spell  of  evil,  might  well  dread  that  all  would  miscarry.  He 
had  given  a  signal  by  which  to  know  his  late  Master,  reckoning  on 
having  to  point  Him  out,  and  would  now  embolden  those  with  him, 
by  himself  taking  the  first  step  in  further  action.  He  had  arranged 
that  he  should  mark  Jesus  to  them,  by  going  up  to  Him  and  giving 
Him  the  customary  kiss  of  a  disciple  to  his  teacher.  Stepping  out, 
therefore,  from  tlie  crowd,  into  the  circle  of  the  disciples,  as  one  of 
their  ifVimber,  he  approaciied  with  a  hypocritical  "Hail,  Rabbi,"  and 
kissed  Him  tenderly.  He  knew,  by  long  experience,  that  he  might 
do  so  safely.  To  the  calm  and  keen  question  of  Jesus — "  Good  friend, 
for  what  have  you  comeV" — he  returned  no  answer:  for  wliat  answer 
could  he  give?  But  he  had  gained  liis  end,  for  those  behind,  encour- 
aged by  his  remaining  uninjured  after  such  treachery,  laid  hold  of 
Jesus  and  bound  Him,  without  the  least  resistance  on  His  part. 

Now  followed  the  only  act  of  violence;  for  Peter,  impetuous  as  he 
was  brave,  could  not  see  his  Master  thus  led  away,  a  prisoner,  without 
a  word  or  act  on  the  part  of  His  friends.  "Lord,  shall  we  smite 
them  with  the  sword?"  cried  he;  and  without  waiting  an  answer, 
or  thinking  of  the  hopelessness  of  a  rescue,  or  of  the  odds  against 
himself  alone,  he  drew  the  sword  he  had  hung  by  his  side,  and  made 
a  tierce  cut  at  one  of  the  servants  of  the  high  priest,  fortunately  only 
grazing  the  skull,  Init  yet  cutting  off  an  ear.  It  was  a  splendidly 
heroic  act,  but  sadly  out  of  place  under  such  a  Teacher.  Turning  to 
the  wounded  man,  and  at  the  same  moment  i-ebuking  Peter,  Jesus 
deprecated  the  fury  of  the  crowd  at  the  brave  attack,  by  soft  words 
and  an  effacement  of  the  injury  done.  "Suffer  thus  far,"  said  He, 
and  then  touched  the  ear,  and  healed  it.  Forthwith,  turning  to  Peter, 
He  told  him  to  sheathe  the  sword.  "He  who  uses  violence,"  added 
He,  "will  suffer  violence.  If  you  use  the  sword,  you  expose  all  your 
lives  to  danger.  Shall  I  not  drink  the  cup  which  my  Father  hath 
given  me?  Shall  I  hesitate  to  please  Him?  If  I  wished  to  escape 
suffering,  Peter,  dost  thou  not  know  that  I  could  ask  my  Father,  and 
He  would  send  me,  instead  of  your  help,  twelve  legions  of  angels — a 
legion  for  cacli  of  you — to  protect  me?  But,  then,  that  would  not 
liappcn  which  the  Scriptures  have  foretold  I  must  undergo." 

The  disciples,  after  the  first  impulsive  thought,  had  abandoned  all 
idea  of  resistance;  and  as  any  attempt  to  rescue  Jesus  was  clearly 


V44  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

hopeless,  since  He  did  not  put  forth  His  supernatural  power  on  His 
own  behalf,  and  would  not  let  them  do  anything;  and  as  the.y  them- 
selves seemed  in  danger,  through  the  impetuosity  of  Peter;  all  took  to 
flight  as  soon  as  they  saw  their  Master  fairly  in  the  hands  of  His  enemies. 

The  intense  excitement  of  the  hierarchy  had  broken  through  all 
restraints  of  official  dignity.  The  proposal  for  tlie  arrest  had"  been 
too  important  a  matter  to  be  trusted  to  any  underlings,  and  hence, 
some  of  the  head  priests,  and  of  the  "elders,"  had  joined  the  leaders 
of  the  Temple  police  in  the  wild  march  to  Gethsemane.  Surrounded 
on  all  sides,  and  firmly  bound,  as  if  His  captors  still  feared  that  He 
would  escape  or  be  rescued,  Jesus  now  turned  to  these  dignitaries,  so 
sadly  out  of  their  place  in  such  a  scene,  and  calmly,  but  keenly, 
brought  home  to  them  their  shame.  ' '  You  come  out  against  me, "  said 
He,  "as  you  might  against  a  robber,  or  the  head  of  a  rising,  with 
swords  and  clubs.  I  sat,  day  by  day,  in  the  Temple,  teaching,"in  the 
thick  of  the  people.  You  had  every  opportunity  for  laying  hold  on 
me  then,  but  you  did  nothing.  The  darkness  of  niglit  is  fitted  for 
your  designs:  it  is  your  liour:  the  powers  of  evil  work  by  choice  in 
the  dark.  But,  in  all  this,  there  is  ho  chance:  it  happens  only  in 
accordance  with  the  predictions  of  the  prophets."  He  said  no  more, 
and  let  them  lead  Him  away.  The  disciples  were  scattered,  but  one 
form  hovered  after  them,  white  in  the  moonlight.  It  was  that  of  a 
young  man,  who  had,  apparently,  been  roused  from  sleep  bj^  the 
tumult,  and  having  thrown  his  white  linen  sleeping  cloth  round  him 
in  his  haste,  was  following  Jesus  to^^■ards  the  city.  Who  he  was  must 
remain  for  ever  unknown.  Was  it  Mark  himself,  who  alone  relates 
it?  or  one  from  the  house  likely  attached  to  Gethsemane?  Some  have 
suppo.sed  him  to  have  been  Lazarus;  others  have  had  different  con- 
jectures; he  was,  at  least,  some  faithful  heart,  eager  to  see  what  they 
would  do  with  his  Lord.  The  soldiers  had  let  the  Apostles  flee,  hav- 
ing no  orders  to  arrest  them;  but  this  strange  apparition  attracted 
their  attention,  and  they  sought  to  laj'  hold  on  him.  Casting  off  the 
cloth  around  him,  however,  he  escaped  out  of  their  hands. 

Yet  there  were  friendly  eyes  following  the  sad  scene,  in  the  safe 
darkness  of  the  night.  Peter  and  another  of  the  Apostle*,  who  could 
only  be  John,  had  fled  no  further  than  safety  demanded,  and  followed 
the  crowd,  at  a  distance,  unable  to  leave  one  they  held  so  dear. 

The  great  object  with  the  authorities  was  to  hurry  forward  the  pro- 
ceedings against  their  prisoner  so  quickly,  that  they  might  hand  Him 
over  to  the  Romans  as  one  already  condemned,  before  the  people 
could  be  roused  on  His  side.     They  had  gained  their  point,  so  far. 

On  reaching  Jerusalem,  Jesus  was  first  led  to  the  mansion  of  Hannas, 
the  head  of  the  reigning  priestly  family,  either  in  deference  to  his 
recognized  influence,  or  because,  as  the  oldest  high  pi'iest,  he  was 
still  recognized  as  the  rightful,  if  not  legal,  dignitary.  He  could  see 
Jesus,  and  hear  His  defence,  and  advise  his  son-in-law  how  to  act.  His 
**  snakelike"  craft  might  help  the  less  acute  Caiaphas. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  745 

What  passed  before  Hannas,  or  what  hints  he  sent  Caiaphas,  are  not 
known.  It  may  be  that  he  simply  passed  on  the  prisoner  to  tlie  legal 
high  priest  at  once,  hurrying  to  follow  Him,  and  secure  His  condemna- 
tion. 

Tlie  houses  of  the  great,  in  the  East,  are,  rather,  a  group  of  build- 
ings, or  chambers,  of  unequal  height,  near  or  above  each  other,  with 
passiiges  between,  and  intervening  open  spaces;  the  dilt'erent  struc- 
tures having  independent  entrances,  and  separate  roofs.  Such  a  house, 
or  rather  cluster  of  liouses,  has  usually  tlie  form  of  a  large  hollow 
square,  the  four  shljj  of  which  surround  a  roomy  court;  paved,  in 
some  cases;  in  oth  -is,  planted  witii  trees,  and  ornamented  with  a  lawn 
of  soft  green.  Sometimes,  an  underground  cistern,  a  spring,  or  a  bath, 
oilers  the  luxury  of  abundtuit  water,  and  makes  the  court  an  agree- 
able spot  for  relaxation  or  refreshment.  Porticos  and  galleries  sur- 
round it,  and  furnish  chambers  for  guests  and  entertainments.  In 
somj  houses  there  is  also  a  forecourt,  enclo*^ed  from  the  street  by  walls, 
and,  in  all,  the  inner  court  is  reached  bv  an  arcliway  tlirough  the  front 
building — "  Uij  porch,"  in  the  narrative  of  the  Gospels. 

The  luerarcliical  party  were  in  permanent  session  in  the  mansion  or 
"  palace"  of  Caiaphas.  A  commission,  consisting  mainly  of  tlie  chief 
priests,  with  Caia;)has  at  their  head,  liad  been  appointed,  to  await  the 
result  of  the  treaellery  of  Judas;  for  the  whole  party,  in  its  alarm, 
had  extemporized  joint  action,  though  their  taking  any  judicial  steps 
at  all  was  irregular,  for  tli'.'y  formed  no  legal  court  or  recognized  tri- 
bunal. Tiiey  were  .simply  acting  as  a  self-constituted  bod)';  partisans 
of  establislied  ecclesiastical  order,  and  defenders  of  their  own  vested 
rights;  gathered,  at  the  summons  of  the  high  priest,  in  the  blind 
excitement  of  f;inaticism  and  passion,  Avithout  rules  of  judicial  pro- 
ceeding, or  legal  standing  as  a  court.  The  chief  Kabbis  of  the  school 
of  Hillel  generally  kept  aio;)f  from  such  tumultuous  and  violent  pro- 
ceedings, which  were  already  too  common,  and  left  them  to  those  of 
the  tierce  seh  )!)1  of  Schammai,  and  to  the  merciless  Sadducee.s.  The 
name  Sanhedrim  is  given  in  the  Gospels  to  such  extemporizx'd  assem- 
blies, simply  as  such;  for  the  word  means  "an  assembly."  But  it  is 
not  used  in  them  as  the  title  of  a  legal  tribunal.  It  was  before  a  mob 
of  dignitaries,  not  a  "court,"  that  Jesus  was  brought. 

The  commission  were  awaiting  the  arrival  of  their  prey  in  the 
hous(!  of  Caiaphas,  who,  as  high  priest,  was  the  only  representative 
of  Judaism  recognized  by  the  Romans,  and,  therefore,  the  only  one 
who  could  hold  olhcial  relations  with  Pilate,  to  ask  him  to  carry  out 
their  predetermined  resolution  to  put  Jesus  to  death. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

THE    JEWISH     TRIAL. 

Passing  through  the  closed  porch,  or  archway,  into  Ihe  inner 
court,  His  captors  led  Jesus  to  one  of  the  chambers  opening  from  it, 
where  His  judges  sat,  ready  to  go  through  the  mockery  of  a  trial. 
The  Roman  soldiers  had  been  halted  outside,  for  their  presence 
would  have  been  a  defilement,  but  the  Jewish  serving  men  went  in 
with  the  prisoner,  though  only  the  few  required  accompanied  Him 
to  the  inner  cliamber.  The  tribunal  about  to  condemn  Him,  it  must 
not  be  forgotten,  was  not  a  legal  "court,"  bvit  simply  a  self-consti- 
tuted "Committee  of  Public  Safety"  extemporized  by  the  excited 
Temple  authorities  and  Rabbis,  like  the  Vigilance  Committees  of 
America;  with  a  Jewish  Fouquier  Tinville  for  President,  in  the  per- 
son of  the  Sadducee  Caiaphas.  Knowing  the  illegality  of  their 
proceedings,  they  could  only  venture  to  propose  the  framing  an  indict- 
ment to  lay  before  Pilate,  and  trust  to  their  violence  for  extorting  a 
condemnation  from  him. 

The  hierarchy  were  masters  of  form,  and  knew  how  to  honour  the 
appearance  of  justice  while  mocking  the  reality.  In  imitation  of  the 
traditional  usages  of  the  Sanhedrim,  while  it  existed,  the  judges  be- 
fore whom  Jesus  was  led  sat,  turbaned,  on  cushions  or  pillows,  in 
Oriental  fashion,  with  crossed  legs,  and  unshod  feet,  in  a  half  circle; 
Caiaphas,  as  high  priest,  in  the  centre,  and  the  chief  or  oldest,  accord- 
ing to  precedence,  on  each  side.  The  prisoner  was  placed,  standing, 
before  Caiaphas;  at  each  end  of  the  semicircle  sat  a  scribe,  to  write 
out  the  sentence  of  acquittal  or  condemnation;  some  baiiiff.s,  with 
cords  and  thongs,  guarded  the  Accused,  while  a  few  others  stood 
behind,  to  call  witnesses,  and,  at  the  close,  to  carrj-  out  the  decision 
of  the  judges. 

Like  most  other  matters  in  the  Judaism  of  the  time,  nothing  could 
be  fairer,  or  more  attractive,  on  paper,  but  on  paper  alone,  than  the 
rales  for  the  trial  of  prisoners.  The  accused  was,  in  all  cases,  to  be 
held  innocent,  till  proved  guiltj'.  It  was  an  axiom,  that  "the  San- 
hedrim was  to  save,  not  to  destroy  life. "  No  one  .could  be  tried  and 
condemned  in  his  absence,  and  when  a  person  accused  was  brought 
before  the  court,  it  was  the  dutj'  of  the  president,  at  the  outset,  to 
admonish  the  w'itnesses  to  remember  the  value  of  human  life,  and  to 
take  care  tliat  they  forgot  nothing  that  would  tell  in  the  prisoner's 
favour.  Nor  was  lie  left  undefended;  a  Baal-Rib  or  counsel  was 
appointed,  to  see  tliat  all  possible  was  done,  for  his  acquittal*, 
Whateva"  evidence  tended  to  aid  him  was  to  be  freely  admitted,  and 
no  memljcr  of  the  court  who  had  once  spoken  in  favour  of  acquittal 
could  afterwards  vote  for  condemnation.     The  votes  of  the  youngest 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  747 

• 

of  the  judges  were  taken  first,  that  they  might  not  be  influenced  by 
their  seniors.  In  capital  charges,  it  required  a  majority  of  at  least 
two  to  condemn,  and  while  the  verdict  of  acquittal  could  be  given 
at  once,  that  of  guilty  could  only  be  pronounced  the  day  after. 
Hence,  capital  trials  could  not  begin  on  the  day  preceding  a  Sabbath, 
or  public  feast.  Xo  criminal  trial  could  be  carried  through  in  the 
night ;  the  judges  who  condemned  any  one  to  death  had  to  fa^^t  all  the 
day  before,  and  no  one  could  be  executed  on  the  same  day  on  which 
the  sentence  was  pronounced. 

Rules  so  precise  and  so  humane  condemn  the  whole  trial  of  Jesus, 
before  Caiaphas,  as  an  outrage.  It  was,  in  fact,  an  anticipation  of 
the  prostitution  of  justice  which  Josephus  records  as  common  in  the 
later  days  of  Jerusalem.  "Fictitious  tribunals  and  judicatures,"  he 
tells  us,  "were  set  up,  and  men  called  together  to  act  as  judges 
though  they  had  no  real  authority,  when  it  was  desired  to  secure  the 
death  of  an  opponent."  As  ia  those  later  instances,  so  now,  in  the 
case  of  Jesus,  they  kept  up  the  form  and  mockery  of  a  tribunal  to 
the  close.  No  accu.ser  appeared,  and  the  judge  himself  took  the 
oflBcc,  in  utter  violation  of  all  propriety.  Witnesses  against  the 
prisoner  alone  appeared,  and  were,  indeed,  eagerly  brought  forward 
by  the  judge:  but  not  a  single  witness  in  His  defence  was  called, 
though  thtt  law  gave  such  witnesses  the  preference.  No  Baal-Kib — 
or  counsel — was  assigned  Him.  nor  were  any  facilities  provided,  or 
even  the  possibility  offered,  for  His  calling  witnesses  in  His  favour. 
The  "court,"  from  the  tirst.  sought  to  condemn;  not  as  the  law  re- 
quired, to  acquit.  There  was  no  attempt,  as  w.is  usual,  to  ascertain 
the  trustworthiness  of  the  hostile  evidence,  nor  any  warning,  before- 
hand, to  those  who  gave  it,  of  the  moral  and  legal  offence  of  un- 
truthfulness. So  keenly,  indeed,  has  the  judicial  murder  of  Jesus 
been  felt  by  the  Jewish  nation,  in  later  times,  that  the  doctrine  was 
afterwards  invented  iu  the  Talmud,  that  any  one  who  gave  Himself 
out  as  a  false  ]\Iessiah,  or  who  led  the  people  astray  from  the  doc- 
trines of  their  fathers,  could  be  tried  and  condemned  the  same  day, 
or  in  the  night.  Yet  in  contradiction  to  this  the  monstrous  fable 
was,  also,  coined,  that  a  crier  called  aloud,  for  forty  days,  before 
Christ's  condemnation,  for  witnesses  iu  His  favour'  to  come  for- 
ward. 

If  we  try  to  discover  by  what  law  it  was  possible  to  condemn  Jesus 
legally,  it  will  be  founci,  that,  provided  He  could  not  be  proved 
guilty  of  some  civil  crime,  there  were  no  written  laws  whatever  to 
which  Caiaphas  and  His  assessors  could  appeal  against  Him.  The 
Old  Testament  had  not  anticipated  the  case  of  any  one  calling  Him- 
self the  Mes.siah,  whether  in  a  national  or  spiritual  sen.se,  and  the 
charges  so  often  made  against  .lesus,  of  having  broken  the  laws  of 
\he  Sabbath,  even  if  He  could  not  have  defended  Himself  against 
them,  were  not  punishable,  by  the  laws  of  the  day,  with  death.  The 
grounds  on  which  the  theocracy  could  press  for  a  capital  conviction 


748  THE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST. 

• 

lay  wholly  outside  the  law  of  Moses,  and  even  of  those  expansions 
and  modifications  of  it  which  formed  the  current  law.  A  pretext 
had  to  be  invented  for  the  course  taken.  His  real  oifcnce  was  that 
the  Church  authorities  felt  He  was  diffusing  a  spiritual  influence, 
which,  if  left  to  develop  and  spread,  would  inevitably  imdermine  the 
corrupt  theocracy,  and  with  it,  their  own  power  and  worldly  in- 
terests. To  gain  a  brief  respite,  they  were  bent  on  putting  Him  to 
death,  though  His  lofty  purity  of  life  and  morals  far  transcended  the 
highest  ideals  hitherto  known,  and  His  divine  goodness  was  altogether 
unique.  They  did  not  see  that,  to  kill  Him,  was  only  to  hasten  the 
ruin  of  the  cause  they  sought  to  uphold. 

But  His  spiritual  glory  remained  liidden  to  their  wilful  blindness, 
and  the  shadow  into  whicli  it  threw  their  own  shortcomings  roused 
onlj'  fanatical  rage.  There  remained  notliing,  therefore,  since  they 
could  bring  no  capital  charge  recognized  in  the  Law,  against  Him, 
except  to  feign  liorror  as  Jews,  at  the  presumption  of  one  so  much 
below  them  in  worldly  station,  raising  Himself  above  the  divinely 
revealed  laws  of  Moses,  and  even  claiming  equality  with  God  :  and 
as  hj'pocritical  friends  of  the  Eoman,  whom  they  in  reality  hated  in- 
tensely, to  pretend  indignation  and  fear  at  tlie  popular  disturbance 
and  disloyalty  to  the  Emperor,  whicli  they  aiTccted  to  believe  would 
result  from  His  claim  as  Messiah  King.  Only  on  this  last  ground 
could  they  secure  the  indispensable  assistance  of  Eoman  power,  to 
put  Him  to  death. 

Caiaphas  now,  at  last,  had  his  enemy  face  to  face.  He  would  let 
Him  feel  what  it  was  to  denounce  the  priesthood  as  He  had  done, 
and  to  hold  them  up  to  the  obloquy  of  the  nation,  as  careless  of  the 
charge  entrusted  to  them,  by  His  taking  it  on  Himself  to  interfere 
with  their  Temple  jurisdiction,  in  His  puritanical  "cleansing"  of 
the  sacred  enclosures.  He  had  brought  no  end  of  odium  on  them, 
by  the  contrast  between  His  zeal  in  this  matter,  and  their  alleged 
neglect,  in  allowing  so-called  abuses.  The  fanatical  reformer  who 
would  turn  the  world  upside  down,  was  now  standing,  bound,  before 
him,  and  he  had  Him'  at  his  mercy.  The  rest  of  the  self-constituted 
judges  had  their  own  injuries  to  avenge,  for  had  not  they,  the  Scribes 
and  Pliarisees, — teachers  of  the  nation, — been  held  up  to  contempt, 
as  unsparingly  as  the  knot  of  high-caste  Sadducees?  Caiaphas  had 
long  made  up  his  mind  what  to  do.  The  form  of  a  trial  might  be 
necessary,  but  the  result  was  determined  beforehand.  He  had 
already  counselled  both  Sadducees  and  Pharisees,  to  lay  aside  mutual 
dispute's,  and  unite  against  Jesus,  as  one  who  endangered  their  com- 
mon interests,  and  to  sacrifice  Him  without  hesitation.  Policy,  he 
had  urged,  demanded  that  He  be  at  once  put  to  death,  to  prevent 
His  overthrowing  t'l"  -"I'^ole  ecclesiastical  constitution,  with  which 
tlieir  welfare  andP^  ^^^ty  were  identified.  The  sentence  Avas  thus 
proclaimed  before Vaiaphas  took  liis  seat  that  night;  the  judge  had 
already  openly  said  that  he  intended  to  condemn.     The  whole  pro- 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  740 

ceedings  "were,  in  fact,  simply  a  smooth  hypocrisy,  to  secure  the 
necessary  aid  of  the  Roman  executioner. 

Deadly  enemies  at  other  times,  the  "court  "  were  now  on  the  most 
amiable  terms  with  each  other,  in  their  anxiety  to  hunt  down  the 
common  foe.  The  proccedinsis  began  by  Caiaphas,  as  he  glanced 
fiercelj"  at  his  prisoner,  asking  Him  various  questions  respecting  His 
disciples  and  His  teaching:  Why  he  gathered  so  many  followers? 
What  He  had  meant  by  sending  them  through  Galilee  and  Judea, 
announcing  the  coming  of  the  Kingdom  of  God  ?  Why,  a  few  days 
before,  at  His  entrance  to  the  city,  He  had  allowed  the  crowds  to  hail 
Him  as  tlie  Messiah  ?  What  He  meant  by  the  kingdom  of  the  iVIes- 
siah,  and  why  He  did  not  formally  and  publicly  proclaim  Himself  as 
such  ? 

Jesus  carefully  avoided  any  allusion  to  His  disciples  in  His  answer, 
for  to  have  referred  to  them  might  liave  brought  them  into  danger. 
As  to  Himself,  the  questions  needed  no  inquiry;  the  matter  spoke  for 
itself.  "I  have  taught  frankly  and  without  reserve,"  said  He;  "I 
have  no  secret  doctrines;  I  have  spoken  everything  I  had  to  teach, 
publicly,  in  the  synagogues  and  schools  of  the  land,  before  friends 
and  enemies;  and  here  in  Jerusalem,  in  the  Temple,  where  I  had  for 
hearers  the  people  assembled  from  all  parts.  I  have  taught  nothing 
secretly, — nothing  except  in  these  public  places.  Why  do  you  ask  me? 
ask  some  of  the  multitudes  who  have  heard  me.  They  know  what  I 
liave  said  to  them,  and  what  they  say  will  seem  to  you  more  impar- 
tial than  any  words  of  mine.  The  Law  requires  that  witnesses  should, 
fir.st  be  examined  in  any  trial." 

But  an  honest  and  formal  inquiry  of  this  kind,  though  necessary 
by  the  Law,  was  no  part  of  the  plan  of  Caiaphas  and  his  assessors. 
They  sought  only  to  get  Jesus  handed  over  to  the  Romans,  as  sooa 
as  possible;  that  He  might  be  beyond  the  hope  of  rescue,  when  the 
people,  among  whom  He  had  so  many  supporters,  awoke  in  the 
morning.  That  He  should  dare  to  direct  the  high  priest  as  to  his 
duty,  and  should  presume  to  throw  on  the  court  the  rightful  task  of 
proving  His  guilt,  Avas  a  fresh  offence,  and  provoked  fierce  looks  and 
angry  words  from  the  bench.  The  defence  was  at  once  rudely  inter- 
rupted, for  one  of  the  turnkeys  standing  by,  whether  of  his  own 
accord,  because  he  saw  the  feeling  of  the  judges,  or  at  a  hint  from 
Hannas  or  Caiaphas,  in  utter  violation  of  judicial  rules,  or  common 
decency,  forthwith  struck  the  prisoner  on  the  mouth,  with  his  hand, 
to  silence  Him.  "  Auswerest  thou  the  high  priest  thus  boldly?" 
said  he.  Nothing  could  have  pleased  the  bench  better,  and  they  did 
not  attempt  to  rebuke  the  olTender.  It  failed,  however,  to  disturb 
tJie  calm  self-possession  and  dignity  of  Jesus.  "  If  I  have  spoken 
what  is  false,"  He  replied,  "  prove  that  I  have  done  so,  but  if  what 
I  say  be  right,  why  do  you  strike  me  violently  thus  ?  No  one  has  a 
right  to  take  the  law  in  his  own  hands,,  much  less  a  servant  of  the 
eouxt. "  - . 


ItQQ  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  apponl  to  the  known  and  established  forms  of  trial  had  not 
been  lost.  Hostile  witnesses  had  already  been  sought  to  bring  home 
to  Jesuf .  if  possible,  some  charge  of  false  doctrine,  or  seditious  lan- 
guage, but  none  had  been  found.  The  only  evidence  to  be  had 
would  not  suffice,  even  in  such  an  assembly,  to  establish  a  capital 
cl^arge  of  which  the  Romans  would  take  cogniz&nce.  There  were 
many,  doubtless,  who  had  heard  Him  use  language  which  had  given 
the  Rabbis  offence, — such  as,  "  Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee;" — words 
regarded  as  blasphemy,  and,  as  such,  punishable  with  death,  by 
Jewish  law;  but  they  wanted  to  condemn  Him  on  a  charge  punish- 
able by  Roman  law.  They  had  tried  by  spies,  for  months  back,  to 
draw  from  Him  something  they  could  twist  into  an  attack  on  the 
national  religion,  or  the  Roman  government,  but  had  failed.  It  was 
hard  to  get  a  tolerable  pretext  for  condemning  Him. 

Such  evidence  as  they  had  was  now  however  brought  forward,  in 
the  hope  that  it  would  at  least  prove  Him  to  be  "  a  deceiver  of  the 
people,"  stirring  them  up,  and  exciting  them  against  the  laws  of 
Moses,  as  defined  by  the  Rabbis.  But  it  was  a  fundamental  rule  of 
Jewish  jurisprudence,  that  condemnation  could  only  follow  the  concur- 
rent testimony  of,  at  least,  two  Avitnesses.  Some,  however,  who 
came  forward,  had  nothing  relevant  to  say,  and  others  contradicted 
themselves.  His  last  discourses  were,  doubtless,  the  special  crime  in 
the  eyes  of  His  accusers.  Little  could  be  said  about  His  ovation  ou 
entering  Jerusalem,  except  that  He  had  not  refused  it,  nor  was  even 
the  expulsion  of  the  buyers  and  sellers  from  the  Temple  brought  up, 
for  the  spirit  that  dictated  it  was  evidently  noble,  however  the  act 
itself  might  be  challenged.  The  strong  invectives  against  the  collec- 
tive hierarchy  offered  a  safer  ground  for  accusation.  Unfortunately 
for  the  judges,  suitable  witnesses  were  not  to  be  found.  At  the  best 
those  who  came  forward  garbled,  or  misunderstood  the  words  of 
Jesus;  as  the  hierarchy  themselves  afterwards,  before  Pilate,  twisted 
those  respecting  the  tribute  money  iuto  a  directly  opposite  senfse. 
But  even  thus,  the  testimony  amounted  to  nothing.  Time  was  pass- 
ing dangerou.sly  fast,  Avithout  anything  done. 

At  last,  one  witness  appeared,  who  alleged  that  he  had  heard  Jesus 
Bay,  "Pull  down  this  Temple,  it  is  only  the  work  of  man,  and  I 
will,  in  three  days,  build  another,  not  made  with  hands."  Others 
agreed  that  He  had  said  words  which  seemed  intended  to  bring  the 
Temple  into  contempt;  an  offence  so  grave  that  it  was  afterwards 
made  a  capital  charge  against  the  first  martyr,  Stephen,  that  he  had 
"spoken  blasphemous  words  against  this  holy  place;"  but  their 
statements  did  not  tally,  and  their  witness  was  tliei'efore  worthless. 

Meanwhile,  Jesus  had  stood  silent.  Even  to  charges  so  hateful  to 
Jewish  ears  as  contempt  of  the  Temple,  He  had  made  no  answer. 
He  knew  it  would  be  idle  to  speak  before  such  a  tribunal,  and  kept  a 
dignified  silence.  To  the  judges,  on  the  other  hand,  they  seemed  of 
the  greatest  weight.     Caiaphas — a  true  inquisitor — could  no  longer 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  751 

presefv'e  official  calmness.  Springing  from  his  couch,  and  standing 
up  in  front  of  it,  he  demanded  if  Jesus  had  nothing  to  say  in  His 
own  defence,  against  all  this.  What  did  His  silence  mean  ?  Yfas  it 
a  confession  of  guilt  ?  But  He  still  remained  silent.  The  matter 
spoke  for  itself;  the  testimony  given  against  Him  was  discordaut  and 
worthless.  If  His  past  life  could  not  secure  His  acquittal,  mere 
words  were  useless.  To  use  His  own  earlier  saying  they  would  be 
pearls  cast  before  swine,  who  would  turn  again  and  rend  Flim.  Self- 
conscious  and  kingly,  He  bore  Himself  with  a  dignity  that  impressed 
even  His  judges.  He  would  let  violence  and  falsehood  run  tlieir 
course.  He  wovdd  not  recognize  the  tribunal,  nor  do  honoiu*  to  its 
members,  for  He  knew  that  the}'  Avere  determined  that  He  should 
die,  innocent  or  guilty,  to  serve  their  own  ends. 

Caiaphas  might  have  closed  the  examination  at  this  point,  and  have 
taken  the  votes  of  the  Commission.  But  with  quiclv,  hypocritical 
acuteness,  he  felt  that  the  charge  best  sustained  was  an  offence  only 
in  Jewish  eyes;  that  the  evidence  in  support  of  it  was  open  to  criti- 
cism, and  that  the  silence  of  the  prisoner  might  not,  after  all,  be  an 
admission  of  guilt.  His  pride,  moreover,  was  touched  by  such  a 
bearing  towards  himself,  the  primate,  and  he  would  force  an  answer, 
if  possible,  to  save  his  own  dignity.  It  would,  besides,  be  better  to 
go  no  further  into  matters  which  might  protract  the  sitting,  and  spoil 
the  plot,  by  letting  morning  return  before  Jesus  was  in  the  safe  hands 
of  the  Romans.  True  to  the  serpent-cunning  of  the  house  of  Hannas, 
he  determined  to  bring  things  to  a  head  by  making  Him,  if  possi- 
ble, compromise  Himself  at  once  with  Jewish  opiriion,  and  Roman 
fears.  He  hoped  to  worm  out  what  could  be  distorted  into  a  civil 
offence,  for  his  keen  knowledge  of  men  told  him,  that,  while  fitly 
silent  and  dignified  hitherto,  his  prisoner  would  give  a  frank  reply, 
and  reveal  His  secret  thoughts  when  honour  demanded  it.  For  He 
was  evidently  about  to  die,  as  He  had  been  charged  with  living,  an 
enthusiast  and  zealot. 

Looking  straight  at  the  accu.sed,  the  mitred  hypocrite,  in  his  white 
robes,  with  practised  official  solemnity  went  at  once  to  the  heart  of 
the  matter,  by  the  demand,  uttered  in  Aramaic,  the  common  speech 
of  the  Jewish  courts  as  of  the  nation,  "I  put  you  on  j^our  oath  by 
the  living  God.  whose  curse  falls  on  those  who  swear  falsely  by  Him, 
and  require  you  to  tell  us  whether  you  are  the  Malcha  Meschicha — 
the  King  Messiah — the  Son  of  God — Ever  Blessed?" 

The  long  foreseen  moment  had  come,  when  an  open  claim  which 
He  liad  hitherto  left  to  be  inferred  from  His  acts  and  figurative  ex- 
pressions, rather  than  openly  stated,  would  bring  on  Him  swift  sen 
tence  of  death.  Caiaphas  knew  that  many  believed  Him  to  be  the 
Messiah;  that  He  Himself  had  not  refused  the  aAvful  name,  but  had, 
rather,  in  His  discourses,  justified  its  being  given  Him;  and  that,  a 
days  before,  He  had  allowed  the  thousands  of  Galilaean  pilgrims,  who 
greeted  His  entrance  to  Jerusalem,  to  salute  Him  by  it.     But  the 


753  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ecclesiastical  authorities  had  decided  that  He  neither  was,  nor  could 
be,  the  Messiah,  and  hence,  in  their  eyes,  Ilis  claiming  openly  to  he 
so  AYOuld  be  a  crimen  Icasm  mnjestatis — blasphemous  high  treason, 
against  the  true  Sovereign  of  the  Land^Jchovah.  He  had  hitherto 
evaded  a  direct  answer,  except  in  rare  cases,  because  the  time  had 
not  yet  come  for  Ills  openly  declaring  Himself.  To  have  done  so 
before  all  hope  of  longer  life  was  passed,  would  have  been  to  cut 
short  His  public  Avork  in  founding  His  Kingdom^ 

But  the  supreme  moment  had  now  arrived.  With  kingly  dignity, 
in  the  face  of  certain  death  for  His  words,  and  in  solemn  answer  to 
the  appeal  to  "  the  living  God  "  as  to  their  truth,  Jesus  calmly  replied 
to  the  adjuration: — "  If  I  tell  yow,  ye  will  not  believe,  and  if  I  ask 
questions  that  would  prove  my  highest  claims  you  would  not  answer. 
Thou  hast  said  the  Truth — I  am  the  Malcha  Meschicha — the  King 
Messiah — the  Son  of  God,  and  Son  of  Man.  In  my  present  guise  ye 
will  see  me  no  more;  but  Avhen  ye  have  slain  me,  I,  the  Son  of  Man, 
will  forthwith  sit  on  tlie  right  hand  of  the  Majesty  of  G<xl,  and  when 
ye  see  me  next  it  will  be  sitting  there,  and  coming  in  the  clouds  of 
heaven." 

This  declaration  might  have  seemed  sufficiently  explicit,  but  the 
excitement  of  the  judges,  true  Orientals,  had  grown  ungovernable. 
Rising  on  their  cushions,  one  and  all  demanded,  with  loud  voices, 
"Art  Thou,  then,  the  Son  of  God?"     "You  have  said  it,"  replied 

Jesus,    "AND  I  AM." 

Caiaphas  had  gained  his  end.  Hearing  witnesses  would  have  re- 
quired time,  and  the  whole  scheme  would  have  miscarried,  if  Jerusa- 
lem woke  and  the  Galihiean  pilgrims  learned,  while  a  rescue  was  still 
possible,  the  secret  arrest,  through  tlie  night,  of  their  fellow-country- 
man, whom  many  of  them  esteemed  a  prophet  of  Jehovah,  if  not  the 
very  Messiah. 

Caiaphas  played  his  part  well.  Quivering  with  passion,  and  tri- 
umphant at  his  success,  he  forgot  the  practised  coldness  of  the  Sad- 
ducee,  and  once  more  springing  from  his  couch  with  well-feigned  hor- 
ror at  the  words  of  Jesus,  though  they  were  precisely  what  he  had 
wished,  rent  the  bosom  of  his  priestly  robe  of  fine  linen,  as  if  it  were 
too  narrow  to  let  him  breathe,  after  hearing  such  blasphemy.  He  for- 
got that  it  was  the  worst  of  blasphemy  for  his  own  lips  to  use  the  name 
of  Jehovah  as  a  mere  cloak  for  crime  and  wickedness!  Jesus  had 
spoken  with  the  calmness  of  truth  and  innocence.  He  had  applied 
to  Himself  words  of  Daniel,  aud  of  the  Psalms,  imiversally  under- 
stood of  the  Messiah,  and  had  predicted  His  sitting  henceforth  with 
Jehovah  on  the  throne  of  heaven,  and  descending  in  divine  maj- 
esty to  judge  the  earth,  though,  while  He  spoke,  He  was  at  the  very 
threshold  of  a  shameful  death. 

"He  has  blasphemed !"  cried  Caiaphas.  "  What  need  is  thereto 
hear  more  witnesses?  You  have  heard  the  blasphemy  from  His  own 
lips.     He  gives  Himself  out  as  the  true  Messianic  Sou  of  God,  which 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  758 

■we  have  already  decided  He  is  not.  What  seems  good  to  you,  my 
«;olle!igues?" 

In  iin  irregular,  illegal,  sclf-constituled  court,  whose  members  liad 
already  approvetl  the  cold-blooded  covmsel  of  Caiaplias,  to  put  the 
prisoner  out  of  the  way,  guilty  or  innocent;  and  thus  (juench  the  tire 
He  had  kindled,  in  His  own  blood,  no  evidence  or  want  of  it  could 
have  secured  an  acquittal.  Too  man}'  private  and  class  grudges,  and 
too  many  vested  rights,  lent  weight  to  any  pretext  for  a  judicial  mur- 
der. The  very  humility  and  the  purely  spiritual  aims  of  Jesus  were, 
themselves,  a  deadly  offence ;  for  their  Jewish  pride  llattered  itself 
that  the  ^Messiah  would  wield  supernatural  powers  to  restore  the  okl 
Theocracy,  and  make  Israel  the  head  of  the  nations  instead  of  hated 
Rome.  Then,  was  He  not  a  Galilean — one  of  a  race  they  despite  J? 
It  might  be  true  that  He  wrought  miracles,  but  one  who  wilfully 
broke  the  Law,  as  He  openly  did,  b}^  Sabbath  healing — and  wlto  knew 
■what  else? — nmst  work  them  by  help  from  Bcelzx'bub,  not  Jeliovah. 

And,  besides,  had  not  the  high  i)riest  told  them  that  it  was  no  great 
harm  if  a  single  man  were  put  out  of  the  way,  even  if  innocent,  for 
the  common  good?  When,  moreover,  did  ferocious  bigotry  fail  to 
identify  its  cry  for  blood  with  pious  zeal  for  the  glory  of  God? 

All  voted  that  further  investigation  was  useless:  that  on  His  own 
confession  Jesus  was  worthy  of  death. 

They  had,  at  last,  their  wish.  All  charges  affecting  the  Temple, 
or  Judaism,  would  have  raised  only  the  contemptuous  laugh  of  the 
Roman  procurator.  But  now  that  Jesus  had  claimed  to  be  the  Mes- 
siah, He  could  be  represented  to  Pilate  as  a  State  criminal,  delivered 
up  for  an  attempt  against  the  imperial  rights  of  Tiberius. 

The  formal,  preliminary  examination  was  over,  but  its  result  needed 
to  be  confirmed  by  a  larger  gathering  of  the  hierarchy.  It  was  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  some  hours  must  elapse  before  tho 
sentence  could  be  formally  ratified. 

Meanwhile,  Jesus  was  left  in  charge  of  the  rough  Temple  police, 
while  the  judges  separated  for  an  hour  or  two  of  sleep.  There  was 
nothing,  now,  to  restrain  the  coarse  natures  to  whom  the  condemned 
prisoner  had  been  consigned.  One  under  sentence  of  death  was 
always,  in  these  rough  ages,  the  sport  and  mockery  of  his  guards,  and 
those  in  charge  of  Jesus,  made  worse  than  common  by  the  example 
of  the  judges,  vented  their  cruelty  on  Him  with  the  coarsest  brutality. 
Their  passions,  indeed,  intensilied  their  bitterness,  for  they  Avere  fierce 
Jewish  bigots.  He  was  to  die  as  a  false  prophet,  and  as  such  they 
treated  Him,  racking  their  ingenuity  to  invent  insult  and  injury. 
Having  blindfolded  Him,  some  struck  Him  violently  on  t!ie  head 
with  their  lists,  or  perhaps  with  the  vine-stick,  Avhich  Komaa  centu- 
rions and  other  officials  carried  as  their  sign  of  rank,  and  were  v/ont 
to  use  on  the  face  or  liead  of  the  soldiers;  for  some  of  the  capton  of 
"Tesus  had  such  staves  with  them — others  struck  Ilim  with  tliciropcn 
tiands,  while  still  others,  adding  the  greatest  indignity  an  Oriental 


754  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

could  offer,  spat  in  His  face ;  crying,  as  they  insulted  and  tortured 
Him, — "  Propliesy  to  us,  thou  Messiah,  who  was  it  that  did  it?"  The 
hands  they  had  bound  had  healed  the  sick,  and  raised  the  dead;  the 
lips  they  smote  had  calmed  the  winds  and  the  waves.  One  word,  and 
the  splendours  of  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration  would  have  filled  the 
chamber;  one  word,  and  the  menials  now  sporting  with  him  at  their 
will  would  have  perished.  But,  as  He  had  begun  and  continued,  He 
would  end — as  self -rest  rained  in  the  use  of  His  awful  powers  on  His 
own  behalf  as  if  He  had  been  the  most  helpless  of  men.  Divine  pa- 
tience and  infinite  love  knew  no  wearying.  He  had  but  to  will  it  and 
walk  free,  but  He  came  to  die  for  man,  and  He  would  do  it. 

While  His  examination  had  been  proceeding,  the  central  court, 
which  seems  to  have  been  paved,  was  the  waiting  place  of  the  serv- 
ants of  the  several  judges,  and  of  the  underlings  of  the  high  priest 
and  the  Temple  watch.  John  and  Peter,  recovering  from  their  first 
panic,  and  anxious  to  see  what  became  of  their  Master,  had  followed 
at  a  distance,  till  He  was  brought  to  the  house  of  Caiaphas.  The  door 
of  the  outer  court,  or  porch,  had  been  closed,  to  prevent  the  entrance 
of  any  one  likely  to  spread  an  alarm  and  bring  about  a  rescue,  but 
John,  happening  to  be  known  to  the  household,  or,  perhaps,  to  the 
high  priest  himself,  was  readily  admitted.  Meanwhile,  Peter  remained 
shut  out,  but  at  John's  solicitation  was  presently  admitted  by  the 
maid  who  kept  the  door. 

A  fire  of  wood  kindled  in  the  open  court  in  the  chilly  April  night, 
had  attracted  all  round  it,  Peter  among  the  rest,  by  its  cheerful  blaze. 
He  sat,  with  weary  heart,  by  the  light,  wondering  what  the  end  would 
be,  and  not  without  alarm  for  his  own  safety,  in  case  he  should  be 
recognized,  and  charged  with  his  violence  in  the  garden.  Mean- 
while, the  door-keeper,  who,  perhaps,  had  seen  him  in  attendance  on 
Jesus  in  the  Women's  Court  of  the  Temple,  sauntered,  like  others,  to 
the  fire,  and  with  a  woman's  abruptness,  after  gazing  at  him  steadily, 
put  the  question  directly  to  him — "  Art  thou,  also,  one  of  this  man's 
disciples?"  Confused  and  off  his  guard,  he  said  nothing,  but  she 
would  not  let  him  go.  "Thou,. also,  wast  with  Jesus  of  Galilee," 
she  continued — repeating  to  those  round  her,  "Certainly  this  man, 
also,  was  with  Him."  "Woman,"  said  Peter,  stammering  out  the 
words  in  mortal  terror  for  his  life,  "I  do  not  know  Him;  I  do  not 
know  what  you  mean."  But  his  conscience  was  ill  at  ease,  and  his 
fears  grew  apace.  He  could  no  longer  hide  his  confusion,  and  went 
off"  into  the  darkness  of  the  porch.  His  inexorable  inquisitor  would 
not,  however,  let  him  escape.  He  had  hardly  come  to  the  light  again, 
after  a  time,  when  she  once  more  scanned  him,  and,  determined  to 
justify  herself,  began  to  speak  of  him  to  the  serving  men  and  slaves. 
"lie  is  one  of  them,  lie  was  with  Jesus  of  Nazareth."  Irritated 
and  alarmed,  and  losing  all  presence  of  mind,  he  repeated  his  denial 
with  an  oath.  "  I  do  not  know  the  man.  I  am  not  one  of  His  dis- 
ciples.    I  swear  I  am  not." 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  755 

Hig  stoat  assertions  gave  him  an  hom-'s  respite  and  peace,  but  his 
troubles  were  not  over,  for  the  maid  hiid  fixed  attention  on  him,  and 
his  bearing  had  excited  suspicion.  At  last,  one  of  tlie  skives  of  the 
higli  priest,  a  kinsman  of  tlie  wounded  Malchus,  renewed  the  subject 
by  aslving  Peter  dii-ectly — "  Did  I  not  see  thee,  as  I  was  standing  at 
tlie  door  of  the  garden,  just  as  tlicy  were  coming  out?"  "  You  never 
did,"  said  Peter.  "I  was  not  there."  "Why,  your  very  speech 
ehows  that  you  are  of  them — you  were  with  Him,"  cried  angry,  fierce 
voices,  "  you  are  a  Galikeau — we  hear  it  in  your  words." 

Peter,  now,  lost  all  control  of  liimsclf.  He  had  tried  to  strengthen 
his  last  denial  by  a  solemn  oath,  but  now  burst  into  curses  and  impre- 
cations on  himself,  if  he  had  not  spoken  truth,  in  saying  that  he 
knew  nothing  whatever  about  Jesus!  In  the  midst  of  his  excitement 
the  sound  of  a  cock-crow  fell  on  his  ears,  and  at  the  sound,  his  IVIaster, 
still  before  His  murderers,  in  a  room  opening  into  the  courtyard, 
turned  audi  ooked  him  full  in  the  face,  with  those  loving,  but  now 
no  less  reproachful  eyes,  in  the  light  of  which  Peter  had  so  long 
found  his  sweetest  joy. 

It  was  enough.  The  glance,  like  lightning,  revealing  an  abyss, 
brought  back  to  its  nobler  self  the  honest  heart  that  for  a  time  had 
been  alarmed  into  superficial  unfaitlifulness,  and  threw  an  awful 
brightness  into  the  depths  of  sin  on  whose  edge  he  stood.  All  his 
unmanly  wpakness  and  wretched  fear  rose  in  his  thoughts,  and,  with 
them,  the  remembrance  of  his  boastings,  so  miserably  belied.  Christ's 
words,  which  he  liad  so  warmly  repudiated — that,  before  the  cock 
crew,  he  would  deny  Him  thrice,  had  come  true.  What  a  con- 
trast between  the  grand  strength  of  his  Master  and  his  own  weak- 
ness ! 

Shame  and  sorrow;  mingled,  on  the  moment,  Avith  a  yearning  hope 
of  forgiveness,  overpowered  him,  and  he  did,  now,  what  he  should 
have  done  earlier;  went  out,  and  wept  bitterly.  It  is  a  touching  and 
beautiful  tradition,  true  to  the  sincerity  of  his  repentance,  if  not  as  a 
historical  reality,  that,  all  his  life  long,  the  remembrance  of  this  night 
never  left  him,  and  that,  morning  by  morning,  he  rose  at  the  hour 
when  the  look  of  his  Master  had  entered  his  soul,  to  pray  once  more 
for  pardon. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  fourth  watch,  and  before  daybreak,  tho 
heads  of  the  theocracy,  true  to  precedent,  which  required  that  the 
whole  Sanhedrim,  while  it  existed,  should  meet  to  ratify  a  sentence 
of  death,  had  extemporized  a  semblance  of  the  old  High  Court  of  the 
Nation  in  some  suitable  building.  Thither  Jesus  was  now  led,  under 
escort  of  Temple  police  and  retainers  of  the  high  priest;  to  appear 
before  the  notables  of  Israel.  The  chiefs  of  the  priestly  courses,  and 
other  dignitaries  of  the  Temple,  with  a  number  of  elders  and  Rabbis,  i 
had  gathered  in  the  fading  darkness,  old  though  most  of  them  were, 
to  take  part  ia  the  condemnation  of  the  Hated  One.  The  proceed- 
ings were,  however,  only  formal ;  to  hear  the  sentence  of  the  Com- 


756  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

mission  and  to  endorse  it.     This  done,  the  way  was  clear  for  handing 
Him  over  to  Pilate. 

In  the  eyes  of  those  who,  thus,  unanimously  confirmed  the  fatal 
Ecutence,  He  was  a  criminal  of  the  worst  dye;  for,  m  their  opinion, 
He  had  blasphemed  with  audacious  l)oldn('ss,  by  claiming  to  be  the 
King  Messiah,  tlie  Son  of  God,  the  long-expected  deliverer  of  the  na- 
tion, sent  to  it  from  heaven.  No  one  had  ever  before  laid  claim  to 
the  sacred  name,  for,  though  many  Messiahs  rose  in  later  years,  no 
one,  as  yet,  had  assumed  the  tremendous  dignity.  Proof  more  than 
enough  to  establish  His  highest  claims,  offered  itself  in  His  life,  and 
words,  and  works,  but  passion  and  prejudice  had  hardened  their 
hearts,  and  blinded  their  judgments.  Tlie  worst  among  them  would 
never  have  dared  to  proceed  against  Him,  had  they  believed  Him 
really  the  Messiah.  "I  know,"  says  St.  Feter,  "that  you  acted  in 
ignorance,  as  did  also  j^our  rulers."  But  it  was  the  ignorance  that  had 
refused  the  light.  Had' they  been  honest  and  honourable,  the  first  point 
to  have  been  settled  would  have  been,  at  least  to  hear  what  the  Ac- 
cused had  to  say  in  His  own  favour.  They  had  constituted  them- 
selves the  vindicators  of  the  Law  and  the  Prophets,  and  it  was  their 
elementary  duty  to  hear  the  Prisoner's  exposition  of  the  statements  of 
both,  resjiecting  the  matter  in  hand.  lie  had  owned  Himself  the 
Messiah,  and  for  doing  so,  without  giving  Him  the  opportunity  of 
supporting  His  claim,  they  voted  the  sentence  of  death,  by  noisy 
acclamation.  Law  and  tradition  demanded  a  second  full  hearing  of 
the  case,  but  they  thrust  both  aside,  in  their  zeal  to  get  Him  con- 
demned. 


CHAPTER  LXIL 

BEFORE    PILATE. 

The  decision  of  the  Jewish  authorities  having  been  duly  signed 
and  sealed,  and  Jesus  once  more  securely  bound.  He  was  led  off, 
strongly  guarded  from  rescue,  to  the  official  residence  of  Pilate,  on 
Mount  Zion.  It  was  still  early,  but  Eastern  life  anticipates  the  day, 
for  the  heat  of  noon  requires  rest  during  the  hours  busiest  with  us. 
The  way  ran  from  the  West  Hall  of  the  Temple  over  the  Tyropoeon 
by  a  bridge,  and  across  the  open  space  of  the  Xystus,  with  its  pil- 
lared porches.  The  palace  of  Herod,  now  Pilate's  headquarters,  lay 
just  beyond — the  proud  residence  of  the  Roman  knight  who  held  the 
government  for  the  Emperor  Tiberius.  It  was  inhabited  for  only  a 
few  weeks  or  days  at  a  time,  but  now,  during  the  Passover,  the  Pro- 
curator took  care  to  be  present;  to  repress,  at  once,  any  popular 
movement  for  national  freedom,  which  the  spring  air,  the  feast  it- 
self, and  the  vas'.  gathering  of  the  nation,  might  excite. 

Now,  for  the  first  lime,  .Icsus  entered  the  gates  of  a  king's  palace; 
the  home  of  ' '  men  in  soft  raiment " — entered  it  as  a  prisoner,     H« 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  75T 

was  to  stand  hcfore  a  man  who  has  come  down  to  us  as  one  of  the 
most  unriffhteous,  cruel,  urbitraiy,  and  hateful;  a  man  rightly  named 
Pilate — tiie  "  Javelinman" — for  it  seemed  his  delight  to  launch  cruel- 
ties and  scorns  on  every  side,  like  javelins,  among  the  oppressed  peo- 
ple. What  had  Jesus  to  expect  from  one  who  hated  the  nation  from 
his  soul,  and  spirted  with  their  lives  and  possessions  as  if  they  were 
not  men,  biU  a  lower  race  of  despised  slaves  and  fanatical  Helots? 
It  miiiht,  indued,  bo  of  benefit  to  Him  that  the  hatred  of  Pilate 
towards  tha  Jews,  might  regard  Him  as  a  welcome  instrument,  in  the 
ab.jence  of  a  belter,  for  playing  off  his  bitterness  against  them  and 
their  leaders.  To  favour  a  man  who  was  in  opposition  to  them,  was, 
itself,  a  pleasure.  Calm,  temperate,  and  impartial,  compared  to  Jew. 
ish  passion  and  bitterness,  and  in  some  respects  in  sympathy  with  the 
accused,  tlve  hard,  proud,  heatheu  Roman  was  more  open  to  the  im- 
pression of  Christ's  innocence  or  harmlessness  than  the  Jews  or  their 
leaders. 

That  he  did  not  permanently  protect  Him,  rose,  partly,  from  his 
character,  and,  partly,  from  his  past  history  as  procurator.  Morally 
enervated  and  lawless,  the  petty  tyrant  was  incapable  of  a  strong  im- 
pression or  righteous  firmness,  and,  besides,  he  dreaded  complaints 
at  Rome,  from  the  Jewish  authorities,  and  insurrections  of  the 
masses  in  his  local  government.  He  had,  in  the  past,  learned  to  fear 
the  unconquerable  pertinacity  of  the  Jews  and  the  rebukes  of  the 
Emperor,  so  keenly,  that  he  would  permit,  or  do,  almost  anything, 
for  quiet.  This  showed  itself  in  his  bearing  towanls  Jesus.  Pro- 
tecting Him  for  a  time,  half  in  sympathy,  half  in  mockery,  he  gave 
Ilim  up  ill  the  end,  rather  than  bravo  the  persistent  demand  of  a 
pL'ople  lie  hated  and  feared.  He  would  have  set  Him  free,  but  for 
the  popular  clamour,  and  a  bitter  remembrance  of  the  trouble  it  had 
already  given  him  in  Jerusalcim  and  at  Rome. 

Tiiere  was  a  hall  in  the  palace,  in  which  trials  were  generally  con- 
ducted, but  the  Jewish  notables,  who  had  condemned  Jesus,  were 
much  too  holy  to  enter  a  heathen  buildiag  during  the  feast,  since 
there  might  be  old  leaven  in  it.  It  was  Friday,  and  the  Sabbath 
began  tiiat  night,  and  in  the  evening  there  was  universally  at  this 
season  a  supplementary  feast  of  priests  end  people,  on  the  tlesh  of 
tiie  freewill  olferings.  It  had,  for  centuries,  been  associated  with  the 
Passover  and  was  thought  a  part  of  it,  and  Lcvitical  uucleanness 
would  prevent  the  accusers  taking  part  in  it.  Tliey  were  still  true 
to  the  eharaeter  given  them  by  Jesus;  careful  ct  the  outside  of  the 
bowl  and  platter,  but  willing  that,  within,  it  should  be  tilled  with 
wickedness.  They  had  effected  their  end.  Jesus  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  Romans,  before  Jerusalem  awoke. 

Knowing  the  people  with  whom  he  had  to  do,  Pilate  made  no  at- 
tempt to  overcome  their  scruples.  Trials  in  the  open  air  were  com- 
mon, for  Roman  law  courted  publicity,  Roman  governors,  and  the 
half  Romau  Herod  and  his  sons,  erected  their  tribunals,  indifferently. 


T58  '  THE  LIFE  OF  CIIRIST. 

before  the  palace,  in  the  market-place.,  in  the  theatre,  in  the  circus, 
or,  even,  in  the  highways.  Pilate,  therefore,  caused  liis  ofRcial 
seat  to  be  set  down  on  a  spot  known,  in  Jerusalem,  as  Gabbatha — the 
high  place, — from  its  being  raised  above  the  crowd,  and  as  "The 
Pavement, "  because  it  was  laid,  according  to  Roman  custom,  where 
judges  sat,  wifcli  a  mosaic  of  coloured  stones.  It  was,  very  possibly  a 
permanent  erection,  square,  or  of  crescent  shape,  of  costly  marble, 
m  keeping  with  the  splendour  so  dear  to  Herod,  its  builder;  project- 
ing from  the  front  of  the  "Judgment  Hall,"  in  the  palace,  and  easily 
accessible  by  a  doorway  from  it.  It  was  a  maxim  of  Roman  law 
that  all  criminal  trials  should  be  held  on  a  raised  tribunal,  that  all 
might  see  and  be  seen. 

The  ivory  curule  chair  of  the  procurator — his  seat  of  state,  and  sign 
of  office;  or,  perhaps,  the  old  golden  seat  of  Archelaus,  was  set  down 
on  the  tesselated  floor  of  the  tribunal,  which  was  large  enough  to  let  the 
assessors  of  the  court — Roman  citizens — who  acted  as  nominal  mem- 
bers of  the  judicial  bench,  sit  beside  Pilate — for  Roman  law  required 
their  presence.  On  lower  elevations,  sat  the  officers  of  the  court, 
friends  of  the  procurator,  and  others  whom  he  chose  to  honour. 

The  priests  and  elders  who  appeared  against  Jesus,  now  led  Him 
up  the  steps  of  the  tribunal,  to  the  procurator,  and  set  Him  before 
him.  Seats  were  generally  provided  for  tlie  accusers  near  the  judge, 
and  there  was,  also,  usually,  a  seat  for  the  accused ;  but  in  Judea, 
despised  and  insulted,  this  custom  Avas  not  now  observed,  at  least  so 
far. as  regarded  Jesus,  for  He  had  to  stand  through  the  trial.  An 
interpreter  was  not  needed,  as  the  Jewish  officials  doubtless  spoke 
Greek,  and  Jesus,  brought  up  in  Galilee,  where  the  presence  of  for- 
eigners made  its  use  general,  necessarily  understood  it.  A  strong 
detachment  of  troops  from  the  garrison  guarded  the  tribunal,  and 
kept  the  ground,  for  a  vast  crowd  of  citizens  and  pilgrims  speedily 
gathered,  as  the  news  of  the  arrest  spread. 

Roman  law  knew  nothing  of  the  inquisitorial  system  by  which  a 
prisoner  might  be  forced  to  convict  himself;  it  required  that  a  formal 
accusation  of  a  specific  offence  should  be  made  against  him.  This 
office  of  accuser,  Caiaphas,  dispensing  with  the  customary  employ- 
ment of  an  "orator,"  himself,  apparently,  performed,  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  nation,  and  its  highest  dignitary;  to  give  the  charges 
the  greater  weight. 

Pilate,  having  taken  his  seat,  began  the  proceedings  by  formally 
asking  Caiaphas  and  his  colleagues  what  accusation  they  bad  against 
the  prisoner. 

"  If  He  had  not  been  a  great  offender,"  replied  Caiaphas,  as  spokes- 
man, "we  would  not  have  delivered  Him  up  to  thee.  We  have 
power  enough  to  punish  ordinary  offenders,  by  our  own  laws,*but 
this  man's  crime  goes  beyond  our  powers  in  the  punishment  it  de- 
mands, and,  therefore,  we  have  handed  Him  over  to  you.  That  we 
have  doi\g  so,  I  submit,  is  proof  that  He  deserves  death.     The  pres- 


TFE  LIFE  OF  CHEIST.  75» 

ei»ce  of  myself,  the  high  priest,  and  of  the  notables  of  the  nation,  as 
ills  accusers,  may  suffice  to  prove  the  blackness  of  His  guilt." 

Pilate  was  not  a  stranger  in  Palestine,  and  had,  doubtless,  had  Jesus 
already  under  his  notice,  through  reports  of  his  spies  and  officials. 
He  had  learned  that  He  avoided  all  appeals  to  force;  tliat  His  dis- 
courses had  nothing  whatever  political  in  them,  and  that  His  zeal 
was  mainly  directed  against  the  corruptions  of  the  Jewish  priesthood 
and  public  teachers,  whom  the  Romans  themselves  despised  for  the 
same  cause.  The  immense  crowds  that  had  followed  Him,  at  His 
first  appearance  in  Judea,  three  years  before,  and  His  subsequent 
course  in  Galilee,  must  have  been  the  subject  of  many  official  com- 
munications to  Oaesarea,  Pilate's  usual  residence;  and  they  had  uni- 
formly represented  Him  as  peaceful  and  harmless.  Pilate  knew, 
therefore,  that  He  was  now  delivered  up  by  the  priests  and  Rabbis 
only  from  envy,  and  for  their  own  seltisli  ends.  From  all  he  had 
learned,  Jesus  was  only  a  well-meaning  enthusiast,  and  He  could 
easily  see  how  such  a  man  might  well  be  dangei'ous  to  the  vested  in- 
terests and  mock  holiness  of  the  Jewish  magnates,  but  not  at  all  so  to 
Roman  authority.  He  was  ready  enough  to  quench  in  blood  any 
religious  movement  that  threatened  the  peace,  but  he  saw  no  ground 
for  apprehension  as  regarded  this  one. 

The  Gospels  give  only  a  brief  outline  of  the  whole  trial,  but  even 
the  opening  address  of  Caiaplias,  or  the  orator  who  spoke  for  him  and 
his  colleagues,  -^as,  no  doubt,  full  of  rhetorical  compliments  to 
Pilate  himself,  and  of  fierce  words  against  the  prisoner.  It  had, 
however,  a  very  different  effect  on  Pilate  from  that  intended.  The 
hypocritical  clamour  for  blood  by  a  priesthood  v.hom  he  despised  as 
Jews,  and,  still  more,  for  their  superstition,  bigotry,  barbarous  want 
of  taste  and  culture,  restless  greed,  and  restive  opposition  to  Rome, 
was  hateful  and  repulsive.  He  would  not  involve  his  court,  which 
represented  the  majesty  of  the  Emperor,  in  any  further  details  of  a 
question  about  one  who  seemed  a  mere  religious  reformer.  The 
accusers  had,  themselves,  jurisdiction  in  their  own  religious  disputes. 

Interrupting  the  speaker,  therefore,  Pilate  told  him — "If  _vou  have 
found  Him  what  you  say,  you  had  better,  in  my  opinion,  take  Him, 
and  judge  Him  according  to  your  own  law."  If  they  did  not  trouble 
bim  further,  he  would  not  intei-fere  with  them.  He  had  not,  as  yet, 
understood  that  they  sought  to  have  Jesus  put  to  death,  but  fancied 
they  wished  some  other  punishment. 

Caiaphas  had  his  answer  ready.  ^'It  is  a  criminal  charge,"  said 
he,  "  a  charge  of  capital  crime,  and  we  cannot  put  any  one  to  death, 
without  your  confirming  our  sentence."  He  could  not,  however, 
confirm  any  sentence,  without,  at  least,  a  summary  investigation, 
and,  thus,  the  matter  must  proceed  before  him.  They  might  have 
stoned  Jesus  for  blasphemy,  liad  lie  sanctioned  their  doing  so,  but 
they  wero  resolved  to  leave  the  odium  of  the  murder  on  him,  and 
have  their  victim  crucified.  In  the  fulfilment  of  the  divine  counsels, 
L  of  c— 25. 


730  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

He  was  to  die,  not  as  a  martyr  to  Jewish  fury,  but  as  a  sin-offering, 
on  the  Cross. 

"  TVhat  is  your  accusation  then?"  asked  Pilate. 

Craftily  keeping  out  of  sight  Christ's  declaration  that  He  was  the 
Son  of  God,  because  such  a  theological  question  was  indifferent  to 
the  Roman,  and  because  heathenism  liad  no  such  ideas  connected  with 
the  phrase  as  Judaism,  Caiaphas  turned  the  religious  offence  into  a 
political  one.  The  "  Son  of  God,"  in  a  Jewish  sense,  was  equivalent 
to  the  Messiah,  the  expected  national  deliverer,  and,  hence,  he  created 
out  of  the  claim,  a  pretension  lo  earthly  royalty.  Such  an  accusation 
could  not  be  overlooked,  and  must  wake  prejudice,  if  believed,  as 
involving  a  charge  of  treason  against  the  suspicious  and  relentless 
Tiberius.  The  priests  expected  an  instant  condemnation,  for  they 
knew  Pilate's  hy.'cna-like  nature. 

Roman  law  permitted  the  questioning  of  a  prisoner  after  formal 
accusation,  and  confession  of  the  charge  was  held  sufficient  proof  of 
guilt. 

"  The  accused  has  been  condemned  by  us  as  a  deceiver  of  the 
people,"  answered  the  high  priest. 

"■How?"  asked  Pilate. 

"  In  a  double  way, "  said  Caiaphas.  "He  stirs  up  the  nation  against 
paying  their  tribute  to  Caesar,  and  He  sets  himself  up  as  king  of  the 
Jews.  He  says  He  is  tlie  Messiah,  which  is  the  name  we  give  our 
king,  and  He  has  led  many  to  regard  Him  as  a  descendant  of  David, 
and  our  only  lawful  sovereign." 

Jesus  was  standing  at  Pilate's  side.  Rising  from  his  chair  and 
ordering  Him  to  be  bronght  after  him,  he  retired  into  the  palace,  and 
calling  Jesus  before  him,  asked  Him — "Art  Thou  the  king  of  the 
Jews?  Dost  Thou,  really,  claim  to  be  so?"  He  evidently  expected 
a  disavowal,  for  he  felt  it  almost  beneath  him  to  ask  such  a  question 
of  one,  in  his  eyes,  so  utterly  unlilie  a  king.  Had  he  been  firm  and 
strong-minded,  he  would  have  seen  the  groundlessness  of  the  charge, 
from  the  absence  of  all  overt  proof,  but  he  weakly  proceeded  to 
compromise  himself,  by  putting  Jesus  to  examination. 

Knowing  that  Pilate  had  nothing  against  Him  but  the  words  of 
His  enemies  outside,  Jesus,  with  a  calm  dignity  that  must  have 
amazed  the  procurator,  asked  him  a  counter  question.  "Do  you  ask 
this  of  your  own  accord,  or  have  others  told  it  you  of  me?"  He 
would  have  Pilate  remember  the  more  than  doubtful  source  of  the 
accusation,  and  that  with  all  his  oihcial  means  of  information,  no 
grounds  of  such  a  charge  had  ever  suggested  themselves  to  his  own 
mind.  It  was,  besides,  essential  to  know  if  he  spoke  as  a  Roman, 
with  a  political  use  of  the  title  "king,"  or  repeated  it  in  the  Je1[»vi«h 
sense,  as  equivalent  to  "  the  Messiah." 

"Do  you  think /am  ss,  JeicV  answered  Pilate,  scornfully,  feelinaf 
his  false  position,  in  entertaining  an  accusation  from  so  suspicious 
ft  source.      "Your  own  nation  havie  brought  you  before  me;  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  761 

charge  comes  from  the  priests  and  Rabbis.  I  have  only  repeated 
their  accusation.  What  do  I  care  for  your  dreams  about  a  Messiah? 
Tell  me,  what  have  you  done?  Do  you  call  yourself  the  king  of  the 
Jews?" 

' '  In  your  sense  of  the  word  I  am  not  a  king, "  answered  Jesus, 
''but  in  another,  I  am.  My  accusers  expect  a  mere  earthly,  world- 
conquering  Messiah.  But  my  Kingdom  is  not  of  this  world — not 
earthly  and  political,  If  it  were,  my  attendants  would  have  fought 
for  me,  to  prevent  my  being  arrested  and  delivered  up  to  my  enemies 
by  the  soldiers  you  sent  against  me.  But  they  made  no  resistance 
nor  any  attempt  even  to  rescue  me,  and  this,  of  itself,  is  enough  to 
show  that  my  Kingdom  is  not  a  political  one." 

"You  speak  of  a  kingdom:  are  you  really  a  king,  then,  in  any 
other  sense  than  the  common?"  asked  the  procurator,  awed  before  the 
Mysterious  Man. 

"  Thou  sayest  it;  so  it  is:  I  am  a  King,"  answered  Jesus.  "I  was 
born  to  be  a  King;  I  came  into  the  world  that  I  should  bear  witness 
for  The  Truth. "  He  spoke  in  His  lofty,  mystic  way  of  the  divine 
Truth  He  had  seen  and  heard  in  a  former  existence,  Avhen  in  the 
bosom  of  the  Father.  "  All  who  love  and  seek  the  Truth,"  he  con- 
tinued—  "that  is,  who  hear  and  obey  my  words — are  my  subjects." 
He  had  thrice  claimed  a  Kingdom,  and  thrice  told  Pilate  that  it  was 
not  of  this  world. 

"How  these  Jews  talk!"  thought  Pilate.  "They,  barbarous  as 
they  are,  think  they  have  Truth  as  their  special  possession — Truth, 
which  is  a  riddle  insoluble  to  our  philosophers!  What  have  I  to  do 
with  such  speculations,  lit  only  to  confuse  the  head  of  a  hungry 
Greek  or  a  beggarly  Rabbi?"  But  he  had  heard  enough  to  convince 
hmi  fhat  Jesus  had  no  thought  of  treason  against  Rome,  or  of  stir- 
rmg  up  a  disturbance  in  the  country.  Hardened,  cold,  worldly,  he 
felt  how  awful  goodness  is,  and  would  fain  have  dismissed  One  so 
strangely  different  from  other  men — an  enthusiast,  willing  to  die  to 
make  men  better!  "  What  kind  of  a  man  is  He?"  thought  the  Ro- 
man. "  If  He  only  had  not  been  so  ready  with  His  talk  about  being 
a  king!  But  He  will  do  nothing  to  help  Himself!"  "What  is 
Truth?"  said  he,  ironically,  and  turned  away  without  waiting  an 
answer,  for  in  Pilate's  opinion,  as  in  that  of  most  men  of  his  class 
in  that  age,  Truth  was  an  airy  nothing,  a  mere  empty  name 

Leaving  Jesus  to  be  brought  out  after  him  to  the  tribunal  agtiin,  h3 
returned  to  the  accusers  and  the  multitude.  Touched  by  t'!3 
prisoner's  self-possession  and  dignity;  half-afraid  of  one  avIio  spol:3 
only  of  Truth,  and  of  other  worlds  than  this;  and  incensed  that  tli3 
hierarchy  should,  for  their  own  ends,  have  sought  to  p;ilr7i  olT  a  h;;rri- 
less  enthusiast  on  him,  as  a  dangerous  traitor;  he  threw  the  pricstj 
and  Rabbis  into  tierce  confusion,  by  frankly  telling  them  "that  hc3 
had  examined  Jesus,  and  found  no  ground  for  any  punislmiciit  ia 
His  thinking  Himself  the  Messiah,  as  they  called  it."    One  point  ia 


762  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

the  accusation  had  failed,  but  it  was  necessary  to  hear  what  might  be 
alleged  besides.  The  accusers  could  easily  see  that,  in  spite  of  the 
admission  of  Jesus  that  He  claimed  to  be  a  king,  Pilate  regarded  him 
rather  with  pity  than  fear.  More  must  be  done,  to  fix  on  Him  the 
crime  of  being'dangerous  to  the  State.  The  priests  and  Rabbis  were 
greatly  excited.  One  after  another,  they  sprang  up,  with  charge  on 
charge,  to  confirm  their  main  accusation.  In  their  fierce  bigotry  and 
unmeasured  hatred,  they  had  not  scrupled  to  speak  of  a  purely 
religious  movement  as  a  dark  political  plot,  and  now  they  were  bold 
enough  even  to  adduce  proofs  of  this  treason.  "He  has  perverted 
women  and  children,  and  has  systematically  stirred  up  the  whole 
nation  against  Cresar;  from  Galilee  to  Jerusalem  there  is  not  a  town 
or  village  in  the  land,  where  He  has  not  won  over  some,  and  filled 
them  with  wild  expectations.  He  has  appealed  to  the  nation  to  join 
His  Kingdom;  He  has  spoken  against  paying  the  taxes;  He  is  a 
second  Judas  the  Gaulonite,  and  you  know  what  his  career  has  cost 
Rome,  in  blood  and  treasure."  The  hypocrites!  They  were  hunting 
Jesus  to  death  simply  because  He  would  not  identify  Himself  with 
them,  and  use  His  supernatural  power  to  drive  out  the  Romans,  and 
set  them  on  the  vacant  throne.  They  were  demanding  His  death  ou 
the  pretext  that  He  had  threatened  to  use  force  to  establish  His 
Kingdom,  when  the  truth  was — His  real  offence,  in  their  eyes,  was 
that  He  would  not  use  force! 

Such  a  storm  of  accusations  and  suspicions  might  well  have  led 
Pilate  to  expect  some  denial  or  disproofs  from  Jesus.  He  doubtless 
attributed  all  the  difficulty  of  the  situation  to  His  too  ready  admis- 
sion of  His  dreamy  kingship;  and,  on  every  ground,  even  for  his  own 
sake,  to  clear  him"frora  a  business  that  grew  more  and  more  serious, 
hoped  to  hear  some  defence.  But  Jesus  knew  with  whom  He  had 
to  do.  lie  knew  that  His  enemies  were  determined  that  He  should 
dis,  and  would  invent  charge  after  charge  till  He  was  destroyed. 
They  had  already  scrupled  at  nothing.  He  knew  Pilate — fierce,  and 
yet  cowardly,  with  no  moral  force ;  the  tyrant,  and  yet  the  sport  of 
the  Jewish  authorities.  The  majesty  of  truth  and  goodness  in  Him 
looked  down  with  a  pitying  disilain  on  the  moral  worthlessness  of 
judge  and  accusers  alike,  and  would  not  stoop  to  utter  even  a  word 
in  Ills  own  behalf,  before  them.  Thej^  knew  His  life  and  work,  and 
if  the  Avitness  they  bore  were  of  no  weiglit.  He  would  add  no  other. 
"If  /demand  that  He  answer,"  thought  Pilate,  "perhaps  He  will 
do  so."  "  Do  you  not  hear,"  said  he,  "  how  many  things  they  accuse 
you  of?  Do  you  make  no  defence  at  aXW  But  Jesus  remained 
silent,  not  uttering  even  a  word.  "Avery  strange  man,"  thought 
Pilate.  lie  seemed  to  him  more  than  ever  a  lofty  enthusiast,  blind 
to  His  own  interests,  and  careless  of  life. 

The  Avord  "  Galilee,"  in  the  wild  cries  of  the  priests  and  Rabbis, 
raised  a  new  hope  in  Pilate's  mind.  Antipas  was  now  in  Jerusalem, 
at  the   feast.     If  Jesus  were  a  Galilsean,  it  would   be  a  gracef/jj 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  "  788 

ewirtesy  to  send  Him  to  be  tried,  as  a  Galilsean,  before  His  own 
prince,  and  would  periiaps  efface  tlie  griidffe  Antipas  liad  at  himself, 
for  havinc;  let  loose  his  soldiers  lately  on  the  Galila?an  pilgrims  in  the 
Temple,  during  a  disturbance,  and  by  cutting  some  down,  even  at 
the  altar: — a  sore  scandal  in  the  Jewish  world.  It  would,  moreover, 
get  him  clear  of  a  troublesome  matter,  and,  perhaps,  it  might  evea 
save  the  strange  man — so  calm,  so  dignified,  in  circumstances  of  such 
weakness  and  humiliation ;  with  such  a  look,  as  if  He  read  one's  soul ; 
with  such  a  mysterious  air  of  greatness,  even  in  bonds,  and  in  the 
very  face  of  death  by  the  Cross.  Antipas  would  not  likely  yield  to 
the  Temple  party,  as  he  himself  might  be  forced  to  do,  to  avoid 
another  complaint  to  Rome.  He  no  sooner,  therefore,  heard  that 
Jesus  was  a  Galiktan,  than  lie  ordered  Him  to  be  transferred  to 
Antipas,  that  he  might  judge  Him  as  such. 

The  old  palace  of  the  Asmoneans,  in  which  Antipas  lodged,  was  a 
short  way  from  Pilate's  splendid  official  residence.  It  lay  a  few 
streets  oft",  to  the  north-east,  within  the  same  old  city  wall,  on  the  slope 
of  Zion,  the  levelled  crest  of  which  was  occupied  by  the  vast  palace 
of  Herod,  now  the  Roman  headquarters.  Both  were  in  the  old,  or 
upper  city,  and  through  the  narrow  streets — with  raised  pathways, 
and  middle  sunk  to  prevent  defilement  to  passers-by — Jesus  was  now 
led,  under  escort  of  a  detacliment  of  the  Roman  troops  on  duty.  The 
accusers  had  no  choice  but  to  follow,  and  the  multitude  went  off  with 
them,  for  it  was  no  ordinary  spectacle,  to  see  the  high  priest  and  all 
the  great  men  of  the  city,  thus,  in  public,  together. 

The  vassal  king  was  caught  in  Pilate's  snare.  The  (lattery  of  re- 
ferring a  Galila'an  case  to  him  as  the  Galikcan  tetrarch,  greatly 
pleased  him,  and  his  light  superficial  nature  was  no  less  gratified  by 
having  One  of  whom  he  had  heard  so  much,  brought  before  him.  la 
his  petty  court,  amidst  all  its  affectation  of  grandeur  and  state,  ennui 
hung  like  a  drowsiness  over  all.  He  had  never  seen  a  miracle,  and 
should  like  to  be  able  to  say  he  had.  It  would  break  the  monotony 
of  a  day,  and  give  an  hour's  languid  talk.  A  prisoner,  in  danger  of 
the  Cross,  could  not  refuse  to  humour  him,  if  he  commanded  Him  to 
perform  one!  He  had  been  afraid  of  Jesus  once,  but  a  miracle-worker 
in  chains,  could  be  only,  at  best,  a  clever  juggler. 

Pilate  had  taken  his  seat  on  his  tribunal  in  the  grey  dawn,  and  an 
hour  had  passed.  It  was  shortly  after  six,  when  Antipas.  early  astir, 
like  all  Orientals,  heard  the  commotion  in  the  courtj^ard  of  his  palace, 
and  received  word  that  Jesus  had  been  handed  over  to  liis  authority. 
A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  prisoner  was  led  into  the  Court  of  Jus' 
tice  of  the  palace,  xmd  present!}-,  Antipas  made  hisappearance  on  the 
tribunal,  on  which  Jesus  was  also  forthwith  placed. 

Tlie  light,  weak,  crafty,  worthless  man,  was  disposed  to  be  very 
condescending.  He  put  question  after  question  to  Him;  whatever 
his  idle  curiosity  suggested ;  and  doubtless  asked  that  a  miracle  might 
be  performed  there  and  then.  But  Jesus  was  no  conjuror  or  "  magus.* 


764  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

He  was  ready  to  save  His  'life  by  worthy  means,  but  He  would  not, 
for  a  moment,  stoop  to  anythina;  unworthy.  The  creature  clad  in 
purple  before  Him  was  the  "murderer  of  John :  the  slave  of  a  wicked 
woman ;  a  mean  adulterer ;  and  would  fain  have  had  His  life,  as  well 
as  that  of  the  Baptist.  Jesus  felt,  therefore,  only  utter  disdain  for 
him,  and  treated  him  with  withering  silence.  He  might  tire  himself 
with  questions,  but  not  a  word  of  reply  would  be  vouchsafed.  An- 
tipas  began  to  feel  that  it  was  no  time  to  indulge  his  humour,  and 
grew  half-alarmed. 

The  high  priests  and  Rabbis,  Caiaphas  at  their  head,  would  gladly 
have  turned  the  annoyance  of  the  tetrarch  to  their  own  account. 
When  his  questions  had  ceased,  they  broke  out  into  vehement  accu- 
sations, forgetful,  in  their  rage,  of  either  their  office  or  their  self- 
fespect.  But  they,  too,  were  met  with  the  same  insufferable,  con- 
temptuous silence,  which  gave  no  chance  of  fastening  anything  on 
their  enemy,  by  any  admission  of  His  own.  Antipas  was  no  less  at 
a  loss  what  to  do  than  Pilate  had  been.  One  tiling,  alone,  he  had 
resolved— he  would  have  no  part  in  condemning  so  mysterious  a  man. 
Was  he  afraid  of  the  large  following  Jesus  already  had  in  Galilee? 
Was  he  spell-bound  and  awed  by  those  eyes— that  calmness— that 
more  than  kingly  dignity?  Was  he  afraid  of  the  very  power  of  which 
he  had  craved  some  exhibition?  When  there  was  no  Herodias  at 
hand  to  make  him  the  tool  of  her  levenge,  he  was  rather  a  mere 
voluptuary  than  cruel. 

Treated  so  strangely  before  his  courtiers:  humbled  and  baflSed, 
Antipas  covered  his  defeat  and  alarm,  by  an  affectation  of  con- 
temptuous ridicule.  The  harmless  fanatical  madman  who  claimed  to 
be  a  king,  would  make  a  fine  butt  for  the  humour  of  his  guard.  Let 
them  trick  Him  out  as  a  king,  and  play  at  homage  to  Him,  and  see 
how  He  would  bear  His  shadowy  dignities!  It  was  a  brave  chance 
for  the  courtiers  to  show  their  manliness  by  mocking  a  helpless  pris- 
oner! Antipas  knew,  by  this  time,  Pilate's  opinion  of  the  accused, 
and  suspected  why  he  had  sent  Him.  So,  officer  and  common  soldier 
set  themselves  to  amuse  their  master,  by  trying  their  wit  on  this 
ridiculous  pretender  to  a  crown!  Tired  at  last,  nothing  remained 
but  to  send  Him  back  to  Pilate,  andlct  him  finish  what  he  had  begun. 
Antipas  had  no  desire  to  meddle  further,  in  what  might  prove  a  very 
troublesome  matter.  Having,  therefore,  put  a  white  robe— the  Jewish 
royal  colour,  on  Jesus— as  if  to  show  that  he  had  no  fear  of  such  a 
king,  he  sent  Him  back  to  Pilate. 

Pilate  had  already  made  one  vain  attempt  to  save  Him,  and  now, 
anxious  to  end  the  matter,  summoned  the  accusers  once  more  to  the 
tribunal.  A  great  crowd  had  gathered,  mostly  of  citizens,  hostile  as 
.such  to  the  alleged  enemy  of  the  Temple  by  wliich  they  lived. 
Looking  at  Jesus  again— standing  before  him  in  the  humble  dress  of 
the  people — for  they  had  already  stripped  Him  of  His  robe  of  mock- 
ery :— Pilate  noticed  that  He  showed  no  trace  of  fanaticism,  in  word. 


THE  LIFE   OF  CHRIST.  f65 

bearing,  or  countenance;  and  felt  more  than  ever  convinced  t3iat  He 
was  no  rebel  or  dangerous  person.  "  I  have  examined  this  man  " 
^id  he,      jxnd  nothing  worlhy  of  death   has  been   done   by  Him 

ho\T'''  \  u-^  ^^'™-^"  ^'''''^'  ^^^^  '^^^  ^«  "f  ti^^  ^^^^  "Pinion,  anc 
he  has  sent  Him  again  to  me  uucondemned.  But  since  so  much 
trouble  has  been  caused  by  His  fancies,  He  deserves  some  pu  ,ish 

mf^sed  I'^vi/''''^"'"''  •""'"'■  ^ll!"  ^^  *'^  '^'^'''^''^  '^^^^  then  dis- 
missed.     It^Ml  be  a  warning  to  Him."     Uh  offer  to  scourge  Him 

ZfnlT'''-''  f  ""  *"i  'i^''  ^^o""fl«fl  Pi-i^le  of  th^  hierarchy,  for  his  re- 
fusing  their  demand  for  a  sentence  of  death 

Meanwhile,  a  cry  arose  in  the  crowd,  which  was  destined  to  hf^ve 
momentous  results.  It  was  the  custom  to  carrv  out  capital  sentences 
at  the  Feast  times,  that  the  people,  at  large,  might  .-et  a  lesson    but 

vrance'n/^  ^'"^f"'  ?f  '^^  Procm-ato?s.' in  Compliment  to  heX 
vltlZTr  fi  f  *'■'""  "'^  '^''""^'y  «f  ^^^'Pt-  commemorated  by  the 
l^assovtr  to  lelease  any  one  prisoner  condemned  to  death,  waom 
the  multitude  might  name  in  the  Passover  week 

Coming  forward,  thwefore,  and  addressing  both  accusers  and  neo- 
ple,  Pilate  reminded  them  of  their  custom  that  he  should  Sea 
pr.soner,  to   hem,  at  the  Passover.     Cries  instantly  rose  clamouring 

n  ;  id  b!?n"^'l*^'.'"^'''  ^'J'f  ^'^''-^^^  d^°^-  '-^"^l  *«^  once  "je  shout! 
pleased  hni;  for  he  fancied  that,  this  time,  there  could  be  no  question 
who  siiould  receive  the  pardon.     One  who  claimed  to  be  their  natiomS 

B-iriblvf '"thp  ^''•^^'  'f  "ii",^'^^'  ^'^^'•'^  1^^'  awaiting  execution,  one 
^^U~^  V  °^  ""  ?abb.-who  had,  apparently,  been  compro- 
?^Tt?vv  ,f  ^^'''^^V?"^^''°"^'^^'"''  in  one  of  the  countless  petty  re- 
rol  bo  n,r'f ''?""•)'  ^-'""''^^^  "^"  ^"^"^"■''-  He  was  no  common 
T  .vv  h\  w  't  ^'^^^'ot  who,  in  mistaken  ardour  for  the  honour  of  the 
1..UV,  had  taken  part  in  a  tumult,  during  which  some  Eoman  symna- 
thizersor  soldiers,  had  been  killed  ^ympa 

The  proposal  of  Pilate  threatened  (o  overthrow  the  scheme  of  the 
hierarchy,  and  unless  opposed  on  the  instant,  mi^ht  catch  die  popu 

nuir-rn,^''  '"'^  ^'J^'^'^^^-  ^^^-P^^^  '"ul  his  partv,  therefore.^?  th 
quick  piesence  ot  mind,  determined  to  turn  attention  from  it  b^  rais- 

efse  Sn-^  7  ^'T""''^^  ^^^"f""-^  *^  ^^'-'^  P^^^-^^O"-  "^^^^k  hinfto  i-e- 
iVr,  :  i  ^''"^  ^"  ^^°"', ''"'  ""^  t'"^  '"^'"•"  «l'outed  thev  to  the  mob 
It  XV  as,  a  dexterou.s  stroke,  tor  Barubbas  had  been  condemned  for  aa 
offence  w  uch  made  him  a  martyr,  in  the  eves  of  the  people  He  had 
risen  against  the  abhorred  Roman.  He  was  a  patrim^  lierefore  a 
zealot  tor  the  Temple  and  the  Law,  while  Jesul  wafil  e  Jnemy  of 
CaSls  ''•[  '"""'-"^  'r^^^'""  ="^^  "tes;-and  demanded  Sns 
rahhSt.i  u  °*'  sympathy  with  the  revolutionarv  fierceness  of  Ba- 
raODas,  but  it  made  him  only  too  zealous  ou  the  right  side.  whereM 


T65  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Jesus  was  the  public  accuser  of  the  whole  priesthood,  and  of  the 

schools  as  well. 

The  cry  for  Barabbas  was,  therefore,  raised  by  the  high  priests  as  a 
cue  to  the  people,  and  repeated  with  such  vehement  urgency  that, 
erelong,  it  was  caught  up  by  the  whole  crowd,  who  were  presently 
wild  with  excitement  to  have  "the  patriot"  released,  instead  of 
Jesus.  The  public  opinion,  or  voice  of  a  nation,  when  the  result  of 
free  expression  of  opposite  judgments,  may  be  the  voice  of  God,  but 
the  voice  of  the  unthinking  multitude,  as  the  outburst  of  sudden  pas- 
sion or  caprice,  seems  often  that  of  Satan.  Pilate  was  not  required 
to  give  the  people  their  choice,  but  had  fancied  he  might  appeal  to 
them  as  against  the  priests  and  Rabbis,  and  have  their  approval,  as  a 
counterpoise  to  the  opposition  of  their  leaders,  and  a  security  for  him- 
self with  the  Emperor.  But  the  high  priests  kept  up  the  cry  for 
Barabbas  so  fiercely,  and,  to  Pilate's  "regret,  the  multitude  echoed  it 
with  such  a  wild  tumult  of  voices,  that  he  saw  he  had  failed.  "Give 
us  Barabbas, "  alone  was  heard.  A  popular  tumult  seemed  rising. 
Everything  promised  another  scene  like  that  of  the  great  deputation 
to  Ca3sarea,  about  the  standards  set  up  in  Jerusalem,  when  the  per- 
sistent cries  of  the  multitude  were  not  to  be  silenced,  even  by  fear  of 
death,  and  forced  Pilate,  in  the  end,  to  yield. 

To  add  to  the  governor's  perplexity,  he  had  scarcely  ascended  the 
judge's  seat  to  receive  the  decision  of  the  people,  and  give  his  sentence 
in  accord  with  it,  when  a  message  came  to  him  from  his  wife, 
from  the  palace  behind,  which,  under  the  circumstances,  must  have 
grmtly  impressed  him.  Since  the  time  of  Augustus,  Roman  magis- 
trates had  been  permitted  to  take  their  wives  to  the  provinces,  and 
tradition  has  handed  down  the  wife  of  Pilate — whose  name  it  gives 
as  Procla — as  a  proselyte  to  Judaism.  She  had  evidently  heard  of 
Jesus,  and,  having  taken  a  lively  interest  in  Him,  was  greatly  troubled 
at  His  arrest,  and  present  danger.  Her  messenger,  hastening  to 
Pilate's  ear,  now  whispered  an  entreaty  from  her,  that  he  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  condemning  this  just  man ;  she  had  suffered  many 
things,  through  the  night,  in  a  dream,  because  of  Him — and  feared 
divine  vengeance  if  He  were  condemned. 

Pilate — guided  only  by  expediency — was  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  Un- 
willing to  give  way  to  the  mob,  and  let  looise  a  fierce  enemy  of  Rome, 
instead  of  a  harmless,  and  evidently  lofty-minded  enthusiast:  certain 
that  the  high  priests  had  accused  Him  only  from  envy  at  His  influ- 
ence with  the  people,  and  hatred  of  Him  for  His  opposition  to  them- 
selves :  half  afraid,  moreover,  especially  after  his  wife's  message,  to 
meddle  further  in  the  matter — he,  once  more,  turned  to  the  crowd, 
who  were  still  shouting— "  Not  this  man,  but  Barabbas" — and  at- 
tempted to  carry  his  point,  and  save  Jesus, 

"  Which  of  the  two,"  cried  he,  "do  you  really  wish  me  to  release 
to  you?"  "Barabbas,  Barabbas,"  roared  the  multitude.  The  cry 
laised  by  the  priests  had  carried  all  before  it.     "  What  shall  I  do 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  -'—       767 

tbcn,"  asked  Pilate,  pale  before  the  storm,  "with  Jesus,  whom  you 
call  the  Messiah — the  King  of  the  Jews?"  He  hoped  that  the  sound 
of  titles  so  dear  to  their  hearts,  and  so  flattering  to  their  piide,  would 
have  some  effect.     But  he  was  bitterly  deceived. 

For  now,  for  the  first  time,  rose  in  answer  to  him,  the  fearful  worda 
— "  To  the  Cross!"  "  Crucify  Him!  crucify  Him!" — the  priests  and 
Rabbis — prelates  and  doctors  of  the  nation — on  the  raised  platform 
of  the  tribunal,  shouting  first,  and  the  mob,  below,  presently  re-echo- 
ing them  far  and  wide. 

Pilate  had  failed  twice,  but  he  still  held  out.  Appealing  a  third 
time  to  the  excited  crowd,  he  strove  to  reason  with  them — 

"Why  shall  I  crucify  him?  What  evil  has  He  done?  He  hag 
broken  no  law.  I  have  found  no  cause,  in  anything  He  has  done,  to 
put  Him  to  death.  I  will,  therefore,  only  scourge  Him  and  let  Him 
go." 

But  he  knew  not  the  forces  he  was  opposing.  Behind  the  passions 
of  the  priests,  and  Rabbis,  and  people,  were  the  slowly  self-fulfilling 
counsels  of  the  Eternal ! 

The  sea  of  upturnedrfaces  broke  into  wild  uproar,  once  more,  and  a 
thousand  voices  cried  only,  "  Crucify  Him!  crucify  Him!" 

The  six  days  of  Ca^sarea,  when  the  same  crowds  had  besieged  his 
palace,  with  the  unbroken  cry,  which  not  even  imminent  death  could 
still — the  six  days,  when  their  invincible  tenacity  had  forced  him  to 
humble  himself  before  them,  and  let  them  triumph — rose  in  Pilate's 
mind. 

"It  will  be  another  uproar  like  that,"  thought  he;  "I  must  yield 
while  I  can,  and  save  myself."  Poor  ?riOckery  of  a  ruler!  Set  by  the 
Eternal  to  do  right  on  earth,  and  afraid  to  do  it:  told  so  by  his  own 
bosom :  strong  enough  in  his  legions,  and  in  the  truth  itself,  to  have 
saved  the  Innocent  One,  and  kept  his  own  soul — he  could  only  think 
of  the  apparently  expedient.  Type  of  the  politician  of  all  ages,  who 
forgets  that  only  the  right  is  the  strong  or  wise ! 

Not  daring,  in  his  weakness,  to  play  the  man,  and  do  right,  Pilate 
was  yet  determined  that  even  those  at  a  distance,  who  might  not  hear 
his  disavowal  of  any  willing  share  in  the  condemnation  of  Christ, 
should  be  made  to  see  it.  To  wash  the  hands  in  water  is  a  natural 
symbol,  so  expressive  of  repudiation  of  responsibility,  that  it  had  been 
adopted  by  Jews  and  heathen,  alike.  So  long  before  as  the  days  of 
Moses,  the  elders  of  a  city,  near  which  the  body  of  a  slain  man  had 
been  found,  were  required  to  wash  tlieir  hands  over  a  slaughtered 
heifer,  and  declare  their  innocence.  To  wash  the  hands  in  innocency 
was  already  a  common  expression,  in  the  days  of  David,  and  it  was 
familiar  to  both  Greeks  and  Romans.  Calling,  therefore,  for  water, 
Pilate  went  towards  his  official  chair,  and  with  significant  gestures, 
washed  his  hands,  calling  aloud  as  he  did  so  "  that  as  his  hands  were 
clean  before  them,  so  was  he  himself,  of  all  guilt  in  the  blood  of  thia 
nan.     It  is  ©n  you;  you  may  answer  for  it  as  you  best  can!" 


W8         "''"""  •       THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST. 

"Yes!  yes!"  cried  the  furious  priests  and  rabble,  ""wiHin^y!  we 
and  our  children  -will  take  the  blame!  His  blood  be  onus  and  our 
children,  if  He  be  slain  unjustly." 

' '  Then  ycu  may  have  His  blood, "  thought  Pilate :  "I  have  done  my 
best  to  save  Him!"  So  do  men  deceive  themselves,  as  if  they  could 
wash  their  conscience  clean  as  easily  as  their  hands!  They  fancy  they 
have  done  their  utmost  for  their  acknowledged  duty,  when  they  have 
not  done  precisely  the  first  indispensable  and  decisive  act.  They 
"weary  themselves,  toiling  along  a  thousand  crooked  ways,  which  can- 
not lead  them  to  their  end,  and  turn  aside  only  from  the  path  of  un- 
hesitating, immovable,  right — the  way  nearest  to  them,  and  the  short- 
est, after  all ! 

The  Innocent  One  had  gained  nothing  but  evil  by  all  the  windings 
and  doublings  of  the  scheming  and  trimming  Roman.  Pilate  had 
proposed  as  a  compromise  with  His  accusers,  to  save  His  life,  by  de- 
livering Him  over  to  the  shame  and  agony  of  scourging,  though  He 
had,  confessedly,  done  nothing  amiss.  He  was,  now,  to  be  both 
scourged  and  crucilied. 

Victims  condemned  to  the  cross  first  underwent  the  hideous  torture 
of  the  scourge,  and  this  Avas,  forthwith,  inflicted  on  Jesus.  Pilate,  in 
person,  commanded  it  to  be  carried  out.  "  Go,  bind  His  hands,  and 
let  Him  be  beaten, "  was  the  order  for  this  terrible  prelude  to  cruci- 
fixion. 

Roman  citizens  were  still  exempted,  by  various  laws,  from  this 
agonizing  and  painful  punishment,  which  was  employed  sometimes 
to  elicit  confessions,  sometimes  as  a  substitute  for  execution,  and,  at 
others,  as  the  first  step  in  capital  sentences.  It  was  in  full  use  in  the 
provinces,  and  lawless  governors  did  not  scruple  to  enforce  it  even  on 
Roman  citizens,  in  spite  of  their  protests  that  they  were  so.  Jesus  was 
now  seized  by  some  of  the  soldiers  standing  near,  and,  after  being 
stripped  to  the  waist,  was  bound  in  a  stooping  posture.  His  hands  be- 
hind His  back,  to  a  post,  or  low  pillar,  near  the  tribunal.  He  was 
then  beaten  till  the  soldiers  chose  to  stop,  with  knots  of  rope,  or 
plaited  leather  thongs,  armed  at  the  ends  with  acorn-sliaped  drops 
of  lead,  or  small,  sharp-pointed  bones.  In  many  cases  not  only  w^as 
the  back  of  the  person  scourged,  cut  open  in  all  directions:  even  the 
eyes,  the  face,  and  the  breast  were  torn  and  cut,  and  the  teeth  not 
seldom  knocked  out.  The  judge  stood  by,  to  stimulate  the  sinewy 
executioners,  by  cries  of  "  Give  it  him" — but  we  may  trust  that  Pilate, 
though  his  office  reciuired  his  presence,  spared  himself  this  crime. 

Under  the  fury  of  the  countless  stripes,  the  victims  K.metimessank, 
amidst  screams,  convulsive  leaps,  and  distortions;  into  a  senseless 
heap:  sometimes  died  on  the  spot:  sometimes,  were  taken  aw^ay  an 
unrecognizable  mass  of  bleeding  flesh,  to  find  deliverance  in  death, 
from  the  inflammation  and  fever,  sickness  and  shame. 

The  scourging  of  Jesus  was  of  the  severest,  for  the  soldiers  em- 
ployed as  lictors,  in  the  absence  of  these  special  oflicials,  who  were  not 


.     ^  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  >m 

allowed  to  procurators,  only  too  gladly  vented  on  any  Jew  the  grudge 
they  bore  the  nation,  and  they  Avould,  doubtless,  tr3*if  thej/  could  not 
force  out  the  confession,  which  His  silence  had  denied  to  the  governor. 
Besides,  He  was  to  be  crucified,  and  the  harder  the  scourging  the  less 
life  would  there  be  left,  to  keep  them  on  guard  at  the  cross,  after- 
wards. What  He  must  have  endured  is  pictured  to  us  by  Eusebius 
in  the  epistle  of  the  Church  in  Smyrna.  "All  around  were  horrilied 
to  see  them  (the  raartjTs),"  saj's  he,  "  so  torn  with  scourges  that  their 
very  veins  were  laid  bare,  and  the  inner  muscles  and  sinews,  and  even 
the  very  bowels,  exposed." 

The  scourging  over — Pilate,  as  his  office  required,  standing  by,  to 
hear  any  confession  that  might  be  made, — Jesus  was  formally  de- 
livered over  to  a  military  otticer  with  the  authorization  to  see  Him 
crucified.  He  had  been  scourged  in  the  open  grounds  before  the 
palace  gate,  close  to  the  tribunal,  but  Avas  now  led,  still  half-naked; 
with  painful,  bleeding  steps,  into  the  inner  court  of  the  palace,  ia 
which,  as  the  trial  was  over,  the  whole  cohort — no  longer  needed  out- 
side— was  massed,  to  be  ready  for  any  attempt  at  rescue.  His  guards 
now  put  some  of  His  clothes  on  the  quivering  body.  For  this  His 
own  humble  under  garments  contented  them,  in  part,  but  the  brutal 
humour  of  the  guard-room  was  free  to  vent  itself  on  a  condemned  man, 
and  the  lofty  claims  of  Christ,  and  His  hated  nationality,  excited  it  to 
the  keenest.  Instead  of  His  plain  abba  of  linen,  therefore,  they  threw 
over  His  shoulders  a  scarlet  sagum,  or  soldier's  cloak — as  a  rough  bur- 
lesque of  the  long  and  fine  purple  one,  worn  only  by  the  Emperor. 
One  of  them,  running  to  the  nearest  open  space,  heightened  the  coarse 
and  shameful  merriment  by  bringing  in  some  of  the  tough  twigs  of 
the  thorny  Nubk,  which  he  twisted  into  a  mock  laurel  wreath,  like 
that  worn  at  times  by  the  Caesars,  and  forced  down,  with  its  close 
sharp  thorns,  on  our  Saviour's  temples.  The  Nubk  even  yet  grows, 
on  dwarf  bushes,  outside  the  walls  of  Jerusalem.  A  fit  mockery  of  a 
sceptre,  to  complete  the  ridicule,  was  at  hand,  in  one  of  the  long  reeds, 
used  in  many  ways  ia  Jewish  houses,  and  hence  easily  procured. 
Placed  in  His  hand,  the  mock  king  had  a  sceptre !  It  only  remained 
to  pay  Him  a  show  of  homage,  and  this  they  did,  with  mock  oaths  of 
allegiance,  on  their  knees,  saluting  Him,  "Hail,  King  of  the  Jews." 
The  courtj'ard  rang  with  peals  of  laughter.  Some  of  the  more  brutal 
could  not,  however,  let  things  pass  so  lightly.  He  was  a  Jew;  He 
had  claimed  to  be  a  king,  in  opposition,  as  they  fancied,  to  the 
Emperor,  and  He  was  about  to  be  crucified.  So  they  indulged  their 
coarseness  by  tearing  the  stout  cane-like  reed  from  His  Hands,  and 
striking  Him  with  it  over  the  face  and  liead.  Others  struck  Him 
rudely  with  their  fists-  some,  in  their  contempt,  even  spitting  on  Him 
as  they  did  so.  The  scourging  had  lasted  till  the  soldiers  had  pleased 
to  end"  it,  and  now,  their  unspeakable  brutahty  was  left  to  wear  itself 
out 

This  long  passage  of  insult  and  mockery  was  one  of  the  sorest  trials 


770  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  • 

of  these  last  sad  hours.  Yet  through  the  whole  no  complaint  escaped 
His  lips.  He  was  being  insulted,  maltreated,  and  mocked,  as  a  Jew, 
while  already  agonized  by  the  scourging;  but  if  His  tormentors  had 
known  it,  it  was  because  the  Jews  hated  Him  He  stood  where  He  did. 
They  ridiculed  His  claim  to  the  monarchy  of  the  world ;  but  had  the 
soldiery  known  the  truth,  it  was  because  He  had  opposed  the  Jewish 
dream  of  such  a  monarchy  that  He  was  being  put  to  death. 

No  murmur  rose  from  Him.  He  might  have  spoken,  or  sighed,  or 
implored  the  pity  of  the  soldiery :  He  might  have  appealed  to  their 
honour  and  compassion.  A  heart  beats  even  in  the  roughest  bosom. 
But  He  was  silent — silent,  not  because  the  waves  of  His  sorrows  had 
overwhelmed  Him,  but  in  triimiphant  superiority  to  them.  He  had 
been  bowed  and  crushed  in  Gethsemane.  but  now.  He  showed  the 
serene  joy  of  a  conqueror.  His  silence  was  a  mark  of  His  perfect 
child-like  resignation  to  the  will  of  His  Father.  He  was  fulfilling, 
by  His  calm  endurance,  the  work  of  His  life,  in  accordance  witli  the 
eternal  counsels  of  God,  and  in  holy  love  for  His  nation  and  the  world. 
His  kingly  spirit  was  clouded  to  human  eyes  by  pain  and  agonj',  but 
tlie  end  of  His  life  and  death  shone  out  ever  more  triumphanflj^  before 
Him.  He  was  dying  to  destroy  for  ever  tlie  dead  and  death-causing 
ritualism  of  the  past;  as  the  founder  of  a  religion  of  love  and  freedom 
and  light ;  and  as  the  atoning  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of  the  world,  which 
would  open  the  gates  of  mercy  to  man  for  evermore! 

Pilate  had,  apparently,  retired  into  the  palace  for  a  time,  but  now  re- 
appeared; urged,  perhaps,  by  his  wife  Procla,  to  make  one  more  effort 
to  save  Jesus.  He  might  have  prevented  the  pitiful  coarseness  of  the 
soldiers  had  he  pleased,  and  the  scourging  itself  Avas  an  injustice,  by 
his  own  confession.  He  now  ordered  Him  to  be  brought  out  once 
more,  totterting  with  pain  and  weakness,  wearing  the  scarlet  cloak 
and  the  crown  of  thorns,  and  covered  besides  witli  the  vile  proofs  of 
contempt  and  violence.     Even  the  stony  heart  of  Pilate  was  touched. 

"Behold,"  said  he,  "  I  have  brought  Him  out  to  j'ou  again,  that  you 
may  know,  once  more,  that  I  have  found  no  fault  in  Him."  Then, 
turning  to  the  figure  at  his  side,  drawn  together  with  mortal  agony, 
and  looking  at  the  pale,  worn,  and  bleeding  face,  through  which  there 
yet  shone  a  calm  dignity  and  more  than  human  beauty  that  had 
touched  his  heart,  and  might  touch  even  the  heart  of  Jews,  he  added 
,  • — "Behold  the  man!"  Would  they  let  the  scourging  and  mockery 
suffice,  after  all? 

But  religious  hatred  is  the  fiercest  of  all  passions.  Jesus  had  been 
sleepless  through  the  night,  worn  with  anticipations  of  the  terrible 
future,  and  with  the  sadness  of  an  infinite  sorroAv:  disfigiu-cd  by  the 
lawless  treatment  of  the  palace-yard,  and  liowcd  by  the  torture  of  the 
scourging;  and  now  stood,  utterly  exhausted,  before  all  eyes — yet  a 
form  demanding  reverence. 

But  the  priests  were  unmoved.  What  revenge  would  satisfy  their 
hatred  so  long  as  still  more  could  be  had  ?     The  sight  of  their  victim 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  771 

jredoubled  their  ferocity.  Forgetful  of  tlieir  profession  and  dignity, 
the  chief  priests— the  primate  and  prehxtes  of  tlie  day — their  servants 
and  tiie  servile  crowd  eclioiiig  tlieir  cry — answered  the  procurator's 
appeal  only  by  loud  shouts  of  "  Crucify!     crucify!" 

"  Take  ye  Him,  then,  and  crucify  Him,  if  it  must  be  so,"  answered 
Pilate.  "  I  have  found  Him  blameless  of  any  offence  agaiust  Roman 
law  for  which  I  could  condemn  Him."  As  if  he  wished  to  say — "  I 
will  not  be  your  mere  tool!" 

The  first  accusation  had  therefore  failed,  and  was  dropped.  But 
the  priests  were  determined  to  have  His  life,  and  forthwith  demanded 
it  on  a  new  ground. 

"  He  shall  not  escape  with  life!"  cried  their  spokesman.  "  If  He 
has  committed  no  crime  worthy  of  death  by  Roman  law,  we  have  a 
Jewish  law  which  He  has  outraged,  and  by  this  law  He  must  die. 
He  has  claimed  to  be  the  Son  of  God — the  IVIessiali — which  He  is  not, 
and  for  that,  by  our  law,  which  we  only  can  or  dare  decide,  and 
which  thou  hast  sworn  to  uphold,  He  deserves  death ; — death  by  ston- 
ing, i'U  any  ca.'e;  death  by  the  cross,  if  thou  allowest  it.  Thou  art 
bound  to  uphold  our  decision,  and  confirm  our  sentence." 

Thousands  were  eager,  now  that  the  high  priests  had  roused  their 
fanaticism,  to  put  Jesus  to  death,  with  Pilate's  permission  or  with- 
out. The  zealots  would  do  it  as  a  meritorious  act.  But  such  an  out- 
break Pilate  dreaded.  He  would,  therefore,  have  j'ielded  without 
hesitation,  but  even  to  his  frivolous  soul  there  was  an  ominous  sound 
in  the  name  "  Son  of  God."  Might  he  be  braving  the  wrath  of  the 
gods,  and  what,  compared  to  that,  was  the  utmost  these  wretched 
Jews  could  do? 

The  irresolute  man — with  no  force  of  character,  and  too  unprinci- 
pled to  be  an  upright  judge,  if  the  right  were  not,  first  of  all,  politic 
— was  alarmed.  "  Perhaps,"  thought  he,  "if  he  brought  Jesus  be- 
fore him,  privately,  once  more,  a  way  out  of  the  dilemma  would 
present  itself . "  There  was  also  that  dream  of  Procla's  to  frighten 
Mm. 

Retiring,  therefore,  into  the  palace,  he  ordered  Jesus  to  be  set  be- 
fore him  again. 

"  What  was  that  they  said,"  asked  he,  "  about  Thy  being  the  Son 
of  God?     Whence  comest  thou?     Art  thou  of  human'birth  or  more?" 

No  answer  which  could  have  revealed  the  mystery  of  His  nature 
was  possible  at  such  a  time.  Anything  He  might  have  said,  however 
clear,  would,  moreover,  have  been  unintelligible  to  the  heathen 
governor,  with  his  utter  want  of  moral  earnestness,  and  would  have 
been  fruitless.  Jesus  therefore  remained  silent.  Pilate  had  abiuidant 
means  of  judging  from  the  past,  an(i  besides,  it  was  no  question  of 
birth  or  orgin,  but  a  simple  matter  of  uprightness  he  was  called  on 
to  decide.  K  his  prisoner  were  innocent,  he  had  a  right  to  be  set 
free,  whoever  He  might  be. 

Pilate's  pride  was  touched  bj  the  silence.     His  momentary  tender* 


773  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  ^ 

ness  ttrrned  into  .owering  passion :  for  power,  when  it  feels  itself  iQ 
the  wrong,  is  the  more  ready  to  drown  conscience  by  violence  to- 
wards the  weakness  it  outrages.  "  Do  you  refuse  to  answer  Me?"  he 
asked,  in  flashing  anger.  "  Do  you  not  know  that  your  life  is  in  my 
hands,  and  hangs  on  my  nod?  that  I  can  crucify,,  or  release  Thee  at 
my  pleasure?" 

Had  he  been  self-possessed  at  the  moment,  and  able  to  ponder 
things  aright,  he  would  have  seen  an  answer  to  his  question,  even  in 
Christ's  silence.  For  it  is  certain  that  He  in  whose  lips  no  deceit 
was  ever  found,  would,  on  the  instant,  have  honourably  confessed 
that  He  was  only  a  man,  had  He  been  no  more.  His  very  silence  was 
a  testimony  to  His  divine  dignity. 

But  He  Avas  now  no  longer  .silent.  "You  have  indeed,"  said  He, 
power  over  me,  but  you  would  have  none  were  it  not  given  you  from 
above,  from  God.  But  youy  sin,  though  great,  in  condemning  me 
against  your  conscience,  and  exercising  on  me  the  power  granted  you 
by  God,  is  not  so  great  as  that  of  others;  for  you  are  only  an  instru- 
ment in  His  hands  to  carry- out  His  counsels.  The  chief  guilt  lies 
on  those  who  have  delivered  me  to  you  to  force  you  to  carry  out  their 
will  against  me.  Theirs  is  the  greater  sin!"  Even  in  His  lowliest 
Immiliation,  He  is  tender  and  pitiful  to  the  man  who  has  done  Him 
so  much  wrong,  and  bears  Himself  towards  Him,  Roman  governor 
though  He  be,  as  if  He  Avere  the  judge  and  Pilate  the  prisoner.  He 
has  nothing  to  say  of  his  own  agonies  or  wrongs,  but  only  Avarning 
earnestness  at  the  thought  of  the  sin  that  was  being  wrought  by  men 
against  their  own  souls. 

The  AAord.s,  and  the  whole  bearing  of  Jesus,  struck  into  the  heart 
of  the  Roman.  Presence  of  mind  and  self-respectful  dignity,  even  in 
the  most  helpless  victim  of  injustice,  have  an  irresistible  poAver  over 
the  oppressor.  Hoaa'  much  more  such  a  unique  grandeur  as  diffused 
itself  round  this  mj'sterious  man!  Pilate  was  more  than  ever  re- 
solved to  release  Him.  Returning  once  again  to  the  tribunal,  Jesus 
at  his  side,  he  strove  to  bring  the  priests  and  the  croAvd  to  content 
themselves  with  what  their  victim  had  already  suffered. 

But  the  priests  and  Rabbis  had  hit  upon  a  ncAV  terror  for  the  half- 
righteous  judge.  Hardly  waiting  to  hear  his  first  Avords,  they  raised 
a  cry  which  tliey  and  the'mob  kept  shouting  till  Pilate  was  thoroughly 
alarmed  and  unnerved.  "  If  you  let  this  man  go,  you  are  not  true 
to  Ca?sar.  Any  one  that  makes  Himself  a  king,  as  He  has  done,  de- 
clares Himself  against  Cfesar." 

Pilate  kncAv  the  jealous,  suspicious  character  of  Tiberius,  and 
feared  his  displeasure  the  more,  because  his  conscience  told  him  how 
he  had  abused  his  office  by  every  form  of  tyranny,  so  that  an  appeal 
to  Rome  might  well  be  fatal  to  him.  Should  he  expose  himself  to 
the  displeasure' of  the  Emperor?  He  Avas  ready  for  any  act  of  Aveak 
unrighteousness,  rather  than  brave  a  censure  from  Capnea,  far  lessi 
the  risk  of  its  vengeance.     He,  doubtless,  tried  to  make  himself  to* 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHIIIST.  771 

lieve  that  he  could  not,  in  any  case,  save  Christ's  life,  and  flattered 
himself  that  lie  had  acted  with  exceptional  uprightness.  He  must, 
after  all,  look  to  himself,  first.  Would  he  bring  down  on  himself  a 
recall;  perhaps  banishment,  or  even  worse;  to  save  a  Jew,  because 
justice  demanded  his  doing  so?  "  Who,"  doubtless  thought  the  mere 
politician,  "  in  my  position,  would  dream  of  committing  such  a  folly? 
Shall  I  sacrifice  myself  for  any  one?    No!" 

Furious  at  the  priesthood  and  the  rabble,  w^ho  kept  shouting  the 
hateful  insinuation  that  clemency  would  be  treason  to  Caesar,  Pilate 
once  more  took  his  official  seat.  It  was,  now,  about  nine  o'clock, 
and  he  had  at  last  given  way,  though  with  bitter  mortification.  He 
would  not,  even  yet,  however,  surrender  without  one  more  effort  to 
carry  his  point,  for  he  was  alarmed  alike  at  Jesus  and  at  the  Emperor, 

Turning  to  Jesus,  still  wearing  the  crown  of  thorns  and  the  scarlet 
cloak — in  a  burst  of  unconcealed  contempt  against  the  Jews,  as  im- 
politic as  it  was  useless,  he  cried — "Behold  your  king!"  The  only 
answer  was  a  hurricane  of  cries — "  Away  witii  Him,  away  with  Him, 
crucify  Him!"  "  What!"  cried  Pilate,  with  keen  withering  mockery 
— "  shall  I  crucify  your  king?"  As  if  to  say  that  one  so  humiliateo. 
and  outcast  was  all  the  king  they  deserved  or  could  show. 

Caiaphas  and  Haunas,  and  the  group  round  them,  w'ere,  however, 
more  than  a  match  for  him.  They  had  an  answer  ready  which  would 
force  his  hand,  if  he  had  any  thought  of  still  holding  out.  "We 
have  no  king  but  CiBsar,"  rose  all  round  him — "we  ^'ant  no  other 
king!"  "The  hypocrites,"  doubtless  thought  Pila:e,  "with  the 
souls  of  slaves.  Tiberius,  himself,  has  not  yet  ventured  to  call  him- 
self king,  or  Lord,  and  these,  his  mortal  enemies;  priests  too,  pre- 
tending to  be  the  heads  of  religion,  pay  him  homage  as  king,  with- 
out being  asked,  only  to  force  me,  by  their  pretended  'oyalty,  to  carry 
out  their  revenge  against  one  so  much  better  than  themselves." 

It  was  Friday ;  and  Sabbath— on  which  nothing  could  be  done — 
began  at  sunset.  If  the  execution  were  delayed,  new  difficulties 
might  rise  to  save  Jewish  scruples  about  the  desecration  of  the  holy 
day,  by  the  exposure,  during  it,  of  bodies  on  the  cross.  Who,  more- 
over, could  tell  what  might  follow,  if  the  followers  of  Jesus  rose 
against  His  enemies  during  this  respite,  to  force  a  release  of  their 
Teacher?  Besides,  Pilate  felt  he  could  not  now  save  Him,  aad 
wished  the  whole  matter  over  as  soon  and  as  quietly  as  possible. 

He,  therefore,  at  last,  gave  the  final  order  fur  crucifixion.    ' 


CHAPTER  LXni. 

JUDAS — THE  CRUCIFIXIOlSr. 

'  Among  tlie  spectators  of  the  trial  and  condemnation,  was  one  •who 
"was  far  enough  from  joining  in  tlie  cries  of  tlie  high  priests,  and 
their  satellites, — Judas  Iscariot.  Whatever  might  have  been  his 
thoughts  while  sustained  by  excitenient,  he  had  no  sooner  seen  Jesus 
led  away  by  the  Roman  soldiers  from  the  garden,  than  all  changed. 
The  excitement  was  over — the  whirlwind  of  evil  an  which  his  spirit 
had  for  the  time  ridden,  was  spent,  and  in  its  place  had  come  the 
awful  calm  of  retrospect  and  reflection.  He  was  no  longer  needed 
by  his  employers,  and  found  himself,  lately  so  flattered  and  followed, 
now  cast  ignomiuiously  aside,  as  the  traitor  he  was.  The  great 
moon,  the  silent  night,  his  loneliness,  after  such  agitation,  the  sudden 
breaking  up  of  the  past,  the  vision  of  the  three  j'cars  now  so  trag- 
ically ended ;  echoes  and  remembrances  of  the  love  and  divine  good- 
ness of  the  Master  he  had  betrayed ;  a  sudden  realization  of  the  in- 
finite future;  with  its  throne,  its  unerring  Judge, — the  assembled 
universe,  the  doom  of  tlie  guilty,  and  the  joy  of  the  faithful,  acted 
and  reacted  on  his  heart  and  brain. 

It  may  he  he  had  stood,  pale  with  remorse  and  anxiety,  through 
all  the  incidents  of  the  trial,  hoping,  against  hope,  that  his  Master 
would  at  last  put  forth  His  supernatural  power,  and  deliver  Himself, 
as  perhaps  lie  had  expected.  It  is  quite  possible  that  Judas  had 
acted  as  he  had  done,  to  precipitate  a  crisis,  and  force  Jesus  to  such 
a  display  of  His  power,  as  would,  even  against  His  will,  force  on 
Him  the  assumption  of  the  worldly  IMessianic  dignity,  from  which 
the  unhappy  fallen  man  had  dreamed  of  political  greatness,  and  rich 
official  state  for  himself. 

To  his  unspeakable  horror,  he  had  found  all  his  calculations  mis- 
carry. Perhaps  after  waiting  amongst  the  crowd  before  Pilate,  ei& 
■well  as  at  the  gate  of  the  high  ^Driest,  he  had  heard  the  shouts  of  the 
priests  and  the  mob, — the  sound  of  the  knout  falling  on  the  bleeding 
back — the  awful  demand  for  The  Cross — that  image  of  lowest  deg- 
radation and  extremest  agony — and  last  of  all,  the  fatal  utterance 
of  Pilate — "I,  miles,  expedi  crucem," — "Go,  soldier,  prepare  the 
cross."  They  had  fallen  in  a  Sodom-] ike  fire-rain  on  his  soul,  and 
he  felt  himself  already  the  accursed  of  time  and  eternity.  The  light 
lOf  life  had  passed  into  the  darkness  visible  of  despau-.  Which  way 
he  looked  was  hell ;  himself  was  hell. 

Hurrying  to  the  Temple  with  his  wretched  gain,  for  which  he  had 
bartered  aAvay  his  inheritance  of  one  of  the  twelve  thrones  of  the 
resurrection,  and  an  apostle's  glory  here,  in  the  lieavenly  kingdom 
his  Master  had  founded, — he  sought  to  thrust  it  back  again  o»  the 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  773 

priests  from  Tvhom  he  had  .sot  it,  as  the  wages  of  his  guilt— paid  be- 
forehand, to  quicken  his  zeal.  But  though  willing  to  prop  up  their 
Temple  system  by  murder,  they  would  on  no  account,  compromise 
their  own  ceremonial  purity,  or  that  of  the  sacred  treasury,  by  taking 
back  the  coin,  which  they  themselves  had  polluted,  by  paying  it  as 
the  price  of  crime.  They  could  see  the  stain  of  the  blood  on  the 
shekels,  but  not  on  their  own  souls.  Judas  had  served  their  purpose, 
and  was  nothing  to  them  now.  He  had  in  his  agony  pressed  into  the 
very  court  of  the  priests,  where  they  were  gathered— ground  sacred 
to  consecrated  feet.  "  Would  they  do  nothing  yet,  to  save  his  Mas- 
ter? He  had  not  expected  they  Avould  go  to  such  awful  extremes. 
Jesus  was  innocent.  All  he  had  said  against  Him  was  untrue. 
Would  they  not  for  their  lioly  office  sake,  for  the  sake  of  the  holy- 
spot  on  wliich  thev  then  were,  undo  the  awful  crime?" 

He  miiiht  as  well  have  spoken  to  the  marble  pavement  on  which 
they  stood,  with  bare  feet,  in  reverence  of  the  Holy  of  Holies  close 
b}'-.  The  stone  was  not  more  impassive  than  their  hearts.  "What 
is  it  to  us,  "answered  they,  "what  you  have  done?  That  is  your 
own  affair.  See  you  to  it."  But  if  he  could  not  move  them,  he 
could  at  least  clear  himself,  so  far,  by  casting  back  among  them  the 
money  with  which  they  had  hired  him.  Throwing  it  down  on  the 
pavement,  therefore,  he  went  out,  perhaps  in  the  darkness  of  early 
morning— for  possibly  he  did  not  wait  for  the  last  acts  of  the  trial, 
but  had  been  overwhelmed  by  the  condemnation  of  a  Jesus  by  the 
Jewish  authorities— and  hanged  himself  in  a  spot  of  ground,  till  then 
known  as  the  clay-yard  of  a  potter  of  the  town,  but  thenceforth  as 
the  Field  of  Blood.  Nor  was  even  this  the  end,  for  the  cord  by 
which  he  had  suspended  himself  gave  way,  and  he  fell  beneath,  rup- 
tured and  revolting. 

To  put  money,  defiled  from  any  cause,  into  the  treasury  was  imlaw- 
ful.  To  what  could  the  authorities  apply  it?  How,  better,  than  to 
buy  the  worn-out  clay  pit,  already  defiled  by  the  suicide  of  Judas, 
for  the  further  defilement  of  a  graveyard.  There  was  need  of  a  spot 
in  which  to  bury  foreign  Jews,  who  might  die  in  Jerusalem.  So  the 
scene  of  the  traitor's  death  became  doubly  a  "field  of  blood."_ 

Meanwhile,  preparations  were  being  rapidly  made  for  crucifixion. 
Death  by  the  cross  was  the  most  terrible  and  the  most  dreaded  and 
shameful  punishment  of  antiquity — a  punishment,  the  very  name  of 
which,  Cicero  tells  us,  should  never  come  near  the  thoughts,  the 
eyes,  or  ears,  of  a  Roman  citizen,  far  less  his  person.  It  was  of 
Eastern  orio-in,  and  had  been  in  use  among  the  Persians  and  Car- 
thaginians, long  before  its  employment  in  Western  countries.  Alex- 
ander the  Great  adopted  it  in  Palestine,  from  the  Phcnicians,  after 
tlie  defence  of  Tvre,  which  he  punished  by  cnicifying  two  thousand 
citizens,  when  the  place  surrendered.  Cfassus  signalized  its  intrcH 
duction  into  Roman  use  by  lining  the  road  from  Capau  to  Rome  with 
crucified  slaves,  captured  in  the  revolt  ©f  Spartacus,  and  Aug^tUB 


rJO  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

finally  inaugnrfited  its  general  use,  by  crnciiyin^  u:z  thousand  slaves 
at  once,  in  Sicily,  iu  his  suppression  of  tlic  \var  raised  by  Sextus 
Pompeius. 

It  was  not  a  Jewish  punislniicnt,  for  the  cases  mentioned  in  the 
Old  Testament  of  "hanging  up"  criminals  or  oifcnders  refer  only 
to  their  dead  bodies,  or  were  imitations  of  the  heathen  custom  by 
some  of  the  kings.  For  Jews  to  crucify  a  Jew,  indeed,  would  hava 
been  impossible,  as  the  national  sentiment  would  have  revolted  from 
it  The  cruelty  of  heathenism  had  to  be  called  in  l)y  the  corrupt  and 
sunken  priesthood,  before  such  a  death  could  be  inflicted  on  any 
member  of  the  nation,  far  less  on  one  declared  by  the  Procurator 
himself  to  be  innocent.  It  was  the  punishment  inflicted  bj-  heathen- 
ism, which  knew  no  compassion  or  reverence  for  a  man  as  man, — on 
the  worst  criminals,  on  highway  robbers,  rebels  and  slaves,  or  on 
provincials  who,  in  the  eyes  of  Rome,  were  only  slaves,  if  they  fell 
into  crime. 

The  cross  used  at  Calvary  consisted  of  a  strong  post,  which  was 
carried  beforehand  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  of  two  cross  pieces, 
borne  to  the  spot  by  the  victim,  and  afterwards  nailed  to  the  up- 
rights so  that  they  slanted  forward,  and  let  the  sufferer  lean  on  his 
stretched  out  hands,  and  thus  relieve  the  pressure  of  his  body  down- 
wards. A  stout  rough  wooden  pin,  in  the  middle  of  the  upright 
post,  supplied  a  seat  of  fitting  agony,  for  the  weight  of  the  body 
would  otherwise  have  torn  it  from  the  cross. 

While  everything  was  being  prepared,  Jesus  was  exposed  in  the 
guard-room,  once  more,  to  tlie  insults  of  tlie  soldier3^  At  last,  how- 
ever, all  was  ready,  and  the  scarlet  cloak  was  now  removed,  and  His 
own  linen  abba  replaced.  It  was  the  custom,  as  I  have  said,  for 
offenders  themselves  to  carry  the  transverse  pieces  of  their  cross,  and 
these,  therefore,  were  now  laid  on  the  shoulders  of  Jesus,  faint  as 
He  was  with  mental  and  bodily  distress.  A  detachment  of  the  cohort 
which  had  been  massed  in  the  court  of  the  palace,  in  case  of  disturb- 
ance, was  told  off  under  a  centurion  to  guard  the  procession  to  the 
place  of  death,  the  officer  being  responsible  for  the  due  execution  of 
the  sentence.  Jesus  was  not,  however,  to  die  alone.  Two  more 
prisoners  were  brought  out  to  suffer  with  him ;  men  convicted  not  of 
mere  insurrection,  but  of  robbery;  the  special  trouble  of  the  land  in 
these  evil  times,  even  till  Jerusalem  perished.  Pilate  could  hardly 
have  intended  to  degrade  Jesus  in  the  eyes  of  the  Jews  by  associating 
Him  with  enemies  of  society,  but  the  "want  of  thouglit,  with  which 
he  formed  such  a  group  of  victims,  simply  to  empty  his  prison,  and 
get;  through  the  annual  Easter  executions  at  once,  show.s  how  super- 
ficial an  impression  had  been  made  on  his  light  nature  by  all  that  had 
passed.  His  seriousness  had  been  written  in  water;  heartlessness 
and  utter  want  of  moral  earnestnesss  were  his  prevailing  mood. 

And  now  the  sad  procession  began.  It  was  about  ten  in  the  fore- 
noon, for  at  least  an  hour  had  been  spent  in  getting  ready.     The 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  777 

*«oldiers  stepped  into  their  ranks,  and  the  prisoners  were  set,  under 
guard,  in  their  places;  each  carrying,  hung  from  Uis  neck,  a 
whitened  hoard.  i:)roclaiining  iu  large  black  letters  the  offences  for 
which  lie  was  about  to  die;  unless,  indeed,  as  in  some  cases,  a 
soldier  bore  it  before  tliem.  Each,  also,  bore  the  cross  beams  of  his 
cross,  fastened  together  like  the  letter  V,  with  his  arms  bound  to  tlie 
projecting  ends. 

It  is  vain  to  attempt  to  follow  the  route,  for  the  Avhole  surface  of 
Jerusalem  has  changed  since  then.  Roman  London  is  only  reached 
at  a  depth  of  si.vteen  or  seventeen  feet,  though  the  history  of  our 
island  is  comparatively  peaceful;  but  Jerusalem  has  stood  siege 
after  siege  till  the  streets  of  Christ's  day  are  buried  below  the  ruins 
of  successive  cities.  All  we  know  is  that  the  place  of  e.xecutiou  was 
outside  the  walls,  to  the  north-west,  at  the  side  of  a  leading  road,  to 
let  the  spectacle  be  seen  by  the  crowds  passing  and  repassing.'  Fr'ona 
the  palace  of  Herod,  the  sad  procession  must  have  passed  out  under 
the  shadow  of  the  great  castles  of  Hippicus,  Phasael,  and  Mariamne  • 
through  the  Hebron  or  Jaffa  gate,  or  the  gate  Gennath.  As  it 
moved  slowly  on,  an  official,  proclaimed  aloud  the  names  of  the 
pnsouers,  and  the  offences  for  which  they  were  about  to  die.  Four 
soldiers  walked  beside  each,  as  the  special  guard  and  executioners, 
the  rest  of  the  delaclmient  preceding  and  following. 

As  it  moved  through  the  narrow  streets,  a  grea't  crowd  accompa- 
nied it.  The  Temple  had  special  claims  on  thcT  citizens  in  the  Passo- 
ver week,  and,  besides,  it  would  soon  be  Sabbath,  and  they  were 
busy  with  their  worldly  affairs,  and  loath  to  afford  the  time  ;  yet 
niany,  both  friends  and  enemies,  pressed  after  the  soldiers.  The 
women  especially,  less  easily  diverted  from  sorrow  and  pity,  either 
by  religious  rites  or  every-day  duties,  thronged  to  see  One  led  out  to 
die  of  whom  they  had  heard  so  much.  In  the  East,  men  and  wo- 
men, even  man  and  wife,  never  appear  iu  public  together,  and  hence 
all  were  free  to  show  their  feelings  independentlv.  The  Galilfpns  iu 
the  city  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  and  had  had  no  time  to  gather 
at  the  trial  and  show  sympathy  with  their  countryman,  whom  so 
many  of  tliem  reckoned  as  a  prophet.  Only  fanatical  Jerusalem,  to 
Avhich  the  cry  of  the  priests  was  law,  and  to  whom  Jesus,  as  a  sun- 
posed  enemy  of  the  Temple,— the  idol  at  once  of  their  bigotry  and 
their  pocket,— was  doubly  hateful,  had  learned  of  the  arrest  in  the 
early  morning,  and  had  gathered  to  yell  down  Pilate's  proposals  of 
release. 

Two  incidents  only  are  recorded  of  the  march  to  the  place  of  ex- 
ecution. Tlie  beams  laid  on  Jesus  soon  jiroved  too  heavy,  in  the  hilly 
streets,  for  His  exhausted  strength,  and  His  slow  advance  Avith  theni 
so  delayed  the  procession  that  the  guard  grew  impatient,  and  havint' 
seized  a  passer-by  coming  from  the  country,  compelled  him  to  bear 
them.  The  involuntary  cross-bearer  was  a  foreign  Jew,  called 
Simon,  from  Cyrcne,  in  North  Africa  ;  now  part  of  Tunis,  theu  part 


r/8  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

of  the  province  of  Libya.  Ptolemaeus  Lagi  had  carried  off  a  hun- 
dred thousand  Jews  from  Palestine,  and  settled  them  in  tnese  part  of 
North  Africa,  and  in  three  hundred  years  they  had  increased  so 
greatly  in  numbers,  tliat  a  special  synagogue  was  erected  in  Jerusa- 
lem for  the  pilgrims  they  yielded  to  the  great  feasts.  Simon's  ap- 
pearance marked  him  as  a  foreigner,  for,  in  the  East,  all  nationalities 
have  their  distinctive  dress  ;  and,  as  a  stranger,  the  infamy  of  being 
made  to  carry  a  cross  would  be  less  likely  to  cause  a  stir.  It  may  be 
that  he  showed  sympathy  with  Jesus,  but,  in  any  case,  his  service  to 
Him  appears  to  have  resulted  in  his  conversion,  with  all  his  family ; 
for  it  is  ea.sy  to  believe  the  tradition  that  the  "  Rufus  and  his 
mother,"  of  whom  St.  Paul,  a  quarter  of  a  century  later,  speaks  so 
tenderly,  were  his  wife  and  one  of  the  two  sons,  Alexander  and 
Rufus,  mentioned  by  St.  Mark  as  known  to  his  readers. 

From  the  moment  of  His  declaring  Himself  the  Messiah,  and  being 
condemned  to  die  for  doing  so,  Jesus  had  had  nothing  more  to  say 
to  His  judges.  No  cry  of  pain;  no  murmur  of  impatience  escaped 
Him.  He  had  realized  to  the  full  all  that  the  victorious  completion 
of  His  work,  through  self-sacrifice,  demanded,  and  bore  indignities 
and  agonies  with  unbroken  submission.  He  was  dying  to  free  man- 
Ivind  from  the  bondage  of  the  letter ;  to  break,  for  ever,  the  chains  of 
Rabbinism  and  priestly  caste,  from  the  Imman  soul ;  to  inaugurate 
the  reign  of  spiritual  religion;  and,  above  all,  to  atone  for  man's  sin, 
and  then  enter  into  His  glory  with  the  Father.  The  joy  set  before 
Him  strengthened  Him,  in  the  words  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews, 
to  endure  the  cross,  and  despise  the  shame. 

But  His  lips,  shut  for  hours,  opened  once  more  on  the  way  to  His 
death.  The  road  was  lined  with  spectators,  many  of  whom  did  not 
attempt  to  conceal  their  sj'mpathy;  and  a  great  crowd  followed,  both 
of  men  and  women,  the  latter  filling  the  air  with  loud  lamentations 
and  waitings.  Touched  with  their  grief,  so  strangely  sweet  after 
such  a  long  bitterness  of  mockery  and  clamorous  hatred,  the  Inno- 
cent One  stopped  on  His  way,'^and  turning  to  them,  bade  them 
lament,  not  for  llim,  but  for  themselves. 

"Daughters  of  Jerusalem,"  said  He,  "weep  not  for  Me,  but  weep 
for  yourselves."  His  death  was  the  fulfilment  of  the  counsels  of 
God,  and  His  apparent  overthrow  was  His  real  and  eternal  victory. 
They  might  have  wept  for  Him,  had  He  shrunk  from  completing  the 
work  given  Him  to  do,  and  failed  to  perfect  the  great  plan  of  human 
salvation.  "  But  weep  for  yourselves  and  for  your  children.  The 
fate  of  Jerusalem  which  I  "love  so  well,  is  sealed,  and  will  be  sad 
indeed  compared  with  my  momentary  pains.  For  if  your  enemies 
v2o  these  thmgs  to  Me,  a  green  fruit-bearing  tree  that  deserves  to  live 
and  be  cherished — Me,  pronounced  giiiltless  even  by  the  judge  him. 
gelf — what  will  they  do  with  the  dry  and  warthless  tree  of  the  nation, 
guilty  before  God  and  man?  Israel  is  a  dry,  leafless  trunk  that  will 
bear  no  more  fruit,  but  is  doomed  to  the  burning.     What  will  be  it* 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  179 

fate,  it  Mine,  "who  am  green  and  fresh  in  innocence,  be  what  it  is! 
Yet  the  green,  cut  down,  will  sprout  again,  but  the  dry  will  perish 
tor  evermore !  In  that  day  the  curse  of  ages  of  sin  and  hypocrisy 
will  overwhelm  your  city  and.  Temple,  with  its  watchers  and  shep- 
herds." 

He  had  always  loved  children,  and  had  often  pressed  them  to  Hif! 
heart  and  carried  them  in  His  arms,  but  the  vision  of  the  avrful 
future  now  rising  before  Him  was  darkened  by  this  ver}^  tenderness. 
To  bear  children  was  the  glory  of  every  Jewish  wife;  but  in  after 
years,  He  told  them,  they  would  call  her  blessed  who  had  never 
borne.  ' '  Your  nation  has  not  known  the  day  of  its  visitation :  it  has 
pushed  back  My  hand  when  I  offered  it  life  here  and  hereafter;  it  has 
killed  its  prophets  and  stoned  them  that  were  sent  to  it  from  God  ; 
and  now  the  things  of  its  peace  are  hid  from  its  ej^es.  Instead  of 
life  let  it  wish  a  grave,  ere  its  despairing  cry  rises  that  the  mountains 
should  fall  on  it,  and  the  hills  cover  it  from  the  avenging  wrath  of 
God."  Words  of  tender  human  love,  welling  up  from  the  depths  of 
a  sacred  pity,  even  under  the  shadow  of  the  cross! 

The  spot  on  which  the  crosses  were  to  be  erected  stood  near  some 
of  the  gardens  of  the  .suburbs,  and  was  known  by  the  Aramaic  name, 
Golgotha,  of  which  Cranion — a  skull — given  as  the  name  by  St. 
Luke,  writing  for  Gentiles,  is  the  Greek  tran.slation,  and  Calvaria, 
Calvary,  the  Latin.  From  a  fancied  allusion  to  the  shape  of  a  skull, 
tradition  has  handed  it  down  as  a  hill ;  but  all  the  four  Gospels  call 
it  simply  a  place,  as  if  it  had  its  name  only  from  its  bare  smoothness 
and  slight  convexity,  as  we  speak  of  the  brrno  of  a  hill  from  its 
rounded  slope.  It  may  have  been  the  usual  place  of  execution,  but 
there  is  nothing  in  the  name  to  lead  to  the  belief,  for,  in  that  case,  it 
would  have  been  spoken  of  as  a  place  of  skulls  ;  had  they  been  per- 
mitted to  lie  unburied  in  Juctea,  which  was  impossible. 

The  cross  pieces  were  nailed  in  their  places  on  the  upright  posts, 
sometimes  before,  sometimes  after,  the  posts  tliemselves  had  been  set 
up.  Je.sus  and  His  fellow-sufferers,  in  either  case,  were  now  stripped 
once  more,  as  they  had  been  before  they  were  scourged — a  linen 
cloth  at  most  being  left  round  their  loins.  The  centre  cross  was  set 
apart  for  our  Lord,  and  He  was  laid  on  it  either  as  it  lay  on  the 
ground,  or  lifted  and  tied  to  it  as  it  stood  upright.  His  arms  stretched 
along  the  two  cross  beams,  and  His  body  resting  on  the  projecting 
pin  of  rough  wood,  misnamed  a  .seat.  The  most  dreadful  part  then 
followed;  for,  though  even  the  Egyptians  only  tied  the  victims  to 
the  cross,  the  Romans  and  Carthn.^inians  added  to  the  torture,  by 
driving  a  huge  nail  through  the  palm  of  eacli  hand  into  the  Avood. 
The  legs  were  next  bent  \ip  till  the  souls  of  the  feet  lay  flat  on  the 
upright  beam,  and  then  they,  too,  were  fastened,  either,  separately, 
by  two  great  iron  nails,  or  over  each  other,  by  one. 

A  single  touch  of  lunnanity  was  permitted  during  these  prepara- 
tions— the  offer  of  a  dvauglii  of  the  common  sour  wine  dnmk  by  the 


T80  THE  LIFE  OF  CBTRIST. 

soldiers,  mingled  ■with  some  stupefying  bitter  drug — usually  myrrh. 
The  ladies  of  Jerusalem  made  it,  indeed,  their  special  task  to  provide 
it  for  all  condemned  persons.  But  Jesus  would  take  nothing  to  cloud 
His  faculties,  even  though  it  might  mitigate  His  pain.  The  cross 
was  now  lifted  up  and  planted  in  the  ground,  ■with  a  rough  shock  of 
undescribable  agony.  It  was  perhaps  then  thai  the  first  words  ut- 
tered from  it  rose  from  His  lips — "Father,  forgive  them,  for  they 
know  not  wliat  they  do," — woi'ds  breathing  love,  patience,  submis- 
sion, gentleness,  and  goodwill,  not  only  towards  the  soldiers,  who 
were  only  the  blind  servants  of  power,  but  even  to  Pilate,  and  Caia- 
phas,  Hannas,  and  Jerusalem! 

Racked  by  the  extremest  pain,  and  covered  with  every  shame 
which  men  were  wont  to  heap  on  the  greatest  criminals;  forsaken 
and  denied  bj'^  His  disciples;  no  sigh  escaped  His  lips,  no  cry  of 
agony,  no  bitter  or  faltering  word ;  only  a  prayer  for  the  forgiveness 
of  His  enemies.  They  had  acted  in  blindness,  imder  the  impulse  of 
religious  and  political  fanaticism,  for,  to  use  St.  Paul's  words,  had 
they  known  it,  they  v/ould  not  have  crucified  the  Lord  of  Glory. 
They  thouglij,  without  doubt,  that  they  were  doing  a  service  well- 
pleasing  to  God  in  putting  Him  to  death.  It  stood  written  in  the 
books  of  Moses,  ' '  Cursed  be  he  who  does  not  fulfil  the  words  of  the 
law  to  do  them,"  and  they  fancied  they  were  obeying  ihis  command 
in  crucifying  Him  for  slighting  their  additions,  which  they  con- 
founded with  the  w^ords  of  God.  In  spite  of  all  their  school  learning 
they  were  blind  to  the  true  meaning  of  the  Scriptures,  though  tljis 
ignorance  was  r.ot  guiltless,  for  He  had  sought  for  three  years  to 
rouse  them  to  a  better  knowledge.  But  their  guilt  was  in  some 
measure  lessened  by  the  influence  on  their  minds  of  education  and 
the  prescriptions  of  centuries,  which  had  shut  their  eyes  to  the  light 
He  brought  them.  His  prayer  that  His  heavenly  Father  would 
pardon  them  was  only  a  last  utterance  of  the  love  of  whicii  He  had 
been  the  embodiment  and  expression  through  life,  and  the  fitting 
illustration  of  His  words  that  He  came  to  call  the  sick;  not  those  who 
had  no  need  of  a  physician. 

The  "title"  that  had  been  borne  before  Him,  or  hung  from  His 
neck,  was  now  nailed  on  the  projecting  top  of  the  cross,  over  His 
head.  That  all  classes  might  be  able  to  read  it,  Pilate  had  it  written 
in  the  three  languages  of  the  country — the  Aramaic  of  the  people,  the 
Latin  of  the  Ro^ians,  and  the  Greek  of  the  foreign  population.  It 
proclaimed  Him  The  King  of  the  Jews,  but  seems  to  ha-s^e  run 
differently  in  each  language,  lO  judge  from  the  variations  in  the 
Gospels. 

No  tribute  could  have  been  more  fitting,  or  more  prophetic  than 
an  inscription  which  revealed  unconsciously  the  relation  of  the  Cross 
to  all  the  nationalities  of  the  world.  The  crucifixion  was  now  com- 
pleted, and  there  only  remained  the  weary  interval,  till  death  came  to 
deliver  the  sufferers  from  their  agonies.     Meanwhile  the  troops,  with 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  TOl 

their  centurion,  kept  the  ground  and  guarded  the  three  crosseg,  for 
they  were  answerable  with  their  lives  for  the  due  carrying  out  of  the 
execution. 

The  four  soldiers — a  quaternion — specially  detailed  to  carry  out 
the  sentence  of  the  Procurator,  were  now  free  to  appropriate,  as  their 
perquisites,  the  clothes  of  the  three  victims.  The  outer  garments  of 
Jesus  they  divided  into  four  shares — tearing  the  larger,  to  make  the 
division  equal — for  they  were  not  w^orth  keeping  entire.  The  inner 
jobe,  however,  like  the  robes  of  the  priests,  was  of  one  piece  woven 
from  the  top  without  any  seam  or  stitching,  and  w^ould  be  destroyed 
by  rending.  The  dice  were  ready  in  their  pocket,  and  one  of  their 
brazen  helmets  would  serve  to  throw  them;  it  would  be  better  to  cast 
lots  for  this,  and  let  him  who  won  the  highest  number  keep  it  for 
himself— and  so  it  was  done.  No  wonder  that  both  Matthew  and 
John,  looking  back  on  the  scene,  were  struck  by  the  fact  that  it  had 
been  written,  ages  before,  in  the  twenty-second  Psalm,  which  the 
Jews  of  that  day,  as  well  as  Christians,  rightly  believed  to  refer 
to  the  Messiah — "  They  parted  my  garments  among  them, 'and  for 
my  vesture  they  cast  lots." 

The  inscription  on  the  cross  had  been  Pilate's  revenge  for  the  con- 
demnation of  Jesus,  wrung  from  him  by  the  priests.  To  proclaim 
Hjm,  the  villager  of  Nazareth,  as  the  King  of  the  Jews,  marked,  at 
once,  what  was  fit,  in  his  opinion,  for  them,  and  flung  in  tlieir  faces 
a  bitter  reproach  of  liaving  betrayed  their  own  nation  and  country- 
man, to  Rome.  The  authorities'of  the  Temple  were  indignant,  and 
yet  alarmed,  and  applied  to  him  to  alter  it.  But  he  had  suffered 
enough  at  their  hands,  and  smarting  under  his  defeat  and  humiliation, 
dismissed  them  with  the  laconic  answer,  "What  I  have  written  I 
have  written." 

Meanwhile  the  fierce  heat  of  a  Syrian  noon  beat  down  on  the  cross. 
The  suffering  in  crucifixion,  from  which  death  at  last  resulted,  rose 
partly  from  the  constrained  and  fixed  position  of  the  body,  and  of 
the  outstretched  arms,  which  caused  acute  pain  from  every  twitch  or 
motion  of  the  back,  lacerated  by  the  knout,  and  of  the  hands  and 
feet,  pierced  by  the  nails.  These  latter  were,  moreover,  driven 
through  parts  where  many  sensitive  nerves  and  sinews  come  together, 
and  some  of  these  were  mutilated ;  others  violently  crushed  down, 
lufiammation  of  the  wounds  in  both  hands  and  feet,  speedily  set  in, 
and  ere  long  rose  also  in  other  places,  where  the  circulation  was 
checked  by  the  tension  of  the  parts.  Intolerable  thirst,  and  ever-in- 
creasing pain,  resulted.  The  blood,  which  could  no  longer  reach  the 
extremities,  rose  to  the  head,  swelled  the  veins  and  arteries  in  it  un- 
naturally, and  caused  the  most  agonizing  tortures  in  the  brain.  As, 
besides,  it  could  no  longer  move  freely  from  the  lungs,  the  heart 
grew  more  and  more  oppressed,  and  all  the  veins  were  distended. 
Had  the  wounds  bled  freely,  it  would  have  been  a  great  relief,  but 
ttiere  was  very  little  lost.     The  weight  of  the  body  itaelf,  resting  oa 


182  THE  LITE  OF  CHRIST.  ' 

the  woodrn  pin  of  the  upright  beam :  the  burning  heat  of  the  sun 
scorchii!!-:  ;he  veins,  and  the  hot  wind,  whicli  dried  up  the  moisture 
of  the  liO'ly,  made  each  moment  more  terrible  than  that  before.  The 
numbness  and  stiffness  of  the  more  ,  distant  muscles  brought  on 
painful  convulsions,  and  this  numbness,  slowly  extending,  sometimes 
through  two  or  three  days,  at  last  reached  the  vital  parts,  and  re- 
leased the  sufferer  by  death. 

Common  pity  would  have  left  the  victim  of  such  agony  to  die  in 
peace.  But  it  is  reserved  to  the  malignant  hatred  and  passion  which 
spring  from  perverted  religious  zeal  to  ignofe  compassion.  The  title 
over  His  iicad  was  as  olfensive  to  the  people  as  to  the  priests  and 
Eabbis,  for  it  was  a  virtual  ridicule  of  their  impotent  aspirations  after 
universal  monarchy.  Beneath  the  cross  the  same  mockery  indulged 
itself,  as  the  Procurator  had  thought  not  beneath  the  dignity  of  Rome. 
The  fierce  crowd  had  heard  repeatedly  that  clay  of  Jesus  having 
said,  as  was  asserted,  that  He  could  destroy  their  vast  temple,  and 
build  it  up  again  in  three  days.  They  had  heard  also  a  great  deal 
about  His  miracles,  and  of  His  calling  Himself  the  Son  of  God,  but 
it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  must  have  been  a  deception,  else  why  would 
He  let  Himself  die  such  a  death?  There  were  taunts  and  bitter 
gibes,  from  the  mob  and  the  soldiers,  and  triumphant  sneers  at  His 
having  met  the  fate  He  deserved;  the  very  high  priests,  and  Rabbis, 
and  elders,  indeed,  degraded  themselves  to  the  level  of  the  rabble  in 
their  unmanly  taunis,  among  their  own  knots  and  groups.  "Thou 
that  destroyest  the  Temple,  and  bulkiest  it  in  three  days,  show  that 
Thou  couldst  have  done  so,  by  saving  Thyself,  and  coming  downfi-om 
the  cross,"  called  oui  a  looker-on,  with  a  contemptuous  laugh.  "If 
Thou  be  the  Bon  of  God,  as  Thou  sayest,"  cried  another,  "come 
down  from  the  cross."  "  Ee  wrought  miracles  to  save  others,"  said 
a  high  priest  to  his  fellov^-^,  "  by  the  help  of  Beelzebub,  but  He  can- 
not save  Himself,  now  llii>  mapter  has  forsaken  Him."  The  crowd, 
catching  their  spirit,  bandied  from  one  to  another  the  scoff,  "  If  He 
be  the  Christ,  the  King  of  Isl'ad,  the  Chosen  of  God,  let  Him  descend 
from  the  cross,  that  we  may  see  and  believe."  A  true  index  to  their 
religious  ideas  1  If  they  saw  Him  with  their  bodily  eye^:,  by  a  miracle 
come  down  from  the  cross,  thoy  v/ould  believe!  Their  religion 
rested  on  their  five  senses.  The  invisible  spiritual  power,  in  which 
Jesus  taught,  did  His  work,  and  founded  His  kingdom,  had  no  ex- 
istence for  them.  The  only  authoritjr  for  their  faith  was  what  they 
could  grasp  with  their  hands,  or  see  with  their  eyes! 

Nor  was  the  only  railing,  and  trial  o^  Litter  mocking,  from  the  spec- 
tators. Affecting  indifference  to  their  owa  sufferings,  and  perhaps 
wishing  to  get  a  poor  favour  with  the  crowd,  in  their  last  hours;  per- 
haps angry  that  Jesus  had  left  both  them  aad  Himself  to  die,  when 
He  miglit  have  saved  them;  the  two  unhappy  men  crucified  with 
Him,  cast  the  same  reproaches  in  His  teeth.  But  a  >»^rauge  ceotrast 
Tvas  soon  to  display  itself.     One  of  the  two,  &reIoug,  aweti  and  ven  by 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  783 

Hfe  T)ex*ring  under  such  treatment;  perhaps  thinking  of  the  daiighters 
of  Jerusalem  he  had  seen  weeping  by  the  waj' ;  or  of  the  words  of 
Jesus  in  whicli  He  spoke  of  the  distant  future  as  open  before  Him; 
perhaps  struck  by  the  title  over  the  Saviour's  head,  or  by  the  very 
taunts  which  spoke  of  His  having  trusted  in  God,  and  having  claimed 
to  be  the  Christ,  the  Chosen,  tho  Son  of  the  Highest;  perjiaps  recol- 
lecting some  words  of  His  heard  in  happier  days;  repented  of  his 
bitterness,  and  turned  to  his  companion,  to  persuade  him,  also,  to 
kinder  thoughts.  "Have  you  no  fear  of  God,"  said»he,  "when  you 
think  that  you  are  dying  the  same  death  as  He  whom  you  are  still 
reproaching?  It  is  no  time  to  mock,  when  you  are  so  near  death. 
Besides,  we  are  dying  justly,  for  we  are  receiving  the  fitting  punish- 
ment of  our  deeds;  but  this  man,  as  the  very  Procurator  has  said,  has 
done  nothing  amiss. " 

Then  followed  words  which  showed  that  his  repentance  and  faith 
were  alike  sincere  and  intelligent.  He  had  been  silently  watching 
the  meek  and  patient  endurance  by  his  mysterious  FelloAV-Sulferer,  of 
all  that  His  enemies  could  do,  and  had  come  to  the  belief  that  He  was, 
in  reality,  the  Messiah  He  declared  Himself  to  be.  With  death  near, 
the  folly  of  the  earthly  dreams  of  his  countrymen — for  he  must  have 
been  a  Jew — flashed  on  his  mind.  As  the  Messiah,  He  who  now  hung 
in  agony  must  have  a  kingdom  of  which  death  could  not  deprive 
Him,  and  it  must  be  in  the  world  beyond,  since  He  had  only  a  cross 
here.  He  would  doubtless  enter  on  it,  as  even  the  Rabbis  taught,  at 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead,  and  reign  over  it  for  all  future  ages. 

"O  Lord,"  said  he,  therefore,  turning  as  far  as  he  could  towards 
Jesus,  as  he  spoke,  "remember  me  when  Thou  enterest  into  the  enjoy- 
ment of  Thy  kingdom." 

"I  shall,"  replied  Jesus.  "This  very  day  thou  shalt  be  with  me, 
among  the  blessed,  in  Paradise." 

To  have  confessed  his  faith  when  Christ  hung  on  the  cross,  and  was 
deseri?d  even  by  His  Apostles,  won  for  him  the  high  reward  of  being 
the  first  trophy  of  the  victory  that  cross  achieved.  His  ideas  might 
be  vague  and  obscure  enough;  but  the  broken  heart  and  trustful  love 
which  uttered  them,  made  them  dear  to  the  Saviour.  Angry  blas- 
phemias  alone  had  hitherto  greeted  Him,  but  now  came  this  prayer, 
dropping  like  balm  on  His  Avounded  spirit!  Calmly,  and  with  the 
bounty  of  a  king — though  now  nailed  to  the  cross— He  showed  His 
unswering  love  by  the  gift  of  divine  pardon  of  sin,  and  the  bestowmeut 
of  a  crown  in  Paradise ! 

The  Eleven  had  never  gathered  again  after  the  arrest,  and  had  been 
too  much  alarmed  even  to  venture,  singly,  into  the  crowd  which  .stood 
outside  the  cordon  of  troops  round  thel^hree  crosses.  -John,  alone,  had 
had  courage  enough  to  follow  his  Master  to  Calvarv,  and  to  cheer 
Him  by  the  proof  of  fidelity  in  at  least  one  heart.  He  had,  indeed, 
foreseen  that  He  would  Ix;  deserted  thus  in  His  hour  of  need;  but  He 
was  too  near  His  triumph  to  notice  their  absence  as  otherwise  He 


784  THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST. 

might.  The  veil  brtween  Ilim  and  His  eternal  glory  tras,  each 
moment,  fading  into  the  upper  light,  and  had  He  not,  even  now,  won 
the  first  trophy  of  His  redeeming  love,  to  bear  with  Him  to  heaven? 

The  last  siglit  we  have  of  John,  before  the  crucifixion,  is  in  the 
courtyard  of  the  high  priest,  where  his  silence  and  prudent  keeping 
in  tlie  background,  saved  him  from  the  danger  before  which  Peter 
had  fallen.  He  had  seen  Jesus  led  away  to  Pilate,  and  had,  apparently, 
followed  Him  to  the  palace,  M-aiting  in  the  angry  crowd  till  the  weak, 
time-serving  Procurator  had  given  Him  iip  to  the  cross.  He  may  have 
left  as  soon  as  the  end  was  known,  to  hasten  into  the  city  with  the  sad 
news,  to  those  anxious  to  liear;  above  all,  to  tell  her  whose  soul  the 
sword  was  now  about  to  pierce  most  keenly.  Mary,  likely,  heard  her 
Son's  fate  from  his  lips.  She  had  come  to  Jerusalem  to  be  near  Him, 
but  we  do  not  know  when;  for  she  was  not  one  of  the  group  of  pious 
Galilaean  women  who  habitually  followed  Him,  though  she  was  with 
them  at  this  moment.  How  many  were  together  is  not  told ;  but  Mary, 
at  least,  on  hearing  John's  words,  determined,  in  her  love,  to  go  at  once 
to  Calvary,  and  some  round  her  resolved  to  go  with  her.  Her  own 
sister,  who,  it  may  be,  was  Salome,  the  mother  of  John ;  Mary,  the 
wife  of  Clopas;  Mary  from  Magdala,  on  the  banks  of  Gennesareth, 
would  attend  her,  and  John,  faithful  as  a  woman,  would  not  stay 
behina. 

The  first  sight  the  Virgin  had  of  her  Son  was  as  He  hung  on  the 
cross,  at  the  roadsids,  mocked  by  the  crowd  and  the  passers-by.  and 
scowled  at  by  the  high  priests  and  dignitaries,  Avho  had  come  out  to 
glut  the  hatred  they  bore  Ilim  by  tlie  sight  of  His  agony.  A  super- 
natural darkness — the  sign  of  the  sorrow  and  the  wrath  of  heaven — 
had  fallen  on  the  landscape  soon  after  the  nailing  to  the  cross — though 
it  was  then  high  noon;  but  the  spectators  had  fancied  it  only  a  strange 
incident  in  the  weather.  The  Sufferer  bad  offered  His  prayer  for  His 
murderers,  and  had  spoken  words  of  comfort  to  the  penitent  spirit 
at  His  side;  when,  as  His  eyes  wandered  over  the  crowd.  He  saw, 
through  the  gloom,  John,  standing  by  His  mother's  side.  None  of 
His  "brothers  or  sisters"  were  there,  for  His  resurrection  was  first  to 
win  them  to  His  cause,  and  Mary,  long  a  widow,  was  now  to  be  more 
so  still.  He  knew  John's  heart,  and,  indeed,  his  presence  there  pro- 
claimed it.  The  sight  of  His  mother  in  tears;  true  even  in  death;  in 
spite  of  danger,  or  of  her  broken  heart,  or  of  the  reproaches  rising  on 
every  side;  the  remembrance  of  Nazareth;  the  thought  of  the  soitows 
that  so  often,  in  thcce  last  years,  had  pierced  her  soul,  and  of  the 
supreme  grief  that  had  now  overwhelmed  her;  the  recognition  of  tlie 
true  faith  in  Him,  shining  out  in  these  last  hours,  as  the  child,  borne 
by  miracle  to  be  a  Saviour,  the  lioly  Son  of  God;  and  the  thought  that 
His  earthly  relations  to  her  were  closed  for  ever,  filled  His  heart  with 
tender  emotions. 

Turning  His  face,  now  veiled  with  many  sorrows,  to  her  and  John. 
He  provided  for  the  one,  and  honored  the  fidelity  of  the  other.    A  few 


THE  LIFE  OP  CHRIST.  785 

words  gave  Mary  a  home  and  anotlier  son,  and  rewarded  the  friend 
of  His  soul  by  the  charije  to  take  the  place  towards  JIary  He  Himself 
was  leaving.  '•Woman,"  said  He,  in  tones  of  infinite  tenderness, 
"behold,  in  him  at  thy  side  thou  hast  thy  Son  given  back  to  thee." 
Then,  looking  at  John,  He  added,  "To  thee  I  trust  My  mother;  let 
her  be  thy  mother  for  >[y  sake." 

Need  we  wonder  that  the  beloved  disciple,  writing  his  Gospel  in  old 
age,  felt  a  sweet  reward  in  recalling  an  incident  so  unspeakably  touch 
ing?  Mary,  henceforth,  had  a  home,  for  John  took  her  to  his  own. 
His  love  to  her  divine  Son  made  him  dearer  to  her  than  the  circle  of 
Nazareth,  however  related.  In  Mary,  he  saw  a  second  mother;  in 
John,  the  widowed  one  saw  a  son.  Nor  was  the  new  nearness  to 
Jesus  the  only  reward  to  John  from  the  cross.  His  blaster  had  shown, 
by  His  thoughts  for  others  rather  than  Himself,  in  this  time  of  His 
greatest  need,  that  He  was  still  what  He  had  always  been.  Looking 
np  to  Him,  John  saw  the  light  of  higher  than  earthly  victory  on  Hia 
pale  features,  and  felt  his  faith  confirmed  for  ever. 

It  was  now  three  o'clock,  and  Jesus  had  hung  on  the  cross  about 
three  hours.  Darkness  still  lay  like  a  pall  over  the  landscape, 
as  if  nature,  less  insensible  than  man,  refu.sed  to  look  on  such  a 
spectacle,  or  would  prefigure  the  sadness  one  day  to  be  spread  over 
all  nations  for  the  sin  that  had  caused  so  awful  a  sacrifice.  What 
had  been  passing  in  His  spirit  no  one  can  know.  As  a  man  He  had 
a  nature,  in  all  things,  except  its  sinlessnes^,  like  that  of  the  race  at 
large.  But  He  was  also  the  divine  Son  of  God,  for  a  time  in  the  form 
of  a  servant,  and  now,  of  His  own  free  love  to  man,  dying  iis  a  ran- 
som for  sin.  We  accept  the  transcendent  mystery  but  we  cannot 
liope  to  explain  it.  The  cross  was  but  the  culmination  of  a  long 
martyrdom.  His  soul  had  often  been  sore  troubled;  His  sighs  had 
been  marked  even  l)y  His  disciples.  To  be  dying  for  the  sake  of 
men,  and  yet  to  be  treated  as  their  foe;  to  be  nusconceived  and  mis- 
represented; to  have  His  heart  full  of  infinite  love,  and  hear,  even 
now,  only  execrations,  brought  back,  for  a  moment,  the  mental 
agony  of  Gethsemane.  It  was  the  "power  of  darkness;"  the  final 
struggle  Avith  the  prince  of  this  world.  To  the  unendurable  torture 
of  the  body  there  was  added  the  unspeakal)le  spiritual  pain  of  appar- 
ently utter  rejection  by  man,  whom  He  loved  with  a  love  so  divine! 
His  Father  was  with  Him  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness  as  much  as  in 
the  Transfiguration  at  Ca'sarea  Philippi,  but  the;  gathering  clouds  anil 
gloom  of  these  last  awful  hours  made  it  seem,  for  an  instant,  as  if 
His  face  were  hidden.  The  shadows  of  death  passed  for  a  moment 
in  blackness  and  horror  over  His  spirit,  and  His  mental  anguish  re 
lieved  itself  by  a  great  cry  of  distress.  The  language  we  have  heard 
from  our  mother's  lips  and  have  spoken  in  cluldhood.  may  be  laid 
ftside  in  after  years  for  another,  to  meet  the  requirements  of  life; 
and  Jesus,  doubtless,  in  these  last  years,  had  often  had  to  use  tha 
Greek  of  city  communities,  instead  of  Ills  own  simple  Galiiaeaa. 


78P  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

But,  now,  the  sounds  of  infancy,  always  nearest  the  heart,  and  sur« 
to  come  to  the  lips  in  our  deepest  emotion,  returned  in  His  anguish, 
and  in  words  which  He  had  learned  at  His  mother's  knee.  His  heart 
uttered  its  last  wail — 

"Eloi!  Eloi!  lama  sabachthani?" 
"My  Godl  My  God!  why  hasi  Thou  forsaken  me?" 

The  first  words  sounded  like  the  name  of  the  great  prophet  Elijah, 
the  expected  herald  of  the  Messiah,  and  were  taken,  by  some  in  the 
crowd,  for  a  cry  that  he  should  come  to  save  Him.  Meanwhile,  one 
near,  more  pitiful  than  the  rest;  caring  little  for  the  words,  saw  the 
agony  of  which  they  were  the  expression,  and  ran  and  filled  a  sponge 
with  the  sour  wine-and-water  of  the  soldiers,  and  having  fixed  it  on 
the  short  stem  of  a  hyssop-plant,  growing  near,  put  it  to  His  lips;  for 
the  cross  was  quite  low,  the  feet  of  Jesus  reachitig  nearly  to  the 
ground. 

A  moment  more,  and  all  was  over.  The  cloud  had  passed  as  sud- 
denly as  it  rose.  Far  and  wide,  over  the  vanqaiehed  throngs  of  Hia 
enemies,  with  a  loud  voice,  as  if  uttering  EiS  :3hout  of  eternal  victory 
before  entering  into  His  glory.  He  cried, 

It  is  Finisheo! 

Then,  more  gently,  came  the  words  : — 

"Father,  into  Thy  hands  I  commend  My  spirit." 

A  moment  more,  and  there  rose  a  great  cry,  as  of  mortal  agony: 
the  head  fell.     He  was  dead. 

The  great  work  of  salvation  was  now,  at  last,  completed ;  prophecy 
fulfilled;  the  Ancient  Covenant  at  an  end,  the  New  inaugurated. 
Judaism  was  for  ever  obsolete,  and  the  Holy  of  Holies  had  ceased  to 
be  the  peculiar  presence-chamber  of  Jehovah  among  men.  Nor  was 
a  sign  wanting  that  it  was  so,  for  the  great  veil  of  purple  and  gold — 
sixty  feet  long  and  thirty  broad — before  the  inner  sanctuary  of  the 
Temple,  suddenly  rent  itself  in  two,  from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  at 
the  moment  of  Christ's  death:  as  if  He  who  had  hitherto  dwelt  there 
had  gone  forth  to  lead  up  His  Eternal  Son  to  His  own  right  hand. 
Andr  indeed,  not  only  the  yielding  veil  of  the  Temple,  but  the  very 
rocks,  round  Calvary,  as  St.  Matthew  tells  us,  "were  rent,  and  the 
earth  quaked,  the  graves  were  opened,  ard  many  of  the  saints  sleep- 
ing in  them  rose  from  the  dead,  and  went  into  the  Holy  City,  and 
appeared  unto  many." 

One  incident  is  recorded  of  this  moment,  by  three  of  the  Evange- 
lists. The  centurion  in  charge  of  the  troops  had  halted,  as  he  passed 
the  cross,  when  Jesus  uttered  His  loud  death-cry.  He  was  within  a 
few  yards  of  Him,  and  must  have  involuntarily  fixed  his  ga^e  on 
Him  at  such  a  sound.     He  saw  the  change  pass  over  His  features;  Uie 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  78T 

light  of  life  leaving  them,  and  the  head  suddenly  sink.  As  it  did  so, 
the  earthquake  Khook  the  ground,  and  made  the  three  crosses  tremble, 
But  the  tremor  of  the  earth  affected  the  Roman  less  tlian  the  piercing 
cry  and  sudden  death.  He  had  likely  attended  many  crucifixions, 
but  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  a  man  dying  within  three,  hours,  on  a 
cross.  «  He  had  never  heard  a  crueified.maii,  strong  to  the  last,  uttet 
a  shriek  that  showed,  as  that  of  Jesus  did,  the  full  vigour  of  the  vital 
organs  to  the  last.  He  felt  that  there  was  something  mysterious  in 
it,  and  joining  with  it  all  He  had  seen  and  heard  of  the  Sufferer,  he 
broke  involuntarily  into  the  words,  "Assuredly  this  man  was 
righteous;  truly  this  was  God's  Son."  The  one  expression  was,  per- 
haps, equivalent  on  his  lips  to  the  other,  but  both  showed  that  even, 
heathen  spectators  were  profoundly  affected  by  the  spectacle  they 
had  witnessed. 

Nor  was  the  effect  on  the  spectators  less  marked.  The  darkness, 
the  earthquake,  and  the  rending  rocks,  had  tilled  them  with  alarm. 
They  had  been  nois}'  and  ribald  enough,  for  a  time,  but  when  all  was 
over,  amidst  such  strange  portents  of  nature,  they  were  glad  to  hastea 
home  in  silence,  with  the  demonstrations  of  awe  peculiar  to  Eastern 
populations — smiting  their  breasts  as  they  went.  The  incidents  of 
Calvary  had  prepared  tlie  way  for  the  triumph  of  Pentecost,  as  perhaps 
the  rending  of  the  veil  had  been  the  first  step  towards  the  change  of 
feeling  in  the  great  company  of  priests  who  soon  after  professed 
themselves  Christians. 

The  Jewish  law,  as  I  have  said,  knew  nothing  of  crucifixion,  but  it 
had  been  not  uncommon  to  hang  up  the  body  of  a  criminal  after 
death.  It  was  not  permitted,  however,  that  it  should  be  expose*.* 
after  sun.set ;  burial  the  same  day  was  enacted,  ' '  that  the  land  should 
not  b»  defiled."  The  Romans,  on  the  contrar}^  left  the  bodies  on  the 
cross  till  they  were  wasted  away,  or  devoured  by  the  dogs,  the  jackals, 
or  the  ravens — as  they  fell  limb  from  limb.  "  To  feed  the  crows  on 
the  cross"  was  a  familiar  expression.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  if 
the  Jewish  law  were  to  be  honoured,  that  the  permission  of  Pilate 
should  be  given  for  putting  the  crucified  ones  to  death,  if  they  had 
not  already  died,  and  for  taking  down  and  burjing  their  bodies, 
almost  at  once.  Next  day  was  the  great  Pa.schal  Sabbath,  and  only 
an  hour  or  two  remained  before  it  commenced.  Three  corpses  seen 
on  the  cross,  so  near  the  Temple  and  the  Holy  City,  on  a  day  so  sa- 
cred, would  make  great  commotion,  as  polluting  the  whole  place. 
Besides,  tlie  feelings  of  the  people  might  turn,  witli  unknown  results. 

A  deputation  of  tlie  Temple  authorities,  therefore,  waited  on  Pilate, 
to  get  his  sanction  for  putting  any  of  the  three  to  death,  wlio  might 
Vet  be  alive.  The  common  way  to  do  so  was  in  keeping  with  Roman 
brutality.  The  legs  of  the  unfortunates  were  broken  by  blows  of 
Llubs,  and  this  Pilate  authorized  to  be  done,  that  the  shock  might  kill 
them  at  once.  The  two  thieves  were  found  still  living,  and  the  hor- 
rible order  was  forthwith  executed  on  them,  but  Jesus  was  dead 


788  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

already,  and  they  left  Him  untouched,  One  soldier,  however,-^- 
resolved  that  there  should  he  no  doubt, — plunged  his  spear  into  the 
Saviour's  side,  making  a  gash  so  wide,  tliat  Jesus  could  afterwards 
ask  Thomas  to  put  his  hand  into  it,  and  so  deep  that  blood  and  water 
poured  out  in  such  a  quantity  as  attracted  the  notice  of  John,  who 
was  still  standing  close  by. 

That  any  one  should  die  so  soon  on  the  cross,  especially  one,  like 
Jesus,  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  unweakened  by  previous  ill-health, 
and  in  such  vigour  to  the  last  as  to  utter  such  a  shriek  as  that  with 
which  He  expired,  appeared  even  to  Christian  antiquity,  to  imply 
some  supernatural  cause.  But  the  mingled  How  of  blood  and  water 
seems  to  point  unmistakably  to  another  explanation.  The  immediate 
cause  of  death  appears,  beyond  question,  to  have  been  the  rupture  of 
His  heart,  brought  about  by  mental  agonJ^  Excess  of  joy  or  grief 
is  known  to  induce  the  bursting  of  some  division  of  the  heart,  and 
the  consequent  flow  of  blood  into  the  pericardium,  or  liag,  tilled 
with  colourless  scrum,  like  water,  in  which  the  heart  is  suspended. 
In  ordinary  cases,  only  examination  after  death  discovers  the  fact, 
but  in  that  of  our  Lord,  the  same  end  was  answered  by  the  thrust  of 
the  soldier's  spear.  In  a  death  from  heart-rupture  "  llie  hand  is  sud- 
denly canled  to  the  front  of  the  chest,  and  a  piercing  !-hri<'k  uttered." 
The  hands  of  Jesus  were  nailed  to  the  cross,  but  the  api.allirg  shriek 
is  i^e€orded. 

Jesus  died,  literally,  of  a  broken  heart 

The  heat  of  the  climate  in  the  East  has  led  to  the  custom  of  burial 
following  almost  immediately  after  death,  but  there  were  special 
reasons  for  that  of  Jesus  being  hurried.  It  was  the  e%'e  of  the  great 
Passover  Sabbath,  and  no  corpse  could  be  left  imburied  to  defile  the 
ceremonial  purity  of  the  Holy  City,  on  that  day.  It  was  necessary, 
therefore,  that  oiu-  Lord  be  buried  wilhout  a  moment's  delay,  for  sun^ 
set,  when  the  Sabbath  began,  was  rapidly  approaching. 

Bodies  of  Jewish  criminals  seem  to  have  been  buried  with  igno- 
miny, in  the  Valley  of  Hinnom;  known,  from  this  reason,  as  the 
Valley  of  Corpses — amidst  the  unclean  dust-heaps  of  the  city,  and 
the  ashes  of  the  burned  offal  of  the  Temple  sacrifices.  They  could 
not  be  laid  in  the  graves  of  their  father.s — the  common  burial-place 
of  the  community — for  the  guilty  could  not  be  buried  with  the  just — 
but  were  huddled  out  of  siglit — the  beheaded,  or  hanged,  in  one  spot; 
the  stoned,  and  burned,  in  another.  But  such  an  indignity  was  no( 
to  befall  the  sacred  form  of  the  Saviour. 

Among  the  spectators  of  the  crucifixion  there  had  been  one,  if  not. 
two,  whose  position  might  have  enabled  them  to  be  of  service  to  Jesu8 
in  His  hour  of  need,  before  the  high  priestl}'  conrt,  had  tliey  had  the 
moral  courage  to  avow  their  convictions.  Joseph,  a  number  of  the 
ruling  class,  known  by  the  name  of  his  birthplace — Arimathea,  or 
Ramathaim  Zophim.  where  Samuel  the  prophet  was  born — among 
tJie  "fruitful  hills"  of  Ephraim— had  long  been  a  secret  disciple;  and 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  789 

80,  also,  had  Nicodcmiis,  another  member  of  the  theocratic  oligarchy. 
Afraid  of  the  overwhehning  opposition  tliey  must  encounter  by  sup- 
porting Christ,  tiiey  had  timidly  Ivept  in  tlie  baclvground  during  His 
trial,  thougli  neither  liad  voted  for  the  condemnation.  .Josepli,  indeed, 
if  not  botli,  had  even  braved  public  opinion,  and  the  wrath  of  their 
fellow-counsellors,  by  following  Jesus  to  Calvary,  Now  that  He  was 
dead,  breaking  through  all  weak  reserve  and  caution  at  last,  he  went 
into  the  city,  and  waited  on  the  Procurator,  in  liis  palace,  to  ask  as  a 
favour,  that  the  body  of  Jesus  might  be  put  at  his  disposal.  He 
would  fain  honour  His  lifeless  form,  if  only  to  show  his  regret  and 
shame  for  unworthy  half-hear  teducss  while  He  still  lived.  The  meek- 
ness and  majestic  silence  under  all  reproaches  and  indignities;  the 
veiled  sky,  tlie  trembling  earth;  the  prayer  of  the  Sufferer  for  His 
murderers;  His  wail  of  mental  agony,  as  if  forsaken;  and  then  the 
great  shriek,  and  sudden  death — had  awed  his  soul,  and  lifted  him  far 
above  fear  of  man.  He  had  been  w^aiting  for  the  Kingdom  of  God 
before,  but  would  openly  identify  himself  with  its  founder  now. 

Pilate  was  astonished,  alike,  that  a  Jew  in  Joseph's  position  should 
make  such  a  request,  and  that  Jesus  should  already  be  dead.  It  was  not 
allowed  to  remove  a  body  from  the  cross  without  formal  permission 
from  the  Procurator.  The  Eleven,  with  one  exception,  had  left  their 
Master  alone  amidst  His  enemies  in  His  last  awful  hours,  and  even  the 
women  who  had  watched  the  cross,  did  not  venture  to  ask  the  stony- 
hearted governor  to  let  them  pay  tlic  last  tribute  of  love  to  the  dead. 
It  was  no  light  matter  Joseph  had  imderlaken;  for  to  take  part  in  a 
burial,  at  any  time,  v>fould  delile  him  for  seven  days,  and  make  every- 
thing unclean  which  he  touched;  and  to  do  so  now  involved  his  seclu- 
sion through  the  whole  Passover  week— v,ith  all  its  holy  observances 
r.cd  rejoicings.  But,  conscience-stricken  for  the  past,  he  had  risen 
superior,  alike  to  prudent  inaction  or  ceremonial  prejudice,  and  would 
render  liis  Master  a  tribute  and  service  especially  sacred  in  the  eyes 
of  a  Jew.  It  was  one  of  the  most  loved  remembrances  of  the  hero 
Tobit,  in  the  old  times  of  the  lirst  exile,  that  he  buried  any  Jew  whom 
he  found  cast  out  dead,  round  Nineveh,  and  Josephus  could  add  no 
darker  horror,  a  generation  later,  to  tlv  picture  of  the  fall  of  Jeru- 
calem,  than  by  telling  that  the  Zealots  would  not  bury  those  slain  ia 
the  ciiy  or  who  fell  down  on  the  roads.  Joseph  wovild  not  suffer 
Jes'iis  to  want  the  lastollices,  with  all  the  indignity  the  neglect  would 
imply. 

tending  for  the  officer  who  had  charge  of  the  execution,  and  find- 
ing that  Jesus  was  really  dead,  Pilate  granted  Joseph's  strange  request. 
Abrave  deed  had  had  its  success.  The  liumour  of  the  Procurator  could 
not  be  counted  on,  and  the  rage  of  Joseph's  own  party  was  certain. 
In  later  days,  a  servant.  Porphyrins,  who  ventured  to  ask  from  the  Pro- 
curator Firmilian,  the  body  of  his  martyred  master,  the  presbyter  Pam- 
philu;3,  for  burial,  was  himself  seized  and  put  to  death.  The  apoc- 
ryphal Acts  of  Pilate  describe  Joseph  as  beseeching  the  favour  with 


790  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

tears  and  entreaties,  and  they,  tlius,  rightly  mrrk  the  gravity  of  hia 
act,  but  it  is  not  unlikely  that  a  meaner  influence  came  to  liis  help, 
for  Philo  tells  us  that  Pilate's  special  characteristic  was  his  openness 
to  a  bribe.  Two  or  three  thousand  denarii  from  the  Aveallhy  suppli- 
cant, would  weigh   more  than  his  supplications,  in  securing  his  wish. 

A  written  order,  or  a  verbal  command  to  the  centurion,  put  the  body 
at  Joseph's  disposal. 

With  the  help  of  servants,  and,  it  may  be,  of  some  soldiers,  the  cross 
■was  quickly  cut  down  or  lifted  from  its  socket,  and  laid  on  the 
ground,  the  cords  round  the  limbs  untied,  and  the  nails  drawn  from 
the  hands  and  feet.  An  open  bier  sufficed  to  carry  away  the  body  to 
it3  destined  resting-place. 

Among  the  Jews  the  hopes  of  the  future  were  closely  connected 
with  the  careful  preservation  of  the  body  after  death.  Like  the 
Egyptians,  they  attached  supreme  importance  to  the  inviolability  of 
the  tomb  either  by  time  or  violence,  and,  no  less,  to  the  checking  of 
natural  decay  by  embalming.  To  perpetuate  their  existence  on 
earth,  at  least  in  the  withered  mockery  of  the  grave,  and  to  lie  in  the 
Holy  Land,  in  the  midst  of  their  fathers,  had,  at  all  times,  been  the 
most  sacred  wish  of  the  Jews.  In  the  days  of  Jesus,  however,  an 
additional  motive  for  burial  in  Palestine,  and  a  careful  preservation 
of  the  body,  was  found  in  the  belief  of  the  Resurrection,  which  was 
to  take  place  first  in  Judea,  commencing  in  the  valley  under  the  east 
of  the  Temple.  Even  now  an  Israelite  always  seeks  to  have  some  of 
the  soil  of  the  Holy  Land  laid  in  his  grave,  that  the  spot  where  he 
rests  may  be  counted  part  of  the  sacred  ground;  if,  indeed,  his  body 
has  not,  before  the  Judgment,  made  its  way  through  land  and  sea,  to 
the  home  of  his  fathers.  The  same  feeling  was  all-powerful  in  the 
days  of  our  Lord,  for  in  the  great  sieges  of  Jerusalem,  many  Jewish 
fugitives  came  back  to  the  city,  in  spite  of  the  horrors  they  had 
already  striven  to  escape — that  they  might  count  on  at  least  the  last 
of  all  blessings  a  burial  in  its  holy  bounds. 

The  neighbourhood  of  Jerusalem,  like  all  other  parts  of  Palestine, 
has,  hence,  since  the  earliest  times,  abounded  in  tombs  hewn  out  in 
the  limestone  rock.  Princes,  rich  men,  every  one  who  could  by  any 
means  secure  it,  desired,  above  all  things,  to  prepare  for  themselves 
and  their  families  an  "  everlasting  house, "  and  such  a  tomb,  never 
yet  used,  had  been  hewn  out  in  the  hill-side  for  himself,  by  Joseph,, 
in  a  garden  not  far  from  Calvary. 

To  this  the  body  of  Jesus  was  novp  taken.  Nicodemus  had  come 
with  some  of  his  servants,  and  he  and  they,  with  Joseph  and  his  at- 
tendants, and  Mary  of  Magdala,  and  Mary  the  mother  of  James  the 
Less,  and  of  Joses;  the  wife  of  Clopas,  aud  perhaps,  some  others  of  the 
true-hearted  women  from  Galilee,  were  the  only  followers  of  Hia 
bier. 

Arrived  at  the  grave,  the  sacred  burden  was  laid  down  for  a  time, 
tlH  the  needed  preparations  were  made  for  placing  it  in  the  tomb. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  791 

The  Tvhole  iDody,  stained  as  it  was^vitli  blood,  ■vras  tenderly  Traslied, 
and  then  wrapped  in  broad  bauds  of  white  Ihien,  within  whieh  were 
thickly  strewn  powdered  myrrh  and  aloes,  which  had  been  provided 
by  Mcodemus  for  the  imperfect  embalmment  practised  by  the  Jews. 
The  ends  of  the  bandages  were  apparently  secured  on  the  inner  side 
with  guvn,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Egyptian  dead.  A  white  cloth  was 
finally  laid  over  the  face,  aftera  last  kiss,  the  pledge  of  undj'ing  love. 
The  corpse  was  then  hiid  in  a  niche  in  the  rock,  and  since  there  was 
no  stone  door,  as  in  some  tombs,  a  great  stone,  prepared  for  the  pur- 
pose, was  rolled  against  the  entrance,  to  protect  the  body  from  the 
designs  of  enemies,  or  the  attacks  of  wild  beasts.  It  was  only  a  hur- 
ried burial,  for  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  shining  on  the  garden  as 
the  stone  was  set  up  against  the  entrance  to  the  grave. 

Even  then,  however,  there  were  some  hearts  that  could  not  leave 
the  spot.  Though  He  no  longer  spoke  to  them,  and  they  no  longer 
saw  Him,  some  of  the  GalUsean  faithful  ones  stiil  felt  that  He  was 
theirs,  and  sat  down  as  mourners,  on  the  earth,  before  the  door  of  the 
tomb.  In  the  evening  stillness  and  gathering  twilight  they  still 
seemed  to  hear  Hi.s  voice  and  see  His  form,  and  so  they  lingered  on, 
as  near  as  might  be,  into  the  Sabbath  eve,  and  lamented  Him  whom 
they  had  k»st. 

Meanwhile,  the  fears  of  the  chief  priests  and  their  party  had  already 
awaked.  A  meeting  had  been  held  immediately  after  tlie  crucitixion, 
aud  the  success  of  the  scheme  to  crush  Jesus  had,  doubtless,  been  the 
subject  of  hearty  mutual  congratulations.  But  they  dreaded  that  all 
was  not  over.  It  was  rememtered  by  one  or  more  that ' '  the  deceiver" 
had  spoken  darkly  of  rising  from  the  dead  on  the  third  day,  and  His 
disciples,  acting  on  tliis  hint,  might  steal  the  body,  and  .spread  abroad 
tlie  assertion  tliat  He  had  actually  risen,  misleading  the  })eople  more 
than  ever,  by  claiming  for  Him  divine  honors.  It  was  hence  nei^essary 
that  the  grave  should  be  watched  for  three  days.  A  deputation  was, 
therefore,  appointed  to  wait  on  Pilate,  representing  their  apprehen- 
sions. Tired  of  them,  and  hating  them,  the  governor  was  in  no 
humour  to  argue.  "Ye  have  a  guard,"  said  he,  with  militarj'  bh'.nt- 
ness.  "  Go,  make  it  as  sure  as  ye  can. "  This  thej- did.  Passing  a 
strong  cord  across  the  stone,  and  securing  its  ends  by  clay,  they  sealed 
it,  after  noting  that  the  soldiers  were  duly  stationed  so  as  to  make 
approach  without  their  knowledge  impossible. 

And  thus  the  Redeemer  was  left — pale,  but  victorious — to  sleep 
through  the  Sabbath. 


I.  of  c— 26. 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

THE  EESITRRECTION  AND  THE  FORTY  DATS. 

The  religion  of  the  Letter  had  carried  out  to  the  bitter  end  its  con- 
flict with  the  religion  of  the  Spirit.  Incapable  of  reform :  identifying 
its  dead  rights  with  the  essence  of  truth;  it  had  crucified  the  Teacher 
who  had  dared  to  say  that  they  had  served  their  day,  and  lost  their 
worth.  Ritualism  had  reached  its  natural  culmination  in  claiming  to 
be  the  whole  of  religion,  and  had  slain  The  Truth  itself,  when  H« 
witnessed  against  it. 

The  benumbed  and  moribund  Past  had  striven  to  perpetuate  itself, 
by  attempting  to  destroy  the  Kingdom  of  the  Future  in  its  cradle. 
How  utterly  it  failed,  eighteen  centuries  have  told  us. 

It  was  the  old  story:  the  light  had  come  into  the  darkness,  and  the 
darkness  would  not  have  it;  acciistomed  to  the  one,  it  was  only  daz- 
zled and  blinded  by  the  other.  Evil  had  had  its  apparent  triumph. 
As  far  as  the  will  and  liand  of  man  could  effect  it.  He  who,  alike  as 
He  was  man,  and  as  also  the  Messiah  of  Israel,  knew  no  spot  or  blem- 
ish of  sin,  had  been  crushed  as  an  evil-doer.  The  one  holy  being  of 
our  race,  having  revealed  Himself  as  the  true  Christ,  expected  for 
ages;  the  Hope  of  Israel ;  the  highest  and  perfect  expression,  the  true 
spirit  and  aim  of  the  ancient  economy ;  and  even  of  all  other  relig- 
ions, so  far  as  they  had  divine  elements  in  them ;  had  been  rejected 
and  dishonoured  to  the  uttermost  by  the  rulers  of  the  People  of  God, 
and  by  the  great  bulk  of  the  nation.  He  who  had  desired  to  secure 
the  salvation  of  Israel,  and  through  it,  of  humanity,  and  had  shown 
Low,  alone,  that  salvation  could  be  attained,  had  been  branded  by  the 
highest  authorities,  both  of  Judaism  and  heathenism,  as  b  deceiver  of 
the  people.  The  blindness  of  the  one,  and  the  indifference  of  the 
other,  had  united  in  attempting  to  crush  Him  whose  only  weapons  in 
the  assault  of  evil  had  been  the  highest  wisdom,  the  divinest  love, 
and  imconquerable  meekness.  But  their  triumph  was  only  a  mo- 
mentary and  permitted  eclipse  of  the  Light  of  the  World,  destined, 
presently,  to  reappear,  in  unveiled,  and,  hencefortli,  unsetting  glory. 

"  Nothing,"  says  even  so  keen  a  critic  as  Ileiurich  Ewald,  "stands 
more  historically  certain  than  that  Jesus  rose  from  the  dead  and  ap- 
peared again  to  His  followers,  or  than  that  their  seeing  Him  thus, 
again,  was  the  beginning  of  a  liigher  faith,  and  of  all  their  Christian 
work  in  the  world.  It  is  equally  certain  that  they  thus  saw  Him,  not 
as  a  common  man,  or  as  a  shade  or  ghost  risen  from  the  grave;  but 
as  the  one  Only  Son  of  God — already  more  than  man  at  once  in  nature 
and  power;  and  that  all  who  thus  beheld  Him,  recognized  at  once  and 
instinctively  His  unique  divine  dignity,  and  firmly  believed  in  it 
thenceforth.     The  Twelve  and  others  had,  uideed,  learned  to  look  on 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  793 

Him,  even  in  life,  as  the  True  Messianic  King  and  the  Son  of  God, 
but  from  the  moment  of  His  reappearing,  they  recognized  more 
clearly  and  fully  the  divine  side  of  His  nature,  and  saw  in  Him  the 
conqueror  of  death.  Yet  the  two  pictures  of  Him  thus  fixed  in  their 
minds  were  in  thf^r;  essence  idenlical.  That  former  familiar  appear- 
ance of  the  ea)  i.n(y  Christ,  and  this  higher  vision  of  Him,  with  its 
depth  of  emotion  and  ecstatic  joy,  were  so  inter-related  that,  even  in 
the  first  days  or  weeks  after  His  death,  they  could  never  have  seen  in 
Him  the  Heavenly  Messiah,  if  they  had  not  first  known  Him  so  well 
as  the  earthly." 

Mary  of  Magdala,  and  the  wife  of  Clopas,  herself  another  ]\Iary — 
for  Mary,  from  the  Hebrew  Miriam,  was  a  favourite  name  ever  since 
the  days  of  tlie  sister  of  Moses, — had  sat  on  the  ground  at  the  door  of 
the  garden-tomb  in  which  the  Beloved  One  lay,  till  late  on  the  even- 
ing on  Friday.  The  trumpet  announcing  the  beginning  of  the  great 
Passover  Sabbath  had  only  startled  them  for  a  moment,  and  exhaust- 
ed nature  had,  perhaps,  first  compelled  them  to  leave. 

The  next  day  rose  calm  and  bright  on  the  budding  and  blossoming 
landscape,  for  it  was  Nisan — the  month  of  flowering — and  nature  waa 
in  the  secret  to  be  revealed  on  the  morrow — and  might  well,  for  joy, 
put  on  her  fairest.  The  courts  of  the  Temple  were  filled  from  morn- 
ing till  evening,  with  zealous  worshippers:  the  barefooted,  white- 
robed,  and  turbaned  priests  were  busy  offering  the  blood  of  bulls  and 
of  goats  for  the  sins  of  Israel,  unconscious  that  tlie  blood  of  a  greater 
sacrifice  had  been  shed,  of  which  that  which  they  offered  was  only 
the  rude,  and  well-nigh  revolting,  symbol.  Yet  it  must  have  been 
with  strange  feelings  they  went  through  the  services  of  the  day.  The 
trumpets  and  voices  of  the  Levites  were  loud  and  clear  as  ever:  the 
high  priest,  fresh  from  Golgotha,  not  less  gorgeous  in  his  splendid 
robes; — the  crowd  of  priests  not  less  pressed  with  official  toil:  the 
throngs,  filling  the  courts  below,  not  less  numerous  or  devout.  But 
an  omen,  portentous  beyond  all  their  history  recorded,  had  been  seen 
by  Levite  and  priest  alike — for,  was  not  the  Holy  of  Holies, 
hitherto  veiled  in  awful  darkness,  and  entered  only  once  in  the  year, 
for  a  few  moments,  by  the  high  priest,  laid  visibly  open  before  all  in 
the  court  of  the  priests:  in  fact,  before  all  in  the  vast  Temple  area, 
for  the  Holy  of  Holies  stood  high  above  the  rest  of  the  sanctuary? 
The  huge,  heavy  veil  of  Bal)ylonian  tapestry  of  tine  flax,  gorgeous  in 
its  hyacinth  and  scarlet  and  purple,  had  been  mysteriously  rent  from 
top  to  bottom,  at  the  momeut  when  the  "enemy  of  the  Temple"  ex- 
pired on  Calvary,  and  the  awful  presence-chamber  of  Jehovah  had 
been  exposed  to  every  eye,  like  ground  no  longer  sacred. 

The  disciples  of  Jesus,  and  even  the  Eleven,  had  been  overwhelmed 
by  the  events  of  the  day.  Having  no  clear  idea  of  their  Master's 
meaning,  and  thinking  little  on  words  painful  at  best.  His  repeated 
warnings  that  He  must  be  put  to  death,  but  would  rise  again  from  the 
dead  on  the  third  day,  had  made  no  lasting  impression  on  their  minds. 


794  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

The  catastrophe  had  been  so  sudden  and  complete,  that,  for  the  time, 
tlicy  were  confounded  and  paralyzed. 

It  is  tlie  glory  of  woinart  that  she  most  seldom  forsakes  those  she 
loves,  even  when  things  are  <larkcst.  The  two  Marys  had  left  the 
grave  only  when  the  deep  night  compelled  them,  hut,  even  then,  they 
still  had  its  Dear  One  in  their  hearts.  Tlie  Sabbath,  which  had  begun 
just  as  the  stone  was  rolled  to  the  entrance,  kept  them  from  doing 
anything  for  llim  for  twenty-four  hours,  but  it  was  no  .sooner  over, 
on  Saturday  at  sun.set,  than,  with  Salome  and  Joanna,  and  some 
other  women,  they  arrang(;d  to  take  additional  spices  at  the  earliest 
dawn  to  com{)Iele  the  embalming  of  the  body  begun  by  Nicodemus, 
but  left  untinished  through  tlie  approach  of  the  Sabbath.  Mary, 
mother  of  Jesus,  was  too  sorely  stricken  in  heart  to  join  them. 

Meanwhile,  the  Itoman  sentries  were  pacing  to  and  fro  on  their 
beat,  before  the  sepulchre.  lh«.'ir  tire  lighted,  for  the  spring  night  was 
chilly,  antl  besides,  the  light  prevented  any  one  approaching.  The 
true-hearted  women  had  resolved  to  reach  the  grave  by  sunrise,  which 
■would  take  phu'c  about  a  quarter  before  si.K  in  the  morning,  and  slept 
outside  the  city  gates,  which  would  not  open  till  daybreak  at  tlie 
earliest.  The  grey  dawn  had  hardly  shown  itself,  when  they  were 
afoot  on  their  errand,  to  perforni  the  last  offices  of  love.  As  they 
went,  however,  a  dilhculty  ro.se  of  which  they  had  not  thouglit  be- 
fore. Who  would  roll  away  the  stone  for  them,  from  the  door  of  the 
sepulchre?  Th(!y  had  heard  nothing  of  its  having  been  sealed  during 
the  Sabbath,  or  of  the  guard  being  mounted  in  the  garden,  else  they 
might  have  been  altogether  discouraged.  But  they  had,  dotibtless, 
told  some  of  the  Eleven  where  the  grave  lay,  and  might  hope  that 
one,  at  least,  Avould  be  there  to  help  them. 

A  greater  than  an  Apostle  had  already,  however,  been  at  the  tomb. 
For  St.  Matthew  tells  us,  "an  angel  of  the  Lord  had  descended  from 
heaven,  his  countenance  shining  like  lightning,  and  his  raiment  white 
as  snow,"  "and,"  striking  teiTor  even  into  the  Koman  guard,  "had 
rolled  back  the  stone  from  the  door."  As  it  opened  the  Crucified 
One  had  come  forth,  unseen  by  the  dazzled  soldiers,  and  had  pres- 
ently vanished. 

They  had  scarcely  left  the  spot,  when  the  women  arrived.  The 
earth  had  been  trembling  strangely,  but  they  had  kept  on  their  way. 
How  great  must  have  been  their  astonishment,  however,  wlien  they 
found  the  stone  rolled  away,  and  the  grave  oi)en.  There  was  no 
longer  a  guard,  for  the  soldiers  bad  lied  in  terror  at  the  angelic  vision. 
Mary  of  Magdala  had  ent(?rtd  the  garden  first,  and  had  found  things 
thus,  and  having  run  back  to  the  others,  hastened  into  the  city  to  tell 
Peter  and  John.  ]3ctermined  to  solve  the  mystery,  if  possible,  her 
companions  came,  togeliier,  to  the  sepulchre,  and,  bending  down, 
entered  its  inner  (^hanilier.  But  it  was  only  to  be  appalled  by  the 
Bight  of  an  angel,  in  white,  sitting  in  it;  as  if  waiting  to  bear  the  glad 
news  to  them,  of  what  had  taken  place.     Piuseully,  a  second  radiant 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  795 

farm  stood  before  them,  as  they  bowed  down  their  faces  to  the  earth, 
in  terror.  But  words  now  foil  on  their  ears  wliich  bronglit  back  joy- 
to  their  hearts.  "  Fi-ir  not.  for  I  know  that  ye  seek  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth wlio  was  crucified.  Why  seek  ve  the  Hving  among  the  dead? 
He  is  not  liere,  for  IL;  is  rivn.  Behjid  the  place  where  th'^y  laiij 
Him.  But  go  quickly,  tell  His  disciples,  and  Peter,  that  He  is  risen 
from  the  dead.  Remember  the  words  that  Ho  said  to  you,  wliil  j  He 
was  yet  in  (4ali lee— that  the  Son  of  Man  must  be  delivered  into  tlie 
hands  of  sinful  men,  an  1  tie  crucified,  and  the  third  day  rise  again. 
And  tell  them  '  11-3  goetli  l)efore  you  into  Galilee '—there" you  will  seo 
Him,  as  He  said  unto  you.     So,  I  have  told  you." 

Mary  of  Magd-da  liad  hurried  back  to  Jerusalem  with  eager  steps, 
to  tell  Peter  and  John,  who  seem  to  have  lived  together  at  This  time[ 
the  strange  fact  of  the  grave  being  empty.  Tlie  Virgin  Mother] 
John's  honoured  guest,  now,  doubtless,  heard  the  amazing  news,  and 
joined  the  other  Mary  in  urging  the  two  Apostles  to  go  instantly  to 
the  toml);  though  their  own  hearts  had  at  once  instinctively  impelled 
both,  forthwith,  to  do  so.  Peter  and  John,  therefore,  were  on  the 
way  to  the  garden  at  once;  their  eager  haste  hurrying  them  to  the 
utmost  speed.  John,  however,  younger  than  Peter,  outran  him,  yet 
contented  himself,  on  reaching  the  tomb,  willi  stooping  down  and 
gazing  into  its  empty  space,  the  body,  assuredly,  was  gone,  but'there 
was  no  trace  of  violence,  for  the  linen  bandages  lay  carefully  unrolled, 
in  the  empty  niche  where  the  Saviour  had  been  jilaced.  Natural  rev- 
erence, and  the  awful  mystery  before  him,  kept  him  from  actually 
entering;  i)ut  no  sucli  hesitation  clie(,-ked  the  impulsive  Peter.  Pass- 
ing under  the  low  door  he  went  in,  undismayed.  The  sepulchre  was, 
indeed,  cmj)ty,  as  John  and  the  women  had  found;  only  the  grave- 
linen  wa.-i  left:  the  bands  for  the  body  and  limljs  laid  by  themselves 
and  the  cloth  that  had  covered  the  face  of  the  Dead,  not  lying  with 
them,  but,  folded  up,  in  a  place  by  itself.  Following  his  friend^  John 
now  entered,  and  saw  that  it  was  so.  The  great  truth,  as  lie  himself 
tells  us  in  long  after  years,  now,  for  the  first  time,  flashed  on  his 
mind,  that  Jesus  had  risen.  Neither  he  nor  the  other  Apostles  had, 
as  yet,  realized  that  it  had  l)een  foretold  in  the  Scriptures  that  He 
would  do  so;  for  this  would  have  explained  the  whole  at  once,  and 
would  have  thrown  light  on  the  hitherto  mysterious  words  of  Jesus 
Himself  respecting  His  resurrection.  . 

Having  seen  for  themselves  the  empty  tomb,  they  thought  like  men 
only  of  returning,  to  discuss  with  eacli  other  and  with  tireir  brethren,' 
wliat  it  could  mean.      But  the  women  would  not  leave  the  sjiot.' 
Wandering  everywhere,  they  only  cared   to  find  Him  whom  thev 
loved,  if  they  could,  for  they  fancied  that  the  body  had  ])eeu  removed 
to  some  other  place.      IVIary  of  Maudala  had,  nieanwhile,  relumed 
and  stood  weeping  at  the  door  r)f  tlu;  tomb;  her  spirit,  like  that  of  her 
companions,  overborne  wit'.i  longing  anxiety  to  find  Him,  if  possible 
and  refusing  to  believe  that  she  would  not.     The  two  Apostles  had 


796  Trnr.  /i^ife  of  christ. 

Been  no  angels,  but  the  weeping  woman  was  more  highly  favoured. 
Gazing  into  the  sepulchre,  the  empty  space  where  Jesus  had  lain  was 
no  longer  untenanted,  but,  instead  of  the  Redeemer,  she  saw  two  angels, 
in  bright  robes,  one  where  the  head,  and  the  other  where  the  feet  had 
rested.  They  were  there  to  comfort  the  broken  heart,  as,  indeed,  they 
had,  doubtless,  been  before,  though  for  the  time  they  had  remained 
unseen. 

"  Woman,"  said  one,  in  a  human  voice,  that  disarmed  fear,  "  why 
weepest  thou?" 

"Because,  "replied  Mary,  in  broken  accents,  "  theyhave  taken  away 
my  Lord,  and  I  know  not  where  they  have  laid  Him." 

As  she  said  this,  she  turned  and  drew  back  into  the  open  garden, 
hardly  knowing  what  she  did.  A  man  now  stood  before  her,  in  the 
simple  dress  of  the  humbler  classes,  and  being  in  a  garden,  she  natu- 
rally thought  him  the  person  employed  in  it.  "Woman,"  said  the 
stranger,  strangly  enough  as  it  must  have  seemed  to  Mary,  in  the  same 
words  as  the  angels  had  used,  "why  weepest  thou?^ — whom  scekest 
thou?"  "Sir,"  said  Mary,  taking  it  for  granted,  as  great  sorrow  does, 
that  the  cause  of  her  grief  must  be  known  to  all — "  if  thou  hast  car- 
ried llim  from  this  tomb,  pray  tell  me  where  thou  hast  laid  Him,  and  I 
will  take  Him  away. "  She  was  a  woman  of  means,  and  would  see 
that  He  had  a  final  and  suitable  resting-place. 

No  reply  was  given,  except  the  repetition  of  her  own  name — 
"Mary."  But  the  voice  revealed  the  speaker.  It  was  that  of  Jesus. 
She  had  not  recognized  the  known,  but  now  strangely  etherealizcd 
features — the  one  "spiritual  body"  ever  .seen  by  human  eyes — the 
corruptible  changed  into  incorruption — the  mortal  into  immortality. 
But  the  sound  of  that  voice,  so  tenderly  remembered,  brought  with  it 
full  recognition  of  the  face  and  form. 

"Rabbouni,"  said  she,  in  the  country  tongue  they  both  loved  so 
well — "My  Teacher!"  and  was  about  to  fall  on  His  neck  in  uncontrol- 
lable emotion. 

"Touch  me  not,"  said  He,  drawing  back,  "fori  have  not  yet 
ascended  to  the  Father,  but  go  to  my  brethren,  and  say  to  them,  I 
ascend  to  my  Father  and  your  Father,  and  tonsy  God  and  your  God." 

Meanwhile,  the  other  women  had  come  near,  and  hearing  and  seeing 
what  had  passed,  kneeled  in  lowly  worship.  As  they  approached, 
Jesus  greeted  them  with  the  salutation  they  had,  doubtless,  often 
heard  from  His  lips — "All  hail!" — and  the  words,  and  the  sight  of 
Mary  adoring  him,  left  them  no  question  of  its  being  their  Lord.  He 
had  withheld  Mary  from  any  approach  to  the  tender  freedom  of  for- 
mer days,  but  He  now  stood  still  while  the  lowly  band,  Mary  doubt- 
less among  them,  held  Him  by  the  feet,  and  did  Him  lowliest  rever- 
ence. Then,  as  they  kneeled,  came  the  words,  grateful  to  their  hearts, 
"Be  not  afraid!  Go,  tell  my  brethren  to  go  into  Galilee,  and  they 
will  see  me  there. " 

So  saying,  He  was  gone. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  797 

Losing  no  time,  Mary  of  Magdala,  and  the  others,  hurried  back  to 
Jerusalem,  and  found  that,  in  the  still  early  morning,  the  news  had 
spread  to  all  the  Eleven,  that  their  Master  was  alive,  and  liad  been 
seen  both  by  her  and  by  them.  But  it  seemed  too  wonderful  for  sim- 
ple minds  to  realize  at  once,  and  sounded  only  like  an  idle  tale  which 
they  could  not  believe.  It  sufficed,  however,  to  rally  them,  for  the 
first  time  since  Gethsemane ;  for  that  very  night  they  once  more  as- 
sembled as  of  old. 

No  detailed  narrative  of  the  successive  appearances  of  Jesus  to  His 
disciples,  after  His  resurrection,  has  been  left  us,  each  narrative  giv- 
ing only  special  cases,  which  had  particularly  impre.ssed  the  mind  of 
the  writer.  It  is  evident,  indeed,  that  He  showed  Himself  on  many 
occasions  of  which  no  record  is  preserved,  for  St.  John  expressly  tells 
us,  in  his  summary  of  the  Forty  Days,  that  besides  the  sign  in  the  case 
of  Thomas,  Jesus  did  many  others  before  His  disciples,  which  are  not 
written  in  the  Gospel  bearing  the  Apostle's  name,  and  He  had  prom- 
ised that  He  would  manifest  Himself  again,  soon  after  His  death,  to 
those  who  continued  faithful  to  Him.  Had  we  a  full  narrative  of  the 
mysterious  interval  between  Calvary  and  the  A.scension,  it  would 
doubtless  illustrate  more  vividly  than  existing  records  permit,  the  ful- 
ness and  variety  of  demonstration  which  alone  accounts  for  the  firm 
and  triumphant  proclamation  of  the  Resurrection  by  the  Apostles  and 
early  Church. 

One  characteristic  is  common  to  all  the  appearances  recounted: 
they  never  pass  outside  the  purely  spiritual  bounds  we  instinctively 
associate  with  the  mysterious  existence  on  which  Jesus  had  entered. 
Even  when  most  closely  touching  the  material  and  earthly.  He  is  al- 
ways seen  speaking  and  acting  only  as  a  spirit,  coming  suddenly,  re- 
vealing Himself  in  an  imperceptibly  increasing  completeness  which 
culminates  at  last  in  some  unmistakable  sign,  and  presently  vanishing, 
as  suddenly  as  He  appeared.  He  no  longer  acts  or  suffers  as  before 
His  death,  and  even  when  condescending  most  to  the  .seen  and  ma- 
terial, onlj'^  does  so  to  prove  Himself,  beyond  question,  the  same 
Jesus  as  formerly,  Avho  in  common  human  life,  shared  all  the  experi- 
ences and  wants  of  His  followers.  To  some  He  made  Himself  known, 
as  to  Mary  and  the  women,  by  a  single  word  or  by  brief  sentences, 
the  voice  carrying  instant  conviction  with  it:  to  others,  in  a  lengthen- 
ed communion,  as  with  the  disciples  going  to  Emmaus;  kindling 
their  sold  by  the  higher  sense  He  gave  to  the  Scriptures,  and  by  a  rep- 
etition of  the  symbolic  "breaking  of  bread,"  which,  on  the  last  night, 
He  had  enjoined  on  the  Eleven:  to  others  again,  as  to  Thomas,  by  an 
outward  material  proof  from  the  wounds  on  His  person;  and,  to  siill 
others,  by  joining  them  in  their  simple  repast,  as  with  the  disciples  on 
the  shore  of  the  Lake  of  galilee. 

It  would  seem,  from  a  notice  by  St.  Paul,  that  the  first  appearance, 
after  that  granted  to  the  women,  was  vouchsafed  to  Peter,  perhaps 
while  still  in  the  garden.     The  completeness  of  the  Apostle's  repent- 


798  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

ance  had  secured  as  complete  a  forgiveness,  and  Jesus  could  not  for 
get  that  Peter's  home  at  Capernaum  had  been  His,  or  how  true-hearted 
he  had  been  from  the  very  days  of  the  Baptism  on  the  Jordan,  though 
he  had  failed  for  a  moment,  when  off  his  guard.  The  look  of  re- 
proach, mingled  with  love  and  pity,  had  melted  Peter's  heart  while 
the  denials  were  yet  on  his  lips,  and  now,  the  look  and  tender  words 
of  the  risen  Christ,  bound  him  to  Him  for  ever.  He  had  been  the 
foremost  in  zeal  for  the  meek  and  lowiy  Master,  while  still  rejected 
and  despised,  but  when  that  Master  stood  before  him,  the  conqueror 
of  death,  and  the  glorified  Sou  of  God,  his  zeal  rose  to  a  passsionate 
devotion  that,  henceforth,  knew  no  abatement. 

The  news  of  the  resurrection  spread  fast  among  the  disciples  in 
Jerusalem;  still  it  required  time  to  reach  all,  and  even  when  it  spread, 
the  fact  was  too  great  to  be  realized  at  once,  and  too  contrary  to  pre- 
vious expectations,  to  be  other  than  slowly  imderstood.  Deep  dejec- 
tion reigned  throughout  the  little  Christian  company.  In  spite  of  all 
their  Master's  Avarnings,  His  death  had  come  on  them  by  surprise, 
and,  as  it  seemed,  had  destroyed  everything.  Chit  off  suddenly  from 
all  the  hopes  of  an  earthly  kingdom  they  had  cherished,  notwithstand- 
ing the  constant  lessons  of  C;hrist's  life  and  words,  and  deeply  dis- 
tressed by  the  loss  of  their  Teacher  and  Head,  they  appeared  to  be 
left  helpless,  and  paralyzed.  The  horrors  of  the  past  few  days  en- 
grossed their  thoughts  and  conversation.  They  believed  Him  now  in 
Paradise,  but  no  one  dreamed  of  a  resurrection  so  soon.  John  had, 
indeed,  risen  in  some  measure  to  the  grandeur  of  the  truth,  and 
Peter  had  even  seen  Him,  but  the  bulk  of  the  disciples  had  lost  well- 
nigh  all  hope.  The  report  of  the  empty  grave  and  of  the  vision  of 
angels  and  of  their  announcement  that  He  was  alive,  was  insufficient 
to  break  their  gloom,  and  prolonged  their  perplexity  without  reliev- 
ing it. 

Midday  had  passed,  and  only  floating  rumours  were,  as  yet,  abroad. 
The  disciples  began  to  think  of  finally  separating,  and  abandoning  all 
hope ;  for,  without  their  j\Iaster,  they  were  without  a  leader.  Two  of 
them  determined  to  go  home  to  Emmaus,  a  village  between  seven  and 
eight  miles  north-west  of  Jerusalem,  on  the  high  slope  of  the  hills. 
The  way  to  it  was  over  hills,  and  through  valleys,  more  and  more 
barren  as  Jerusalem  was  left  behind,  but  Emmaus  itself  looked  down 
into  a  hollow  through  which  a  rivulet  spread  greenness  and  beauty. 
Vines  and  olive-trees,  planted  in  terraces  up  the  hill-side,  and  the 
white  and  red  flowers  of  the  almond-tree,  now  bursting  into  blossom 
in  the  valley,  made  the  end  of  the  journey  a  pleasant  contrast  to  its 
beginning. 

The  two  travellers  were  not  of  the  Twelve  Apostles,  and  it  is  not 
even  known  whether  they  had  been  in  the  number  of  the  Seventy. 
The  name  of  the  one  is  told  us — Cleopas,  a  different  word  from  Clopas, 
the  name  of  the  husband  of  one  of  the  Marys  who  waited  on  Christ, 
and,  thus,  no  hint  is  furnished  by  it.     The  other  has  Veen  variously 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  79S 

farxied  as  Nathanael,  Peter,  or,  even,  Luke  himself,  but  it  is  only 
conjecture.  They  were  passing  on  their  way,  their  conversation 
turnine  naturally  on  that  of  which  their  hearts  were  full — and  of 
which  they  had  heard  and  spoken  so  much  that  day.  Was  Jesus  the 
Messiah  or  not?  If  so,  how  had  things  happened  as  they  had?  His 
life.  His  words,  His  miracles,  seemed  to  show  that  He  was  the  Mes- 
siah, but,  on  the  other  hand,  how  could  the  Messiah  have  been  cruci- 
fied? 

Meanwhile,  a  stranger,  going  their  way,  overtook  them,  and,  very 
possibly  to  their  disappointment,  joined  them.  He  had  heard  how 
eagerly  they  were  disputing  and  reasoning,  so  that  it  seemed  only 
na^iral  when  He  asked  them  what  subject  had  so  engrossed  them. 
Half  impatient  that  he  should  seem  unacquainted  with  a  matter  so 
supreiue  to  themselves,  C'leopas  an.swered — "  That  he  could  not  have 
thought  there  was  any  one  who  had  been  to  the  feast  in  Jerusalem, 
who  would  ask  the  subject  of  their  conversation,  when  such  great 
things,  still  in  every  one's  moutfi,  had  happened  in  these  last  few 
days. " 

"  What  things  ?"  asked  the  stranger. 

"What  but  respecting  Jesus  of  Nazareth?"  replied  Cleopas.  "  He 
was  a  prophet  of  God,  a  might}'  worker  of  miracles,  and  a  great 
teacher.  All  the  people  must  own  that  He  was  that.  Do  you  not 
know  about  Him?  How  our  priests  and  Rabbis  seized  Him,  and 
condemned  Him  to  death,  and  forced  Pilate  to  crucify  Him?  Yet  we 
believed,  as  it  seemed  on  the  best  grounds,  that  He  was  the  Messiah, 
who  should  have  delivered  Israel.  But  it  is  now  the  third  day  since 
all  this  has  happened.  Some  of  the  women  belonging  to  our  com- 
pany, however,  have  created  no  little  perplexity  amongst  us.  They 
had  gone  early  in  the  morning  to  the  tomb,  but  found  it  empty,  and 
came  back,  saying  that  angels  had  appeared  to  them,  who  told  them 
that  He  was  alive  again.  On  this  some  of  our  number  went  to  the 
sepulchre,  and  found  the  women  right  as  to  its  being  empty,  but  they 
did  not  see  Jesus  Himself." 

It  was  clear  that  the  spark  of  hope  kindled  by  the  first  report,  had 
been  already  extinguished. 

The  stranger  had  listened  attentively,  and  now,  to  their  surprise, 
began  to  chide  them  for  tneir  doubt,  and  entered  into  the  matter  that 
so  engrossed  them,  with  the  earnestness  of  one  who  felt  as  supremely 
intere.sted  in  their  blaster's  cause  as  they  were  themselves,  and  with 
an  intelligence  that  arrested  their  closest  attention. 

"  What  is  there  in  all  this,  that  makes  you  so  dejected  and  de- 
spairing?" asked  He.  "O  ye  dull  of  understanding,  and  sluggish  of 
heart!  Why  not  grasp  more  clearly,  and  believe  more  readily,  what, 
is  the  burden  of  all  the  prophets?  Had  you  been  as  intelligent,  and 
as  ready  in  your  hearts  as  you  should  have  been,  to  understand  and 
accept  the  wiiness  of  Scripture,  you  would  have  seen  that  it  had  beeu 
prophesied,  from  the  first,  that  the  Messiah  was  to  sufler  and  die,  us 


800  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Jesus  has  done  Let  us  examine  whether  the  prophets  do  not  snow 
tliat  the  Christ — the  Messiah — must  needs  have  been  thus  lowlj'^,  en- 
tering into  His  glory  only  after  suffering  death,  though  you  have 
foolishly  imagined  His  kingdom  was  to  come  by  force  and  miracle  ? 

The  stranger  was  evidenUy  a  learned  Rabbi,  at  least ;  and  had  won 
their  anxious,  respectful  attention  already,  by  the  novelty  and  force 
of  this  appeal.  But,  now,  as  He  journeyed  on  at  their  side,  their 
wonder  and  delight  increased,  for  He  quoted  passage  after  passage, 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  Scriptures,  and  showed  them 
how  the  whole  spirit  and  contents  of  the  Holy  Books  pointed  to  such 
a  Messiah  as  He  had  indicated — a  Messiah  founding  a  spiritual,  not  a 
mere  earthly  kingdom,  founding  it  by  love  and  self-sacrifice,  not  by 
force.  They  had  never  heard  such  discourse.  He  threw  light  on  the 
deep  things  of  Scripture  which  made  it  a  new  book  to  them.  They 
had  been  familiar  with  it  from  childhood,  but  now,  for  the  first  time, 
found  that  their  Master,  alike  in  His  life  and  death,  shone  out  from 
every  page. 

Such  discourse  shortened  the  road,  and  found  them  still  eagerly 
listening  as  they  approached  Emmaus,  the  end  of  the  journey.  Climb- 
ing the  hill  path  together,  through  the  terraces  of  vines  and  olives, 
and  passing  imder  the  village  gate,  they  were  presently  at  the  house 
where  the  disciples  were  to  stay.  And,  now,  the  stranger  bade  them 
adieu.  What  they  had  heard  from  Him,  however,  had  interested 
them  so  much,  that  they  longed  to  hear  more.  They  begged  Him, 
therefore,  to  lodge  witli  them  for  the  night,  and  this,  the  rather,  as 
the  day  was  far  spent.  Accepting  the  invitation,  all  three  went  into 
the  house. 

It  must  have  been  no  small  wonder  to  the  Two,  who  the  mysterious 
stranger  could  be.  Nothing  in  His  dress  or  speech  gave  them  a  clue, 
and  they  did  not  know  His  features.  But  a  feeling  of  reverence 
kept  them  from  asking. 

Simple  refreshments  were  presently  set  before  them — among  the 
rest,  bread  and  wine.  The  stranger,  as  was  His  due,  had  the  place 
of  honour  at  table,  and  it  fell  to  Him  to  hand  what  was  before  them, 
to  the  others.     Only  the  three  were  present. 

Presently  the  Unknown,  taking  the  bread,  offered  the  usual  bene- 
diction— just  as  Jesus  had  done ;  broke  the  bread,  just  as  Jesus  had 
broken  it ;  handed  it  to  them,  just  as  Jesus  had  handed  it.  Bearing, 
voice,  and  manner  were  His.  And  now,  as  they  look  at  Him  more 
closely, — the  veil  He  had  assumed  passes  away,  and  the  very  Face 
and  Form,  also,  were  His. 

It  was  He  !  Meanwhile,  as  they  gazed  in  awful  wonder  and  rever- 
ence, He  vanished. 

No  instance  given  illustrates,  more  strikingly,  the  adaptation  of  the 
Risen  Saviour's  self-disclosures  to  the  requirements  of  His  disciples. 
Their  minds  were  first  enlightened  and  their  hearts  warmed,  till  there 
was  no  longer  a  danger  of  affecting  their  senses  only,  but  a  security 


THE  EIFE  OF  CHRIST  801 

of  intelligent  conviction,  resting  on  impressions  ]ff'>.  hy  the  discourse 
they  had  heard.  They  were  gently  led  on  till  fully  prepared,  and 
then  the  Appearance  was  granted  in  a  way  so  inexpressibly  t'^uch- 
ing  and  tender,  that  it  no  less  fired  their  love  tnan  established  iheir 
faith. 

Left  to  themselves,  the  Two  coidd  speak  only  of  what  they  ha** 
heard  and  seen — of  how  their  hearts  had  glowed  in  their  bosoms,  a.' 
He  tallied  with  them  along  the  road,  and  opened  to  them  the  Script 
ures.  Their  ecstatic  joy  at  having  seen  Him,  whom  they  had  known 
as  the  earthly  Messiah,  now  unveiled  to  them  as  the  Messiah,  risen 
and  glorified — the  conqueror  of  death — can  only  be  faintly  imagined. 
Neither  life  nor  death  could  ever  efface  the  memory  of  it  from  their 
inmost  hearts.  But  their  brethren  must  know  the  great  truth. 
Hastening,  with  quickened  steps,  back  to  Jeru.salem,  to  reach  it  be- 
fore the  shutting  of  the  gates,  they  found  the  Eleven,  and  a  number 
of  the  disciples  gathered  together — the  amazing  rumours  of  the  day 
the  one  engrossing  theme  of  discussion.  Peter,  it  seemed,  had  told 
them  that  Jesus  had  appeared  to  him,  and,  now,  the  Two  added  their 
amazing  narrative.  It  was  a  thing  so  transcendent,  however,  and  so 
unheard  of,  that  any  one  should  rise  from  the  dead,  that  the  company 
still  fancied  the  women,  and  Peter,  and  the  Two,  under  some 
strange  delusion.  They  could  not  credit  their  story  as  a  matter  of 
fact. 

It  was  still  Sunday,  and  the  assembled  Eleven,  with  the  others,  had 
gathered  at  the  table  couches,  to  eat  a  simple  evening  meal  together, 
before  parting  for  the  night,  The  doors  were  fast  closed,  for  fear  of 
any  emissary  of  the  high  priests  and  Rabbis  discovering  them,  and 
they  were  still  discussing  the  strange  reports  they  had  heard,  and 
justifying  their  incredulity.  Suddenly,  through  the  closed  doors,  a 
form  appeared  in  their  midst,  which  they  at  once  recognized  as  that 
of  Jesus.  Presently,  the  salutation  they  had  heard  so  often,  sound- 
ed from  His  lips — the  common  Jewish  greeting — Shalom  Lachem. 
Peace  to  you! 

The  sight  terrified  and  alarmed  them.  They  could  not  realize  that 
it  was  really  Jesus  Himself,  but  fancied  it  was  His  spirit. 

"  Why  are  you  in  such  fear,"  said  He,  "  and  why  do  you  not,  at 
once,  without  any  such  doubts  and  questionings  in  your  minds, 
recognize  me  as  Him  who  I  really  am  ?"  His  hands  were,  of  coiurse, 
exposed  beneath  tlie  sleeves  of  His  abba,  and  His  feet  could  be  seen 
through  His  sandals.  Holding  up  the  former,  and  showing  the 
marks  of  the  great  iron  nails  of  the  cross  in  the  palms,  and  pressing 
back  His  abba,  and  disclosing  the  wounds  on  His  feet — He  went  on — 
"Look  at  my  hands  and  my  feet — see  the  wounds  of  the  nails — and 
be  satisfied  that  it  is  I,  Jesus,  myself,  who  speak.  And,  that  you 
may  know  that  it  is  not  my  spirit  you  see,  but  the  same  Master  you 
knew  of  old,  come  near  and  touch  me,  for  a  spirit  has  not  flesh  and 
bones  as  you  see  mc  have." 


802  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

Evidence  so  convincing  could  leave  no  doiil)t,  except  from  very  joy 
at  its  completeness  ;  for  the  return  of  their  liOrd,  thus  triumphant 
over  the  grave,  was  so  stupendous  a  miracle  that  while  they  could 
not  question  it,  their  gladness  would  scarcely  let  them  think  it  real. 
But  still  further  proof  was  to  be  given.  Knowing  how  easily  the 
idea  might  spread  that  His  appearances  were  merely  those  of  a  dis- 
embodied spirit,  He  asked  them  to  let  Him  share  their  meal.  They 
had  broiled  fish,  and  having  set  some  before  Him  with  wondering 
awe.  He  ate  it  in  their  sight.  All  doubt  now  fled :  it  was,  indeed, 
their  Risen  Lord. 

"  Now  that  you  are  convinced  that  it  is  really  I,"  continued  Jesus, 
' '  let  me  remind  you  that  the  facts  you  have  now  verified — that  1 
should  die,  and  rise  again  from  the  dead — are  the  fulfilment  of  what 
I  said  to  you  while  I  was  yet  with  you— that  all  that  was  written  re- 
specting me  in  the  Scriptures,  must  be  fulfilled  in  this  way." 

As  tlie  "  Light  of  the  World,"  He  then  proceeded  to  recall  to  their 
minds  and  explain  more  fully,  the  prophecies  respecting  Himself  in 
the  Books  of  Moses,  the  Prophets,  and  the  P.salms,— the  three  divis- 
ions under  which  all  the  Holy  Books  were  classed  by  the  Jews  ;  and 
showed  their  wonderful  vividness  as  inspired  anticipations  of  what 
had  really  happened  in  His  own  person. 

"  You  see  thus,"  added  He,  after  giving  this  summary  of  the  testi- 
mony of  Scripture,  "that  it  was  necessary,  in  the  Divine  Counsels, 
that  instead  of  founding  an  earthly  kingdom,  as  you  expected,  the 
Messiah  should  suffer  as  I  have  done,  and  that  He  should  rise  from 
the  dead,  the  third  day,  as  you  see  has  beea  the  case  with  me.  The 
purposes  of  God  now  further  require  that  the  need  of  repentance,  and 
the  promise  of  the  remission  of  sins  to  be  obtained  through  my  death 
and  resurrection,  should  be  preached,  henceforth,  as  the  great  end  of 
all  I  kave  suffered,  and  as  the  Salvation  I  was  sent  as  the  Messiah  to 
secure,  not  for  Israel  only  but  for  all  mankind.  These  truths  you 
are  to  proclaim  to  all  nations,  but  you  are  to  begin  at  Jerusalem,  that 
Israel  may  have  still  another  opportunity  of  accepting  me,  and  of 
being  saved  through  my  name,  now  I  am  risen  and  glorified  ;  though 
they  rejected  me  in  my  humiliation.  And  you,  my  disciples,  are  the 
witnesses  through  whom  God  will  spread  abroad  this  message  of 
mercy  to  Jews  and  Heathen,  and  proclaim  His  new  Heavenly  King- 
dom founded  by  me. " 

The  wondering  disciples  now  saw  that  He  was  about  to  leave  them, 
once  more.     As  He  prepared  to  do  so,  however,  He  added  : — 

"Peace  be  with  you  !  As  my  Father  sent  me,  so  I  send  you.  Go 
ye  into  all  the  world,  and  preach  the  Gospel  to  every  creature.  He 
who  believes  and  is  baptized,  will  be  saved,  but  he  who  does  not  be- 
lieve will  be  condemned.  And  these  miraculous  signs  will  be  granted 
those  who  believe,  for  a  conflrrnation  of  their  faith,  and  that  they 
may  win  others.  They  will  cast  out  devils  in  my  name;  they  will 
speak  with  tongues  new  to  them  ;  they  will  take  up  serpents  without 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  803 

harm  to  themselves  ;  if  they  drink  any  deadly  thing  it  Tvifl  not  hurt 
them  ;  and  they  wiil  lay  hands  on  the  sick,  and  they  will  recover. 

"To  fit  you  for  your  great  vrork  I  shall  presently  send  you  the 
Helper  promised  by  mj^  Father,  but  stay  in  the  city  till  you  are 
clothed  with  this  power  from  on  high." 

There  were  only  ten  of  the  Eleven  present,  for  Thomas  was  absent, 
but,  these.  Ho  now  gathered  before  Him.  As  an  earnest  of  the  fuller 
endowment,  liereafter,  He  was  about  to  impart  to  them  a  special  con- 
secration by  the  Holy  Spirit,  to  their  oftice  as  Apostles.  He  had, 
Himself,  compared  the  influence  and  entrance  of  the  Spirit  to  the 
breathing  of  the  wind,  and,  now,  prefacing  His  intended  words  by 
the  symbolical  act  of  breathing  on  the  Ten — He  said : 

"  Receive  ye  the  Holy  Spirit.  The  government  of  the  Church  is 
committed  to  your  charge.  As  a  special  gift  for  your  work  as  found- 
ers of  my  Kingdom,  divine  insight  is  granted  you  to  '  discern  the 
spirits  '  of  men,  that  so  you  may  know  their  true  state  before  G-od. 
Through  you,  therefore,  henceforth,  as  through  Me  till  now,  He  will 
announce  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  and  it  will  be  gi-anted  by  God  to 
those  to  whom  you  declare  it.  Through  you,  moreover.  He  will 
make  known  to  others  that  their  sins  are  not  forgiven,  and  to  him  to 
whom  you  are  constrained  to  speak  thus,  to  him  his  sins  will  not  be 
forgiven  by  God  till  you  announce  their  being  so." 

Having  said  this,  He  vanished  from  their  sight. 

It  is  impossible  to  realize  the  emotions  of  the  little  band  of  Apostles 
and  disciples  at  these  appearances.  They  knew  that  Jesus  had  been 
put  to  death :  they  had  fancied  them.selves  permanently  deprived  of 
His  presence  and  help,  and  they  had  not  known  what  to  think  re- 
specting Him.  But  when  He  stood  amidst  them,  once  more,  after 
He  had  risen,  a  sudden  and  strange  revolution  took  place  in  their 
minds.  They  saw  before  them  Him  Avhom  thej^  had  revered  as  the 
Messiah  while  clothed  in  human  weakness,  now  raised  to  an  unimag- 
inable glory  which  at  once  confirmed  and  sublimed  their  former 
faith.  They  saw  Him  victorious  over  the  grave,  and  clothed  with 
the  attributes  of  the  eternal  world.  In  a  moment,  the  whole  sweep 
of  the  truth  respecting  Him,  hitherto  only  half  realized,  had  become 
&  radiant  fact,  even  to  their  senses.  The  hesitating  and  imperfect 
belief  in  His  heavenly  dignity,  and  power  to  fulfil  all  He  had 
promi-sed,  here  and  hereafter,  which  bad  slowly  rooted  itself  in  their 
hearts  while  He  still  lived,  had  seemed,  after  all,  from  the  catastrophe 
of  these  last  disastrous  three  days,  a  fond  and  beautiful  delusion. 
But,  Tiow,  at  length,  as  He  stood  amongst  them,  triumphant  even 
over  death,  it  broke  all  restraints  and  flooded  their  whole  soul  with 
sacred  light  as  never  before,  for  the  revulsion  from  despondency  to 
the  purest  and  holiest  joy  gave  it  additional  strength. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  the  effect  of  such  sights  of  their  Risen 
Master,  on  the  minds  of  those  who  were  thus  favoured  with  them. 
The  whole  life  of  one  who  had  seen  Him  and  stood  near  Him,  per 


804  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

haps  touched  Him,  after  He  had  risen,  became  a  ]ong  dream  of 
■wonder.  Such  an  one  felt,  lienceforth,  even  in  the  midst  of  liis  com- 
monest occupations,  as  if  Clirist  were  still,  though  unseen,  beside 
him:  he  saw  Him,  as  it  were,  radiant  before  his  ej^es:  he  seemed  still 
to  hear  His  words  of  inlinite  love,  and  lived  in  habitual  communion, 
with  Him,  as  with  One,  hidden  it  might  be,  for  the  moment,  in  the 
upper  light,  but  to  be  expected  as  a  visible  form,  at  any  instant.  We 
see  this  in  every  page  of  the  Gospels  and  the  Epistles. 

Only  the  immeasurable  force  of  the  thought  that  the  Son  of  God 
Himself,  the  true,  glorified  IMessiah,  had  appeared  to  them ;  not,  as 
hitherto,  in  the  veil  of  the  flesh,  but  in  a  heavenly  transfiguration ; 
victorious  over  death ;  that  He  had  stood  among  them,  had  quickened 
and  inspired  them;  perhaps  had  let  Himself  even  be  reverently 
touched — could  have  created  such  effects.  Henceforth,  he,  only, 
was  recognized  as  an  Apostle  in  the  fullest  sen.se,  who  had  seen  Him 
in  His  spiritual  body  during  this  mysterious  interval,  when  He 
seemed  ready  to  soar  to  heaven  as  His  rightful  home,  and,  though 
still  on  earth,  was  no  longer  of  it.  Nothing  could  be  more  amazing 
than  the  result  of  such  a  sight  of  Him  thus  glorified,  on  the  Apostles. 
From  despair  they  passed  at  once  to  triumphant  confidence — from 
incapacity  to  believe  that  the  Messiah  could  have  suffered  as  He  had 
done  to  the  most  fervent  and  exulting  faith  in  Him  as  the  Messiah,  on 
account  of  these  very  sufferings.  They  became,  suddenly,  men  into 
whom  the  very  spirit  of  Christ  seemed  to  have  passed ;  their  spiritual 
nature  had  been  wholly  changed,  and  they  were  bound  to  Him,  hence- 
forth, with  a  deathless,  and  ecstatic  devotion. 

The  appearances  vouchsafed  during  the  day  of  the  Resurrection 
had  now  ended.  On  the  part  of  the  priests  and  Rabbis  there  had 
been  great  anxiety,  for  they,  as  well  as  the  disciples,  had  early  heard 
the  rumours  of  His  having  risen.  Some  of  the  watch,  after  having 
fled  in  terror  before  the  descending  angel,  had  come  into  the  city,  and 
reported  what  had  happened.  A  hasty  meeting  of  the  chief  men  of 
the  party  had  beffn  held,  and  the  whole  matter  laid  before  them. 
Their  perplexity  was  extreme,  but  at  last  their  Sadducee  leaders  in- 
vented a  specious  story.  Not  believing  in  angels,  they  affected  to 
think  that  the  soldiers  had  been  frightened  away  by  some  clever  trick 
of  the  disciples,  who  had  thus  got  possession  of  the  body  of  their 
Master.  There  were,  indeed,  difficulties  in  the  way  of  spreading  such 
a  story,  but  it  would  be  fatal  if  the  rumour  spread  that  angels  had 
p.ppeared.  The  people  would  naturally  think  it  a  proof  that  Jesus 
hud  been  what  He  said  He  was,  and  they  would  turn  to  Him  with 
more  ardour  than  ever.  The  guard  were  therefore  instructed,  with 
the  inducement  of  large  bribes,  to  say  that  they  had  fallen  asleep,  and 
found  the  body  stolen  when  they  woke.  The  hierarchy  were  aware 
that  it  was  death  for  a  sentry  to  sleep  at  his  post,  but  removed  this 
difficulty  by  the  promise  that,  in  case  the  story  reached  the  ears  of 
Pilate,  they  would  explain  that  it  was  only  an  invention,  to  keep  the 
people  quiet. 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  805 

A  whole  week  elapsed  before  tlie  next  appearance  recorded.  Oa 
Sunday;  known,  lienceforth,  as  the  "  first  day  of  the  week,"  in  con- 
trast to  the  Jewish  Sabbath,  the  seventh  day;  and  as,  especially, 
"The  Lord's  Day;" — the  Eleven  having  once  more  assembled,  as 
they  liad  done  daily  through  the  week,  and  continued  lo  do,  Jesu  ., 
honouring  His  resurrection  day,  once  more  stood  in  tlie  midst  of 
them.  Thomas,  known  as  Didymus,  or  The  Twin,  had  not  been 
present  on  the  Sunday  before,  and  in  his  grave,  earnest  way,  refu.scd 
to  believe  that  Jesus  had  rLsen  and  had  appeared  to  the  Ten,  till  h3 
himself  had  had  what  he  deemed  indisputable  proof.  ' '  Except  I  see 
in  His  hands  the  prints  of  the  nails,"  said  he,  "and  put  my  finger 
into  them,  and  put  my  hand  into  His  side,  Avhere  the  spear-thrust 
made  the  gash,  I  will  not  believe."  No  one  could  desire  more  to  scs 
his  Master  again,  but  his  temperament  demanded  what  he  thought 
demonstration,  of  so  amazing  a  fact  as  the  rising  of  one  from  the 
grave. 

On  this  first  Lord's  day  after  the  Resurrection,  however,  his  doubts 
were  for  ever  dispelled.  The  disciples  had  gathered  in  their  common 
room,  which  held,  at  least,  a  hundred  and  twenty.  The  doors,  a.i 
before,  had  been  carefully  closed,  for  fear  of  spies  from  the  Temple, 
and  the  approaches  were,  doubtless,  carefully  watched.  Suddenly, 
however,  the  words  were  heard  in  the  midst  of  the  company — " '  Peac3 
to  you!" — and,  looking  up,  Jesus  stood  before  them.  He  had  not 
been  near,  so  far  as  tlie  senses  could  perceive,  when  Thomas  had 
uttered  his  doubts,  but  He  knew  them  not  the  less.  Turning  to  the 
faithful  but  still  incredulous  one — whose  presence  there  showed  how 
eagerly  he  wished  to  believe  the  transcendent  news,  Josus,  to  his 
amazement,  addressed  him — 

"  Thomas,  thou  saidst  thou  wouldst  not  believe,  unless  thou  couldat 
put  thy  finger  in  the  wounds  of  my  hands,  and  feet,  and  side.  Reach 
hither  thy  finger — here  are  my  hands;  and  reach  hither  thy  hand, 
and  put  it  into  my  side,  and  be  not  faithless,  but  believing." 

To  hear  his  own  words  thus  repeated  by  one  who  had  not  beea 
present  when  they  were  spoken:  to  see  the  hands,  and  feet,  and  side: 
to  receive  such  condecension  from  one  who  he  now  felt  was,  indeed, 
his  loved  Master;  j'ct  no  longer  a  mortal  man,  but  the  Lord  of  Life, 
tfie  glorified  Messiah  who  had  triumphed  over  death,  overwhelmed 
him  with  awe.  No  words  could  express  his  emotion.  He  could  only 
utter  his  one  deepest  thought,  that  he  had  before  him  his  Lord  and 
his  God. 

"Thomas,"  said  Jesus,  "thou  hast  believed  at  last  because  thou 
hast  seen  me  •  blessed  arc  they  who,  without  having  seen  me,  believe, 
as  thou  now  dost,  that  I  have  risen  from  the  dead." 

Hitherto,  the  Risen  Saviour,  ia  all  His  appearances,  so  far  aa  they 
are  recorded,  had  designed  to  prove  to  His  disciples  that  He  was 
really  alive  again.  Convinced  erf  this,  there  was  much  to  tell  them, 
©f  "the  things  pertaining  to  t  lie  kingdom  of  God,"  which  they  were 


80G  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

to  spread  i.bro  d  through  the  earth.  Before  His  defith  He  had  told 
them  that  lie  had  many  tilings  to  say  to  them,  which  were,  as  yet, 
too  liard  i  3r  them  to  iinderstaiul  or  receive.  These  He  had  now  to 
commuuicate ;  for  what  would  have  heeu  incomprehensible  before  His 
sufferings  and  Resun-ectiou,  was  dark  no  longer,  when  seen  in  the 
strong  light  of  the  cross  and  tlie  empty  grave. 

He  did  not,  however,  mingle  among  them  and  live  in  their  midst  as 
of  old.  They,  doubtless,  expected  that  now  He  was  alive  again  on 
earth,  He  would  once  more  gather  them  around  Him,  and  stay  per- 
manently with  them,  and  they  even  fancied,  that  surely  now  at  last 
He  Avould  set  about  the  establishment  of  that  earthly  kingdom  of 
Israel,  to  which  they  so  fondly  clung.  But  to  have  stayed  thus 
familiarly  with  them,  was  no  longer  in  keeping  with  His  glorified  im- 
mortality. Till  they,  too,  had  put  on  incorruption.  He  was  separated 
from  Ihem,  by  the  infinite  distance  and  difference  of  time  and  eter- 
nity.    They  belonged  to  the  former,  He,  now,  to  the  latter. 

He  showed  Himself,  therefore,  to  them  ia  such  a  way  that  they 
could  never  count  on  His  taking  up  His  abode  with  them  again,  as  ia 
former  days;  that  so  they  might  be  accustomed  gradually  to  his  ab- 
sence, as  in  no  measvu'e  breaking  or  weakening  their  connection  with 
Him.  He,  hence,  vouchsjifed  them  only  inteiTnitted  appearances; 
that,  on  the  one  hand,  they  might  be  in  no  doubt  of  His  really  hav- 
ing risen  from  the  dead;  and,  on  the  other,  that  they  might  become 
familiar  with  the  idea  of  His  k'aving  them.  He  showed  Himself  as 
One  about  to  quit  the  world,  and  as  no  longer  belonging  to  it,  but  de- 
laying His  departure  for  a  time,  for  their  good.  His  intercourse  with 
them  Avas,  thus,  almost  like  that  of  the  angels  with  their  fathers  in 
the  early  ages,  when  they  came  to  their  tents,  conversed  with  them, 
and  even  ate  and  drank  what  was  offered  them,  but,  presently,  left 
again  and  disappeared,  till  some  new  occasion  brought  them  back. 

Hence  v.-e  are  no  more  told  the  place  of  His  stay  in  these  forty 
days,  or  of  His  journe3'S,  or  other  details,  as  otherwise  we  might 
have  expected.  He  appears  only  at  intervals,  and  we  have  no  trace 
whence  He  has  come,  or  whither  He  vanishes.  He  docs  not  travel 
back  with  His  disciples  to  Galilee  after  the  feast,  as  was  usual,  but 
only  names  a  mountain  on  which  He  will  meet  them.  They  ne^er 
ask  Him,  as  He  is  about  to  leave  them,  whithei-  He  isgoing,  or,  when 
He  comes,  whence  He  has  done  so?  His  whole  bearing  towards  them 
was  like  that  to  Mary  of  Magdala — "Think  not  that  my  Resurrec- 
tion restores  me  to  you  as  the  companion  of  your  daily  life.  Rejoice 
not  over  my  reappearance  as  if  I  were  to  stay  now,  abidingly,  with 
you.      I  go  to  my  Father,  and  j'our  Father — Lo  my  God,  and  youi-s." 

He  had  told  the  women  at  the  sepulchre,  to  say  to  His  disciples 
that  He  would  meet  them  on  a  mountain  in  Galilee,  which  He  named, 
and  He  had,  doubtless,  repeated  this  to  the  company  when  in  their 
rii/l.t.  The  most  of  them  were  Galilaeans,  and  would  return  home 
aitCT  the  feaat  week.     Galilee  had  been,  Tnorcover,  the  special  scena 


THE  LIFE  OF  CnRIST.  807 

of  ITis  labours,  and  of  His  success,  and  a  greater  numoer  could  be 
gathered  together  there  than  ia  Judea.  Jerusalem  was  not  to  be  their 
scene  of  action  ,'13  yet.  They  could  not  begin  their  great  Apostolic 
work  while  their  Master  was  still  0.1  eartli,  and,  besides,  they  needed 
not  only  many  counsels  before  lie  left  them,  but  the  power  which 
the  Holy  Spirit,  who  v.'as  not  yet  given,  could  impart.  "\7hcn 
they  returned,  to  attend  the  Feast  of  Pentecost,  seven  Avcckr?  after 
the  Kesurrection,  they  would  receive  their  full  heavenly  consecra- 
tion. 

The  future  was  still  unknown  even  to  the  Apostles,  and  hence, 
though  they  held  themselves  at  the  command  of  their  Lord,  the  i:> 
terval  before.  He  required  their  ]-)ermauent  service,  saw  them  cnca 
more,  at  their  former  callings.  They  seem  to  have  had  no  idea  t'.-.zt 
this  vi.sit  to  thtnr  homes  would  be  the  last  they  would  ever  make  to 
them  as  such,  or  that,  Avithin  a  few  weeks,  they  would  remove  to 
Jerusalem,  to  staj'  there  for  a  time,  and  then  wander  forth  to  all 
lands,  and  see  their  native  country,  rarely,  or  never  again.  Eutt'.:", 
long  attendance  on  their  Master  had  prepared  them  for  tinally  leriving 
everything  for  llim,  and  had  litted  Ihem,  uuconsciousb,-,"  for  the 
duties  that  lay  before  them. 

Simon  Peter,  Tliomas  the  Twin,  Nathanael  of  Cana.  John  and 
James,  sons  of  Zabdai,  and  two  whose  names  are  not  given,  appar- 
ently because  they  were  not  Apostles,  had,  among  others,  betaken 
themselves  to  the  well-known  shores  of  tiie  Lake  of  Galilee,  and  had 
quietly  set  themselves,  once  more,  to  the  occupation  familiar  tomo.^t 
of  them — that  of  tishermen.  They  had  been  out  on  the  Lake  all 
night,  but  had  caught  nothing,  and  were  rowing  to  land  in  the  earl}- 
dawn,  when  they  saw  on  the  shore  a  stranger,  whom  the}'  could  not 
recognize  in  the  twilight,  as  any  one  they  knew.  It  was  nothing 
strange  that  a  person  should  come  to  them  as  thev  were  landing,  to 
buy  their  catch.  Tlie  simple  haluts  of  the  East,  nioreover,  made  it 
common  to  sell  even  single  fi.:.h,  which  were  prepared  and  cooked 
on  the  spot,  in  the  open  air,  by  the  buyer.  The}^  thought  nothing, 
therefore,  of  the  stranger  presently  asking  them,  with  a  kindlj'  fa- 
miliarity not  imusual  in  antiquity  in  addressing  the  huml)ler  classes, 
"Children,  have  you  anything  to  eat?"  ;  as  if  wishing  to  buy  for  his 
morning  meal.     "Xothiug  at  all,"  cried  the  fishermen. 

"If  you  cast  your  net  once  more  on  the  right  .'^ide  of  the  boat,  ycu 
will  find  fish,"  said  the  stranger,  and  they,  tliinking,  perhaps,  th::t 
lie  had  notici^d  a  shoal  they  had  overlooked,  were  only  too  glad 
to  do  so.  But,  now,  the  net  sank,  overloaded,  so  that  they  could 
hardly  draw  it  after  tliem  as  they.rowed  to  land. 

There  was  no  further  question  who  the  stranger  could  be;  for  what 
wastliis  incident  hut  the  repetition  of  a  well-rememl)ered  miracle  of 
their  Master,  almost  at  the  same  spot?  "It  is  the  Lord,"  whispered 
John  to  Peter.  The  name  was  enough.  They  were  only  about  a 
Imndred  yajxls  from  Li-id,  but  i  je  arueat,  impulsive  Peter  could  net 


SOS  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

\vait.  He  was  standing,  naked,  in  the  boat,  after  having  swum 
round  with  the  net,  to  sweep  the  waters,  as  is  tlie  custom  on  the 
Lake  of  Tiberiae  still;  but  he  instantly  drew  on  his  upper  garment, 
and,  jumping  into  the  water,  swam  ashore,  to  be  the  first  to  see  if  it 
really  were  his  Master.  The  others,  meanwhile,  were  slowly  pulling 
to  the  shore,  and  presently  reached  it.  The  beach  had  been  bare  a 
moment  before,  but  now,  strangely  enough,  they  saw  a  fire  burning, 
with  a  little  fish  on  it,  and  bread  at  hand,  as  if  the  stranger  had  in- 
tended them  for  Himself. 

" If  you  would  like  to  eat  witk  me,"  said  He,  "bring  some  of  the 
fish  you  have  just  caught." 

Peter  had  not  dared  to  speak,  for  the  awe  of  his  Lord's  heavenly 
greatness,  as  one  belonging,  now,  to  a  higher  life,  was  on  him.  But 
he  instantly  ran  to  the  boat,  dripping,  as  he  stood,  and  dragged 
ashore  the  net,  which  was  found  to  have  caught  a  hundred  and  fifty- 
three  large  fish,  without  being  rent.  All  were  convinced  that  it  was 
Jesus,  but  they  were  dumb  with  amazement ;  and  though  they  wish- 
ed to  ask,  their  awe,  and  their  very  eyesight,  which  told  them  that 
it  was  no  other  than  their  Master,  kept  them  from  doing  so. 

They  had  sat  down  on  the  white,  dry  beach,  round  the  fire,  at  His 
invitation,  and  He  now,  once  more,  as  of  old,  took  His  place  as 
Head  of  the  little  group.  Taking  first  bread,  and  then  the  fish,  He 
divided  them,  just  as  He  had  done  while  He  was  with  them,  and,  as 
He  did  so.  His  face  and  bearing  were  so  exactly  what  they  had  been, 
that  the  fear  produced  by  the  suddenness  of  His  appearance,  and  the 
undefined  difference  in  Him  which  had  struck  them  at  first,  soon 
abated.  His  every  word  was  now  doubly  weighty,  and  hence  John 
gives  us  a  more  than  usually  circumstantial  narrative  of  what  fol- 
lowed. The  meal  being  finished,  He  turned  to  Peter,  as  if  to  show 
him  by  a  further  proof,  how  entirely  his  shortcoming  had  been  for- 
given, and  thQ  completeness  of  his  restoration  to  his  apostolate.  He 
commonly  called  him  Peter,  but  now  addressed  him  as  He  had  done 
three  years  before,  when  they  first  met,  and  only  once  since,  when  he 
made  his  grand  confession  of  belief  that  his  Master  was  the  Messiah. 
"Simon,  son  of  Jonas,"  asked  He,  "carest  thou  forme  more  than 
my  other  disciples?"  "Yes,  Lord,"  answered  Peter,  "Thou  know- 
est  that  I  love  Thee."  "  Go  and  feed  my  little  ones — my  sheep,"  re- 
plied Jesus;  "for  love  to  me,  care  for  the  spiritual  wants  of  all  who 
know  and  love  me,  as  a  shepherd  sees  that  his  flock  be  duly  fed." 
The  same  question,  in  the  same  words,  was  then  repeated.  "Yes, 
Lord,"  answered  Peter,  more  eagerly  than  before,  "Thou  knowtst 
that  I  love  Thee. "  "Then,  tend  my  sheep,"  replied  Jesus.  "Kot 
Dnly  nourish,  but  care  for  them,  as  committed  to  thy  charge."  A 
third  time  the  same  question  was  asked— "Simon,  son  of  Jona.s, 
lovest  thou  me?"  The  treble  repetition  had  something  in  it  tender 
and  warning.  It  was  not  a  reproof,  yet  it  was  fitting  that  the  discii'le 
who,  a  few  days  before,  had  thrice  denied   Him,  should  be  made  to 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  809 

think  as  often  of  his  weakness.  Peter  felt  it,  and  almost  thought  that 
Jesus  doubted  his  trustworthiness.  ' '  Lord, "  said  he,  ' '  Thou  knowest 
all  things;  Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee."  "Then,"  replied 
Jesus,  "feed  my  sheep— the  oversight  of  my  flock  is  thine,  to  see 
that  they  are  fed." 

"  Hear  now,"  He  continued,  "  what  awaits  you.  Verily,  verily,  I 
say  to  you,  Hitherto  you  have  girded  yourself  and  gone  whither  you 
pleased,  and  you  do  so  still;  but,  in  your  old  age  you  will  stretch 
forth  your  hands  helplessly,  and  will  give  yourself  up  to  others,  who 
will  gird  you  with  chains,  and  lead  you  off  where  you  would  fain  not 
go— to  the  place  of  judgment."  An  assurance  of  safety  for  the 
present,  and  a  timely  warning  of  what  the  future  would  bring!  There 
was  a  brief  pause,  and  then  the  words  "  Follow  me,"  summoned  the 
Apostle  once  more,  as  of  old ;  but  spoken  this  time,  by  the  risen  and 
glorified  Saviour— it  called  him  to  follow  Him  in  a  martyr's  death, 
and  then,  to  the  glory  beyond. 

Peter,  taking  the  last  words  literally,  fancied  he  was  to  follow  hig 
Master  as  before,  and  as  Jesus  seemed  now  leaving  them,  had  done 
so  a  few  paces,  when,  turning  round,  he  saw  John  coming  after  him. 
Unwilling  to  separate  from  one  endeared  by  long  companionship  as 
a  fellow-disciple,  he,  therefore,  ventured  to  ask,  in  hope  that  John, 
too,  would  be  allowed  to  come  with  them— "  Lord,  what  will  this 
man  do?"  But  things  were  not  as  in  old  days  of  common  familiar 
communion.  "  If  I  should  please  that  he  live  till  my  return,  why 
should  3^ou  seek  to  know  it?"  replied  Jesus.  "  From  you  I  require 
that  you  follow  me  in  the  path  in  which  I  have  gone  before  you." 

St.  Paul,  about  twenty-five  years  after,  mentions  another  appear- 
ance, which  was  no  doubt  the  same  as  is  related,  more  fully,  by  St. 
Matthew.  It  took  place  in  a  mountain,  appointed  for  the  purpose 
by  Jesus  Himself,  doubtless  as  a  well-known  spot.  Here,  a  large 
number  of  disciples,  including,  as  we  know,  the  Eleven,  gathered  at 
the  time  fixed.  It  was  a  moment  of  supreme  solemnity,  for  it  was 
the  close,  so  far  as  we  know,  of  His  ministry  in  Galilee.  A  mountain 
had  been  chosen,  alike  for  privacy  and  because  all  who  might  come 
would  be  able  to  see  their  :Master.  Over  five  hundred  had  gathered 
when  Jesus  appeared  in  their  midst;  some  of  them  long  since  dead 
when  Paul  wrote,  but  the  majority  still  alive.  With  beautiful  frank- 
ness, the  Evangelist  tells  us  that  some,  who  likely  had  had  no  other 
witness,  still  doubted  a  miracle  so  stupendous,  biit  they  were  so  few 
ti)at  he  could  say  of  the  multitude,  as  a  whole,  that  they  worshipped 
Jesus  as  their  Lord. 

Before  this  numerous  assemblage  Jesus  declared  Himself,  in  the 
loftiest  sense,  the  Messiah.  "All  power,"  said  He,  "is  given  me,  in 
heaven  and  in  earth.  As  I  have  before  commissioned  mv  Apostles,  so 
now  I  commission  you  all,  in  the  fulness  of  the  authority  thus  given 
me,  to  go  into  the  whole  world,  and  announce  to  all  meii  that  I  live, 
and  am  exalted  to  be  the  Lord  and  the  Messiah.    Go,  gather  disciplea 


810  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

to  me  from  among  all  nations,  and  consecrate  them  by  baptism,  to 
faith  in  the  Father,  tlie  Son,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  by  whom  God  will 
speak  and  act  through  your  means.  What  commands  I  have  given 
you  as  my  disciples,  give  you  to  them,  and  urge  them  to  keep  them. 
Nor  must  you  think  yourselves  alone  while  thus  working  in  my  name 
for  lo,  I  am,  and  shall  be,  with  you  always,  till  the  end  of  the  world." 
As  at  the  first,  so,  now,  at  the  last,  the  word  was  the  only  weapon 
by  which  His  Kingdom  was  to  be  spread.  Resting  on  persuasion 
and  CONVICTION  from  the  beginning,  it  was  left  on  the  same  basis  now 
He  was  about  to  ascend  to  heaven. 

Only  two  or  perhaps  three  more  appearances  are  recorded — one  to 
James  alone,  and  one  to  all  the  Apostles.  The  last  known  meetings 
with  the  Eleven  took  place  immediately  before  the  Ascension.  It 
was  the  Parting  for  Ever,  so  far  as  outward  and  visible  communion 
on  earth  was  concerned — the  final  delegation  of  the  interests  of  His 
Kingdom  to  them,  as  His  chosen  heralds  and  representatives.  They 
were  instructed  to  Avait  in  Jerusalem  till  the  promise  of  the  Father 
was  fulfilled;  that  He  would  send  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them,  as  their 
Helper  and  Advocate,  in  place  of  their  departed  Master — a  promise 
which  Jesus  Himself  had  made  known  to  them.  "For  John,"  said 
He,  "truly  baptized  with  water,  but  the  jiromise  which  even  he 
announced,  that  you  would  be  baptized  with  the  Holy  Spirit,  will  be 
fulfilled  before  many  days." 

The  Apostles,  acquainted  as  they  were  Avith  the  Old  Testament 
prophecies,  which  foretold  that  the  fulness  of  the  Holy  Spirit  would 
be  poured  out  in  the  times  of  the  Messiah,  seem  to  have  fancied  that 
there  was  an  indirect  promise  of  the  establishment  of  the  Messianic 
Kingdom,  as  they  conceived  it,  in  these  words.  It  appears  as  if  an 
interval  had  elapsed — apparently  only  a  part  of  the  same  day,  between 
the  appearance  at  which  the  renewed  assurance  of  the  bestowal  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  was  given,  and  that  at  which  the  question  they  w^ere 
now  to  ask  was  put.  When  they  had  come  together  again,  Jesus 
once  more  stood  among  them,  and  then — so  hard  is  it  to  uproot  fixed 
preconceptions— they  resolved  to  find  out,  if  possible,  whether  they 
had  any  grounds  for  their  fond  hopes. 

"Lord,"  asked  they,  "wilt  Thou  at  this  time  restore  the  fallen 
kingdom  of  the  Israelitish  nation?"  They  had  not  yet  received  the 
illumination  of  the  Spirit,  which  was  to  raise  them  at  once  and  for 
ever  above  such  narrow  and  national  views,  and  were  still  entangled 
in  Jewish  fancies,  which  regarded  the  Messiah  us  sent  to  the  Jewish 
people,  as  such,  for  its  earthly  glory  as  well  as  spiritual  good. 

Jesus  Avould  not  answer  such  a  ciuestion.  There  was  much  in  their 
expectations  which  would  never  be  realized;  yet  the  gift  of  the  Spirit 
would  really  be  the  true  setting  up  of  the  Kingdom  of  the  Messiah. 
Of  its  final  proclamation  and  tuU  establishment  in  its  glory,  which 
would  take  place  at  His  final  return,  He  would  say  nothing.  It  lay 
hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  future,  and  was  of  no  advantage  to  them 


THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST.  811 

to  know.  "It  is  of  no  use  to  yon,"  said  PIo,  "to  know  the  time  or 
the  circumstancos  of  these  frrcat  revolutions  in  the  fines  to  come.  Tlie 
Father  has  kept  tlie.se  as  a  secret  of  His  own  omiiscicnce.  Be  it 
enough  for  you  to  know  what  will  happen  immediately  on  my  depart- 
ure. "You  will  receive  the  powers  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  rich  measure, 
and  inspired  by  these,  and  prepared  by  them  in  all  pomts,  you  will  go 
forth  as  witnesses  for. me,  and  of  my  resurrection,  not  only  to  Jeru- 
salem and  Judea,  but  to  hated  Bamaria,  and  to  the  heathen  tlirough- 
out  the  whole  earth;  for  mine  is  a  universal  kingdom,  open  to  all 
mankind,  without  distinction  of  race,  or  rank;  of  bond  or  free;  of 
barbarian  or  Greek;  of  Jew  or  Gentile." 

This  last  interview  had  taken  place  in  Jerusalem,  but  He  had  left 
it  before  He  closed,  leading  thera  out  towards  Bethany.  He  may  have 
walked  through  the  well-known  streets,  veiled  from  His  enemies,  or 
He  may  have  appointed  tlie  meeting-place  for  them,  where  He  had 
so  often,  in  His  last  days,  retired  in  their  company.  The  place  where 
He  assembled  them  is  not  minutely  recorded,  but  was  on  the  IVIount 
of  Olives.  It  was  the  last  time  they  were  to  see  Him.  He  had  pre- 
pared them,  as  far  as  their  dulness  made  possible,  for  His  leaving 
them,  and  had  fittjd  the:n  to  receive  the  gift  of  the  Spirit,  which, 
within  a  few  days,  would  illuminate  their  intellects  and  hearts. 

He  wished,  however,  to  leave  them  in  such  a  way  that  they  should 
not  think  He  had  simply  vanished  from  them,  and  wait  for  His  present 
reappearance.  He  would  show  them,  as  far  as  it  coiM  be  shown, 
that  He  returned  from  the  earth  to  His  Father;  that  God  took  Him 
to  Himself  as  He  had  taken  Elias.  They  would  be  able  to  tell  men, 
when  they  asked  where  He  now  was,  that  they  had  seen  Him  leave 
the  world,  and  pass  through  the  skies  to  the  eternal  kingdoms,  in 
His  human  body;  to  sit  down  at  the  right  hand  of  God.  The 
thought— Hb  IvIVEs:  He  is  with  the  Father!  was,  henceforth,  to 
be  tlie  stay  and  joy  of  His  followers  in  all  ages. 

We  know  not  w'ith  what  last  parting  words  he  let  them  sec  He  was, 
now,  finally,  to  leave  them.  All  that  is  told  us  is,  that  He  gave  them 
His  blessing,  with  uplifted  hands.  Step  by  step.  He  had  raised  their 
conceptions  of  Him  nearer  the  unspeakable  grandeur  of  His  true 
nature  and  work.  At  first  the  Teacher,  He  had,  after  a  time,  by 
gradual  disclosures,  revealed  Himself  as  the  Son  of  God,  veiled  in 
the  form  of  man;  and,  now,  since  His  crucitixion  and  resurrection. 
He  had  taught  them  to  see  in  Him  the  Messiah,  exalted  to  immortal 
and  divine  majesty,  as  the  con(pieror  of  death  and  the  Lord  of  all. 

The  transcendent  miracle  which  closed  His  early  communion  with 
Ilia  chosen  ones  is  most  fully  narrated  by  St.  Luke: — 

"When  He  had  spoken  "these  things,  while  they  were  looking  at 
Ilim,  He  was  taken  up  into  heaven,  and  a  cloud  received  Him  out  of 
their  sight " — that  cloud  which  symbolized  the  presence  of  God. 
"  And  as  they  were  gazing  earnestly  into  the  heavens,  aa  lie  as<;endod, 
behold  two  men  stood  by  them,  in  white  apparel,  and  said  to  them — 


813  THE  LIFE  OF  CHRIST. 

'Ye  men  of  Galilee,  why  stand  ye  gazing  into  the  heavens?  This 
same  Jesus,  who  is  even  now  taken  from  you  into  heaven,  will  come, 
in  the  same  way  as  ye  have  seen  Him  go.' " 

"Earth,  thou  grain  of  sand  on  the  shore  of  the  Universe  of  God; 
thou  Bethlehem,  amongst  the  princely  cities  of  the  heavens;  thou  art, 
and  remainest,  the  Loved  One  amongst  ten  thousand  suns  and  worlds, 
the  Chosen  of  God!  Thee  will  He  again  visit,  and  then  thou  Avilt 
prepare  a  throne  for  Him,  as  thou  gavest  Him  a  manger  cradle ;  in 
His  radiant  glory  wilt  thou  rejoice,  as  thou  didst  once  drink  His 
blood  and  His  tears,  and  mourn  His  death!  On  thee  has  the  Lord  a 
great  work  to  complete  t" 


7VB  mxv 


INDEX. 


Abraham  Christ  was  before,  599 ; 
Jews  not  cliildren  of,  but  of  dev- 
il, 598 ;  rejoicing  to  see  Christ's 
day.  599. 

Actium  battle  of.  33. 

Adultery,  woman  taken  in,  591,  592. 

Age  of  children  in  schools,  121. 

Agony  and  bloody-sweat  of  Christ  in 
Gethseinane,  740,  741. 

Agrippa  I.,  life  of,  in  Palestine,  247. 

Alexander  and  Aristobulus,  sons  of 
Mariamne  at  Rome,  4(1 

Alexandra,  mother  of  Mariamne,  31, 
34. 

Almighty,  voice  of  the,  559, 560. 

Almsgiving,  437. 

Amestris,  wife  of  Xerxes,  301 . 

Andrew,  St.,  324  ;  special  notice  of, 
416. 

Anna,  legend  of,  78. 

Anna,  the  Prophetess,  93. 

Antigonus,  27,  28,  29. 

Antipas,  Herod,  110;  birthday  feast 
of,  300  ;  at  Tiberias,  palace  of, 
510 ;  Chiist's  danger  from  super 
stition,  &c.  of.  532,  h'ii  ;  palace 
of,  in  Jerusalem,  735  ;  Jesus  brought 
before,  763,764. 

Antipater,  father  of  Herod,  21-24 ; 
son  of  Herod  and  Doris,  25,  41 ,  44 

Antony,  Mark,  22,  25,  26,  27,  30,  31,  33. 

Apologue,  Indian,  335 

Apostle,  Jewish  equivalent  of  term, 
412. 

Archelaus,  and  the  people  after  Her- 
od's death,  l&i  ;  and  Antipas' 
canvass  in  Rome  for  the  honor 
of  being  king,  184  ,  made  Eth 
narch  by  Cffisar,  185 ,  cruel  na 
ture,  &o.  of,  190. 

Aristobulus  murdered,  32 

Ariston,  the,  or  breakfast,  486. 

Ascension  of  Jesus.  311. 

Ascetic  restrictions  at  table  not  re- 
quired by  Christ,  472. 

Asceticism,  contrary  to  New  Kingdom 
©f  God,  407. 


Asmoneans,  palace  of  the,  762. 

Astrology,  Eastern,  100,  101  ;  Jewish. 
101  ;  Old  English,  102. 

Atonement,  preparation  for  day  of, 
164 ;  forgiveness  of  offences  be- 
fore, 164. 

Augustus,  84. 

Auranitis  or  Hauran,  plateau  of,  224. 

Authorities,  chief  of  the  Synagogue. 
132. 


B 

Babylon,  number  of  Jews  who  return- 
ed from,  45. 

Babylonian  Jews.  98. 

Balaam,  legends  of,  104. 

Baptism,  introduction  of,  by  John, 
357. 

Baptist,  food  of  the,  260  ;  motives  of 
the,  in  going  into  the  wilderness, 
262  ;  elevation  of  mind,  263,  26,'i ; 
Life  of  the,  in  wilderness,  204  ;  insti- 
tutes baptism,  275,  276  ;  excitement 
to  hear  the,  277.  278  ;  effect  of  lii.s 
preaching,  279  ;  his  preparation  for 
God's  kingdom,  280  ;  rebukes  Phari- 
sees and  .Sadducees,  281  ,  contrast 
of  his  teaching  to  the  Rabinnical 
doctrine.  281  ;  preacliingof,  282,285; 
character  of,  283  :  .still  a  Jew,  283  ; 
work  of,  284  ;  attitude  of  authorities 
towards,  285  ;  at  Enon,  286  ;  Jesus 
goes  to  the,  28G  ;  his  Messianic  ideas 

286  ;    recognizes  Jesus  as  Messiali, 

287  ,  after-hfc  of  the,  289  ;  imprison- 
ment of  the,  290,  292  ;  testimony  of, 
to  Christ,  290  ;  Antipas"  reasons  for 
imprisoning  the,  293  ;  the,  before 
Antipas,  2M  ;  Herodias'  curiosity  to 
see  the,  295  ;  execution  of,  fay  Ajiti- 
pas,  301  ;  witness  of,  to  Jesus,  320. 

Barabbas,  Pilate  asked  to  free,  765. 
Barley,  the  disciples  pluck,  on  Sab- 
bath, 454. 
Bartholomew.  416. 
Bartimaeus.  Blind,  cured.  655. 


» 


INDEX. 


Bathing,    cure    for   various  diseaseF? 

44(5  ,  befoi-e  eating:,  48(1 
Bazaar.  Great,  in  Jerusalem,  156 
Beatitudes,  4:-'2,  4S3 
Beelzebub,  meaning  of,  4*4,  625 
Bethany.  600,  (ill!  .  Clirist  enters,  659. 
Bethesda,  jjaol  of,  446, 44T  .  waters  of, 

450. 
Bethlehem,  33  :  massacre  at,  105 
Bethsaida.  town  of  Philip,  Peter,  and 

Andrew.  326  .  Christ  m,  511. 
Betrothal  among  Jews,  74. 
Blasphemed,   behef  that  Christ  had, 

6Sr,  588. 
Blasphemy,     accusation    of,   390  ,  of 

Kabbis   agaiust    the  Divino  Spirit, 

483. 
Blind,  two,   men  receive   sight,  .501  , 

healed,  540  .  man  healed,  miracle  of 

C05,  606. 
Bread,  the  true,  517,  519. 
Brother,    patience    to  be    shown   to- 
wards guilty,  575,  576 
Burial,  imcleanUness  of  Jews  after  a, 

T88  ,  of  Christ,  790. 


Caesar,  Juhus,  at  Catiline's  trial,  23  ; 
struggle  with  Pompey,  2ii  ,  in  E^pt 
22 ;  murder  of,  25  immunities 
granted  to  Jews  by,  23,  40 

Csesarea,  36  ,  capital  of  Roman  pro- 
curatorship,  30  .  PhiUppi,  546, 547 

Caiaphas  the  high  priest,  736  speech 
of,  to  council,  610  .  high  priest,  619  , 
and  Hannas  demand  "the  crucifixion 
of  Jesus,  773. 

Calendar,  Jewish  Ecclesiastical,  139. 

"  Call,"  the,  to  the  tirst  Apostles,  382. 

Cana  of  Galilee,  327,  a29  ,  marriageat, 
330-333  home  of  Nathanael,  327  ; 
site  of,  329  ,  traditions  respecting 
the  marriage  in,  330. 

Capernaum,  circuits  from,  390 ,  de- 
scription of,  3;?8,  aSO,  382,  397,  567, 
Jesus  makes  His  home  in,  342 ; 
reasons  of  Jesus  for  choosing  Caper- 
naum as  His  home,  344,  345  ;  stay  of 
Jesus  in,  345  ,  site  of,  383  ,  Chi'ist's 
"  coming  down  to,"  587  ,  left  on  ac- 
count of  rage  and  intrigues  of  Rab- 
bis, 493  ,  Christ  returns  to,  498  ; 
crowds  waiting  to  be  healed,  515  ; 
Christ's  visit  to,  565. 

Captivity,  revival  of  religious  earnest- 
ness during  the,  43. 

Caravan,  Gadilajan,  to  feast  in  Jerusa- 
lem, 579. 

Carlyle  on  Jesus  Chi-ist,  2. 


Caste,  sweeping  away  of,  531. 

Caverns  of  Gadara.  496 

Caves  used  for  houses  85,94. 

Census  of  people  taken  by  Quirinius, 
194,  of  Quirinius,  80,  of  Roman  Era 
pire,  80  ,  of  Judea.  81 

Centurion,  the,  believes  in  Chri-fs 
divine  power,  786,787  ,  servaac  ui 
the,  healed,  4.59 

Ceremonial  defilement,  dread  of,  220 

Ceremonial  pui'ity,  172,  174. 

Channing  on  Jesus  Clu-ist,  2 

Cliildren  brought  to  the  liabbis  to  bo 
blessed,  645  ,  ble.ssed  by  Christ, 
645  ;  Christs  love  of,  571  desire  for 
among  Jews,  66. 

Chorazin,  Christ  denoimces  the  per- 
veiNity  of,  465 

Christ,  opinions  of  great  men  respect- 
ing, 1-4  ,  Mohammedan  title  of,  1  ; 
religious  revolution  effected  by,  4  , 
unseifisluiess  of  4  :  never  owns  sin, 

4  ;  awful  claims  of,  5  ,  character  of, 

5  ;  conception  of  God,  5  ,  novelty  of 
His  teaching,  5  ,  on  God,  6  ;  on  the 
brotherhood  of  man,  6  ,  visit  to  Je- 
rusalem at  the  time  of  the  Passover. 
144 ;  in  temple  with  the  Rabbis, 
158  ;  growth  of,  161  ,  first  teachers 
of,  160  ;  knowledge  of  Sci'ij)tm'es, 
167  ;  sojourn  of,  in  Kazareth,  168  . 
birth  of,  85  .  date  of  bu'th  of,  85  , 
legends  of  birth  of,  80  .  vision  of 
angels  at  birth  of,  86  ,  His  dress, 
477  ;  prejudices  against,  indifference 
to,  402  ;  position  of  towards  the 
Rabbis,  404  ;  the  Friend  of  sinners, 
406  ,  no  respecter  of  persons,  407  , 
kingdom  f  omided  on  self-denial  and 
self-sacritice,  409  ;  ignores  ritual 
and  ceremonial  law,  4U9  ,  preach- 
ing, originality  of,  410 .  nobihty  of 
character  of,  410  ,  grace,  love,  and 
kingliness  or,  411  ,  self -abrogation 
required  by,  in  His  disciples,  412  ; 
bearing  towards  His  disciples,  417  ; 
minute  acquaintance  with  opmions 
different  schools,  420^421  ,  new  relig 
ious  era  of  universal  love  created 
by,  436  ,  spiritual  not  political  re- 
ligion of,  436.437  ,  universal  love, 
deep  religious  groimd  for,  443 ; 
warnings,  solemn,  to  beware  of 
false  teachers,  44-3  ,  teaching,  origin- 
ahty  and  mdependence  of,  444  , 
teaching,  astonishment  of  tlie  peo 
pleat,  444  ,  sayings  and  deeds  per- 
verted to  evil,  448  ,  answer  to  the 
disciples  of  John,  462  ;  eulogy  of,  on 
John  the  Baptist,  462 ;  acknowl- 
edfres  John  as  "  the  EUas  who  waa 


INDEX. 


to  come,"  4C)?. ;  iimicIi  depressed  in 
r.pirit,  404  ;  compares  the  comiiis:  of 
John  with  ilis  own,  464  ,  New  King- 
flom  to  rest  on  simple  faith  and 
Liimble  love,  4().') ;  reveals  His  na- 
ture and  relation  to  <he  Eternal, 
4ij6;  callstlie  weary  and  heavy  laden 
to  Him,  46(5;  fi'et  anointed  by  the 
v.oman  in  Simons  house,  4(i!);  cliarge 
of  l)lasphemy  raised  against,  fur 
claiming  to  forgive  sins,  470;  enter- 
talue-d  as  a  Rabbi,  470;  mis'iion  to 
the  towns  and  villages  of  (iahlee, 
<70;  poverty  of,  and  His  discijiles, 
473;  supporteii  by  hospitality,  473; 
always  with  disciples,  474;  simplici- 
ty of  mode  of  life,  474;  yokir  of. 
light,  477;  sign  demanded  of,  as 
proof  of  His  claims,  483;  superiority 
of,  to  Rabbis,  4S(j;  rejection  of,  by 
leaders  of  the  nation,  488;  turning 
point  in  life,  ii,  489;  falls  asleep  in 
the  boat,  4:io;  charge  of  blasphemy 
against,  501 ;  preaches  in  Naz  iretli, 
501:  cast  out  of  the  synagogu.',  004; 
extent  of  missionary  circuit,  5.).3;  di- 
rections to  the  Twelve,  when  they 
started  on  mission,  500,  510;  specu- 
lations concerning,  532,  533;  irony 
of,  to  His  tempters  for  a  Kign,  543; 
Peter's  unconscious  temptation  of, 
5*1;  loftiness  of  spiritual  nature  of, 
577;  lesson  of  universal  charity,  583; 
dignity  and  hum'.Iity  of,  584;  "aston 
idling  learning  of,  5*^5;  proves  that 
He  was  taught  of  God,  bSti;  indigna- 
tion of  people  at,  Vi  W;  His  testimony 
refused  as  without  w-itnesses,  593, 
594;  foretells  his  death,  594;  con- 
vincing dignity.  50r>,  59(5;  reference 
to  spread  of  Ilis  Kingdom,  .595;  at- 
tempt to  stone,  59;);  openly  con- 
fessed by  blind  man,  607;  wor- 
shipped by  blind  man,  008;  re- 
proaches the  Rabbis  with  spiritual 
blindness,  608;  enforces  the  idea 
tliat  the  heathen  shall  enter  heaven, 
610;  crosses  the  .Jordan  to  Perea, 
613;  withdraws  from  the  Temple, 
fil3-  gathei"s  crowds  round  Him  in 
Perea,  G13;  nature  of  assembly  by 
whom  tried,  018;  retiresto  Ephraim, 
019;  enthusiasm  of  the  people  for 
the  teaching  of,  fii-'O;  leaves  EiJhra- 
im,  6i0:  cures  a  woman  on  the  Sab- 
bath, 630;  relates  the  Parable  of  the 
Great  Supper,  0-^3 ;  character  of  new 
religion,  preached  by,  &ii,  anxiety 
'  f.  tliat  the  people  should  know  na- 
ture of  His  mission,  6i5,  v>'arnslhose 
around  to  consider  well  before  be- 


coming ITis  followers,  02.").  charac'cr 
of  cro\\(ls  gath(a-ed  roiuid,  0~7; 
hailod  by  the  i)eopli',  as  a  Rabbi,  no 
respecter  of  pers<jii.i,  Oc7,  outrages 
ctabh'.hed  laws  of  privilege,  &c., 
63.;;  title  of,  nailed  ta  Cross, '780;  ag- 
ony of,  on  the  Cros.s  7ol,  7-2;  death 
of,  730;  removal  of,  from  the  Cross, 
790;  is  buried  in  the  tomb  of  Joseph 
of  Arimathea,  79),  testimony  of 
Scripture  re.pecting,  803;  parting 
counsels  of,  803;  appears  on  amoun 
tain  to  the  assembled  people,  tW9; 
religion  before  advent  of,  0, 10. 
Christian     Republic,    declaration    of 

principles  and  laws  of,  419. 
Christianity,  founded  in  direct  oppo.si- 
tion  to  customs,  formula?,  430;  fun- 
damental principles  of.  5,   the  no- 
blest  truth  of,  436;   originality  of, 
5,  10. 
Chronology,  from  B.C.  63— B.C.  37;  not 
sti-ictly  followed  regarding  Christ's 
movements,  458. 
Cipher  for    the  names    of    God  and 

angels,  479. 
Circumcision,  must  be  on  eighth  day, 

88. 
Civilization,  advance  of  Roman,  271. 
Class-liatreds  amongst  the  Jews,  435. 
Claudius,  famine  in  time  of,  539,  the 

poet,  on  Jesus  Christ,  2. 
Cleanliness,    Levitical,  2,    the    Scrip- 
tures defiling  the  hands,  437 
Cleopatra,  Queen  of  Egypt,  23,  20,  27, 

29,  33,  3:i 
Coins,  symbols  on,  677.  G78. 
Confession,  confirmation    of  Peter's 

560 
Conscience,  freedom    of,  taught   by 
Christ,  457.  right  of,  denied  in  anti- 
quity, 7. 
Conservatism,  Jewish,  on  the  decline, 
4.'i8. 
i   Contrast  between  old  and  new  king- 
j       doms,  431 . 
"Corban,"  the  word,  .528. 
Corn,  the  disciples  pluck,  on  Sabbath, 
4oi. 
I   Council,  r  ige  of,  at  Chri;-.t,  607. 
;   Counsels  to  the  young,  13<"'. 
Country,  aspect  of,  in  April,  H4o. 
Court  oyierod  at  Jerusalem,  35. 
(   Covetousness,  caution  against.  4  8. 
!   Cross,   Christ  on  the,   779:    agon/  of 
j       Christ  on    the,   780;   title  of  J  ejus 
nailed  to,  780;  Pilate  and  the  inscrip- 
I       tion  on  the,  7S0;  removal  of  Christ 
'       from  the,  790;  description  of  the,  776; 
!       Simon,  the  C.yrenian,  compelled  to 
I      bear  the,  777;  inscription  on,  78  J,  781, 


INDEX 


Craciflxion,  history  of,  775:  Jewish  law 
in  connection  with,  787;  hour  of,  772; 
Jeivish  and  Boman,  776,  779;  dark- 
ness at,  787. 

Cure  of  boy  possessed  by  dumb  spirit, 
563,  564 ;  of  man  with  impediment  of 
speech,  537;  wonderful,  in  Caper- 
naum, 479. 

Outhites,  tradition  respecting,  365. 

Cyrene,  Jews  in,  777. 

Cyrus,  45. 

D 

Danger  of  turning  any  from  Christ, 
573. 

Daniel,  Jewish  interpretation  of,  2^7, 
228 

Decapolis,  the,  .537. 

Defilement,  Jewish  ideas  of,  89. 

Demon,  Christ  cures  man  possessed  of 
a,  385;  Jesus  said  to  be  in  league 
with,  481 ;  man  possessed  with, 
healed,  497.  casting  out  from  dumb 
man,  501 ;  casting  out,  from  daugh 
ter  of  Canaanitish  woman.  535,  536, 
Christ  accused  of  having  a,  598. 

De  Wette  on  Christ,  3. 

Disciple,  desire  of  Samaritan  to  be, 
581. 

Disciples,  call  of  the,  382;  perplexity 
and  distress  of,  at  breach  of  law, 
405;  necessity  of  selecting  a  larger 
number  of,  411;  future  work  of 
Christ's,  411,  reward,  no  earthly  one 
held  out  to,  412;  rejection  of  persons 
unfit  to  be,  412;  sincere  enthusiasm 
necessary  in  Christ's,  412;  twelve 
appointed  as,  413;  reasons  for 
Cnrist's  choosing  from  the  humbler 
classes,  414;  enumeration  of,  414, 
social  position  of,  414,  alarm  of ,  at 
Christ's  doctrines,  531 ;  necessity  of 
confirming,  in  their  faith,  548-549, 
Christ's  preparation  of,  for  His  vio- 
lent death,  553;  suffering,  &c.,  in 
store  for  Christ's,  5.5.5,  556,  discour 
agement  of,  557,  558,  failure  of,  to 
work  miracle,  563,  564,  565;  jealousy 
amongst  the,  566,  567;  not  to  expect 
posts  in  a  temporal  kingdom,  569, 
570;  powers  for  Church  government 
given  to  all  the,  576,  Christ's  reproof 
of,  for  fanaticism  towards  Samari- 
tans, 580,  complete  surrender  of 
earthly  ties  by,  581 ,  future  reward 
of  the,  649,  650,  journej's  of  the,  651 ; 
speak  of  Christ's  fate,  651 ,  counsels 
of  Jesus  to  His,  694,  701 ,  Christ  in- 
forms, of  approaching  fate,  703;  ask 
Jesus  for  directions  respecting  Pass- 


over Feast,  707,  708;  inability  of  the, 
to  interpret  Christ's  woius,  719,  720; 
flight  ot  the,  at  arrest  of  Jesus,  744: 
opinions  of  the,  respecting  Christo 
resurrection,  798;  Jesus  appears  to 
the,  801 ;  astonishment  of,  at  appear- 
ance of  Jesus,  803,  second  appear- 
ance of  Jesus  to  the,  805,  opinions 
of  the,  respecting  Christ's  stay  on 
earth,  806;  last  appearance  of  Jesus 
to  the,  810,  811 

Discipleship,  strict  conditions  of,  494, 
495. 

Disobedience  to  Christ's  words,  the 
foolishness  of,  444. 

Dives,  parable  of,  and  Lazarus,  633, 
634;  parable  of,  explained.  6;i4,  6.3,5. 

Divorce,  the  facility  of,  among  the 
Jews,  429, 430 ;  debates  of  Rabbis  re- 
specting, 643,  Rabbis  ask  Jesus  if, 
is  lawful,  643,  644;  Christ  reasons 
with  the  Pharisees  respecting,  644, 
&45. 

Doctrine  new  of  Jesus  respecting  ob- 
servance of  Sabbath,  454. 

Doves,  sale  of  by  priests,  346 

Dress,  difference  between  that  of 
Christ  and  the  Rabbis,  472,  of  Christ, 
477. 

Dress  and  living,  moderation  in,  en- 
joined by  Christ,  472. 

E 

East,  difference  of  spirit  of,  from  the 

West,  123;  houses  of  the  wealthy  in 

the,  745 
Edom,  prophecies  against,  181 
Education  among  Jews,  170,  178,  121, 

47. 
Egypt,   guilds  of   workmen    in,    106, 

Jews,  unpopular  in,  106;  idolatry  of, 

107 
Elders  of  Synagog:ue,  132. 
EUjah,  the  greatest  of  all  the  prophets, 

463;  coming  of,  624,  634. 
Engedi,  valley  of,  253;  spring  of,  259; 

town  of,  260. 
Enoch,  book  of,  mystifying  influence 

of  the,  on  the  Jews,  2:^. 
Entertainment  of  Christ  after  day's 

labours,  474. 
Equivocation,  Christ  speaks  against, 

4;30. 
Esdraelon,  plain  of,  213. 
Esdras,   fourth  book  of,    Messaianic 

ideas,  2.36, 237. 
Essenes,  the,  426:  dread  of  defilement, 

253,   devotion   to    ceremonies,  354; 

rules  of,  &c.,  254;  popular  influence 

of,  257. 


INDEX. 


Evening,  meal,  manners  of  East  re- 
specting, 473. 

Excitement,  great,  of  people  for 
Christ,  4«8. 

Excommunication,  606,  607. 

Exorcism,  formula  of,  479. 

Explanations,  innumerable,  of  every 
verse  of  Bible,  among  Jews,  444. 


Failure,  Christ's  words  of  warning 
against,  425. 

Faith,  Christ  compares  the  centurion's 
with  that  of  tlie  bigoted  Judeans, 
401;  want  of,  reproved  by  Jesus, 
496. 

False  teachers,  danger  of,  443. 

Famine  in  Palestine, 

Fanaticism,  religious,  of  Christ's  day, 
377. 

Fasting,  Christ's  opinions  respecting, 
408;  Christ  urges  secret,  439;  Roman 
ridicule  of  feigned  humility,  439;  till 
after  morning  service  in  synagogue, 
454. 

Fasts,  public  and  private,  407. 

Father,  inquiry  who  was  Chi'ist's,  594. 

Feast  of  Dedication,  Oil. 

Fever,  endemic,  on  Lake  of  Galilee, 
385. 

Fig-trees,  barren,  665;  lesson  on  the 
barren,  C07,  CG8. 

Fires,  illegality  of  lighting  or  extin- 
guishing on  the  Sabbatli,  449. 

Fishermen,  Christ  visits  the,  on  the 
lake  of  Galilee,  807,  8iW;  on  the  lake 
of  Galilee,  415. 

Fishes,  the  miraculous  draught  of, 
807. 

"Flesh,  to  eat  one's,"  meaning  of 
phrase,  519. 

Food,  preparation  of,  for  Sabbath, 
449  ,  equivocation  of  the  laws  re- 
specting, for  Sabbath,  450;  prepara- 
tion of,  before  the  Sabbath,  455. 

Foi-giving  sins  of  paralytic,  398. 

Forty  da3's,  Christ's  sojourn  on  earth 
during  the,  806. 

Fountain  of  the  Virgin,  446. 

Freedom,  Jewish,  596. 

Fugitive,  Christ  a,  from  his  enemies, 
494. 

Funeral,  description  of  Eastern,  499, 
of  Lazarus,  614;  of  young  man  at 
Nain,  460. 

G 

Gabriel,  api)€arance  of  to  Zacharias, 

74 ,  to  Mary,  70. 
Gadara,  town  of,  496 ;  visit  to,  494. 


Gain  of  Rabbis  from  exorcisms.  480. 

Galilee,  description  of  Sea  of,  212; 
description  of  province,  213,  214,  216; 
life  and  population  in,  215;  coloniza- 
tion of,  216  ;  in  Christ's  day,  81 ; 
Chrisfs  last  visit  to,  565  ;  Christ's 
centre  for  work,  336  ;  chosen  by 
Christ  as  His  future  home,  3;i7;  de- 
scription of,  312;  Judea  left,  it  re- 
visited, 445;  roads  of,  115;  taxation 
of  by  Rome,  194;  customs  and  ei- 
ci.se  duties  of,  196;  situation  of  prov- 
ince, 211  ;  work  in,  virtually  over, 
553. 

Galilee,  lake  of.  causes  of  storms,  495; 
storm  ai  ises,  495. 

Galila»aiis,  devotion  of  to  their  coim- 
try,  218. 

Gaulonitis,  description  of,  222. 

Gennesareth,  lake  of,  described,  339- 
341 ;  valley  of,  fruits  of  the,  340;  ap- 
pearance of  the  shore  of  the,  341; 
lake  of,  544. 

Gerizim,  the  sacred  mount,  367,  368. 

Germanicus  sent  to  Syria,  197. 

Geihsemane,  Christ  in  the  Garden  of, 
V39,  7'40;  foreshadowing  of,  to  Jesus, 
689,  670. 

Glaphyra,  40;  Archelaus  married  to, 
her  death,  190. 

God,  the  Jews'  idea  of,  4-33,  4.34;  pa- 
tience of,  towards  all  men.  642;  new 
life  from,  spiritual  not  ritual,  521; 
our  great  debts  towards,  576,  577. 

Goethe,  on  Jesus  Christ,  2. 

Golgotha,  the  place,  779. 

Grave  of  Lazarus,  description  of,  617, 

Greece,  size  of,  11. 

Greeks,  national  pride  of,  7. 

H 

Haircloth,  garment  of,  273. 

Hannas,  intrigues  and  plotting  of  the 
house  of,  736,  737. 

Heathenism  in  Palestine  in  Christ's 
day,  36,  37. 

Heaven,  Jewish  ideas  of,  639,  640; 
Jesus  explains  about,  639. 

Hebron,  72. 

Help  granted  by  God  to  those  who  ask 
it,  4-12. 

Herder  on  Jesus  Christ,  2. 

Herod  Antipas,  successor  to  Herod  in 
Galilee,  208  ;  repairs  his  kingdom, 
209:  strengthens  fortress  of  Machae- 
rus,  209,  relations  with  Tiberius,  210; 
alarmed  by  the  people  who  flocked 
after  Jesus,  antl  feai"S  a  political 
rising,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Baptist, 
625;  Judea  in  the  time  of,  626. 


INDEX. 


Herod  Boethos,  the  High  Priest,  297. 

Herotl  the  Great,  24-28;  as  king,  30; 
effect  of  the  long  reign  of,  on  Jewish 
parties,  239;  hatred  of  Jews  to,  24- 
2G;  size  of  his  kingdom,  35,  marries 
tlie  second  Mariamne,  35;  false  posi- 
tion of,  39;  bounty  in  the  time  of 
famine,  39;  date  of  death  of,  lOG; 
family  of ,  182 ;  successor  to  the  throne 
of,  482;  funeral  of,  183. 

Herodians,  the,  199. 

lierodias,  marriage  of,  296,  297,  298; 
evil  results  of  marriage  of,  298,  290. 

Hesbon,  description  of,  220. 

High  Priests,  clianges  of,  261 ;  luxury 
and  audacity  of  the,  241 ;  moral  cor- 
ruption of ,  G2 ;  robes  of,  kept  by 
Romans,  04. 

High  Priests  on  Day  of  Atonement, 
description  of,  71. 

High  Priesthood,  changed  at  Herod's 
will,  184. 

Hillel,  51-54;  narrative  of  life,  192. 

Hillel's  exjjlanatiou  of  the  whole  law, 
4-12. 

Hillel  and  Schammai,  schools  of,  526. 

Hospitality  among  Jews,  84 ;  of  friends 
enables  Christ  to  hve  ;  Christ  re- 
fused, 580. 

Houses  free  to  pilgrims  during  Pass- 
over, 142. 

Human  nature  perfect  in  Christ,  445. 

Humihty,  Christ's  love  of,  573. 

Husbandman  and  vineyard,  parable 
of  the,  671 ;  explanations  of,  672. 

Hymn,  first  Christian,  662. 

Hypociitical  righteousness  of  the 
Pharisees,  426. 

Hyrcanus,  22-33  ;  hatred  to,  for  his 
innovations,  399. 

Hyrcanus  and  Aristobulus,  civil  war 
of,  186,  187. 


Incense  offering  in  Temple,  154. 
Influence    of   the  Synagogue  on  the 

people,  138. 
Influential  friends  of  Jesus,  510. 
Inhumanity  of  bigots,  447. 
!      Inquisitors    gentle     and    amiable    in 

other  relations,  448. 
Insanity,  manner  in  which  regarded, 

496. 
Intolerance,  religious,  453. 
Israehte,  daily  religious   life  of,  123, 

124. 
Israelites,  pilgi-im^ages,  fasts  of,  etc., 

125. 
Iturea,  region  of,  223. 


Jairus,  raising  of  daughter  of,  498, 

James,  St.,  326. 

James  and  John,  dreams  of  ambition 
of,  652,  653;  sketch  of  characters  of, 
415. 

Jealousy  of  the  ecclesiastical  authori- 
ties, 394;  danger  lesulting  fioni, 
394. 

"Jehovah,"  mighty  power  of  word, 
with  Rabbis,  479,  48(:/. 

Jericho,  plain  of,  653;  town  of.  its  sit- 
uation, etc.,  654;  a  Lcvitical  city, 
655. 

Jerusalem,  veneration  of  by  the  Jews, 
662 ;  siege  of  by  Herod,  29 ;  heathea 
erections  in,  36;  appearance  of,  145, 
146;  description  of,  81),  headqiuxrters 
of  the  great  religious  institutions, 
156;  dm-ing  time  of  the  Passover, 
346;  water  supply  of,  4i;i;  Christ's 
last  journey  to\vards,  565;  Ciirist's 
love  for,  584;  lament  of  Jesus  over, 
640;  dui-ingthe  Passover,  703. 

Jesus,  family  of,  242,  !;.43;  position  in 
His  household,  244;  Mary's  ideas 
concerning,  244;  increasing"  fafidties 
of,  245,  baptism  of,  288;  bapti..m  of. 
His  divine  consecration,  iX)2-.305; 
after  baptism,  303;  retirement  to 
wilderness,  305;  temptation  of,  in 
wilderness,  302-314;  portrait  of,  315, 
fabled  statue  of,  at  Paulas,  316. 
earliest  conception  of  appearance 
of  Jesus,  316;  images  of,  318,  de- 
scription of,  by  Nicepliorus.  31b;  by 
LentiUus,  318 ;  by  Dehtzsch,  319 ; 
first  disciples,  323;  charaett  i-  of,  334, 
age  of,  on  entrance  into  public  w  ork, 
3:i6,  popularity  of,  348.  349,  exphims 
His  teaching  to  Nicodenins,  3.''>4; 
addresses  the  officers  of  the  Sauhe 
drim,  354;  originality  of  .speech  of, 
355,  bm-den  of  His  preacliiug  in 
Judea,  358;  cave  of  nativity  of,  86; 
date  of  bh'th  of,  85 ;  time  of  baptism 
of,  286;  sojourn  in  Judea,  360,  His 
words  to  the  woman  at  tlie  well,  368, 
369;  succ-ess  in  Samaria,  372;  jour- 
neys to  Galilee,  373,  popular  favour 
towai-ds,  3(4,  375;  heals  the  centuii 
on's  servant,  375,376;  retires  to  th« 
north,  376;  His  call  to  repentance, 
378:  first  Galilaean  tour  of,  379,  His 
early  disciples,  380,  381.  midnight 
prayer  of,  383,  389,  413,  power  of  the 
preaching  of,  421 ;  address  in  syna 
gogue,  at  Capernaum,  385 ,  cures  all 
who  are  sick  of  divers  diseases,  385- 
2L;7;  the  gi-eat  purpose  of,  fmthered 


INDEX. 


by  His  remarkable  cures,  387;  mir- 
aculous powers  of,  first  instance  of, 
388;  retires  to  a  mountain  to  pray, 
389,  first  circuit  of,  3K'.»;  attraction 
of,  to  poor  and  sorrowful,  380;  self 
restraint  of,  387,  life  of,  on  His  jour 
neys,  390,  pretence  abhorrent  to, 
439;  wish  to  avoid  attracting;  atten 
tion,  417;  claims  equality  with  God 
His  Father,  451;  speaks  in  self-de- 
fence, 451 ;  commencement  of  last- 
ing enmity  towards,  4r>3;  returns  to 
Galilee,  453 ;  entirely  opposed  to 
Rabbinical  ideas  of  a  Messiah,  457; 
withdraws  from  Capernaum,  458; 
popularity  of,  458;  leaves  Caper- 
naum for  Nain,  4iJ0,  a  "Great  Kab 
bi,"  488;  not  a  judge  or  divider  in 
worldly  affairs,  488;  sadnessof  heart 
of,  544-547 ;  look-out  kept  for,  at 
Feast  of  Tabernacles,  5W,  leaves 
Ephraim,  C:iO;  cures  a  palsied  wo 
man,  020,  silences  a  Rabbi  who  op 
poses  Him  in  His  good  work,  030; 
cures  a  man  ill  of  dropsy,  021 ;  re- 
fuses the  popular  support,  625; 
great  acts  oi  kindness  of,  027,  warns 
His  disciples  of  their  weaknessi'S, 
635,  636;  resolves  to  enter  Jerusalem 
pubUcly,  and  on  an  ass,  000,  061 ,  en- 
ters the  Temple,  603;  entry  of,  into 
Jerusalem,  604,  composure,  .fcc,  of, 
670-074;  parties  imite  against,  078, 
679;  judgment  of,  asked  concerning 
a  woman  who  had  had  seven  hus- 
bands, 679,  680;  attempts  to  entrap, 
680,683;  denmiciation  of  Scribes  and 
Pharisees  by,  6.8:5,  685;  moral  grand- 
eur of,  680,  087;  Decalogue,  Jesus 
questioned  respecting  the,  OS] ,  ad- 
dresses the  midtitude  on  faith,  692; 
sign  demanded  by  disciples  from, 
693;  addresses  His  disciiilcs  respect- 
ing the  end  of  Jerusalem,  0'.)',  O'.lil; 
meeting  of  conspirators  against.  703; 
in  Bethany,  704;  anointed  by  Mary, 
701,  705;  dangers  of,  in  .lerusalem, 
709;  washes  disciples'  feet,  711.  712; 
explains  His  doing  so,  712;  tells  of 
Judas'  treachery,  712;  tells  of  His- 
betrayal  and  death,  714;  converse 
■with  Peter  respecting  his  faith,  714, 
715;  warns  His  disciples  of  their 
coming  hardships,  715;  promises  the 
disciples  eternal  life,  721,  722;  final 
discourse  of,  to  disciples,  723-734; 
Spirit  of,  on  the  near  approach  of 
death,  738.  739;  and  the  three  disci- 
ples in  Gethsemane,  710;  betr.iyal 
and  arrest  of.  in  (iethsemaue, 
742,   743 ;  brought   before   Hannas, 


715  ;  trial  of,  before  Caiaphas, 
743,  746  ;  illegality  of  trial  of,  746, 
747  ;  accii.sed  of  blasphemy,  752  ; 
meeting  of  judges  of,  755;  trial  of, 
by  Pilate,  757-762 ;  brought  again  be- 
fore Pilate,  764-7<)8;  scourging  of, 
768,  709 ;  mocked  and  scoffed  b^-  tho 
soldiers,  709;  delivered  over  to  the 
people,  771 ;  is  brought  out  to  be  cru- 
cified, 770;  ascension  of,  811;  how 
long  in  the  grave,  777. 

Jew,  ancient  pride  of.  6. 

Jews,  hatred  of  other  races,  46;  en- 
tliusiasm  of,  for  education,  120 ; 
dress  of,  133;  religious  excitement 
of,  198;  war  against  Rome,  199;  de- 
votion of  to  the  Holy  City,  200;  Gal- 
ilasan,  faithful  to  the  law,  217;  pop- 
ulation of,  in  Iturea,  &c.,  22;};  pu.- 
cliase  of  freedom  by,  228;  treatment 
of,  by  tho  Romans,  227;  early  ad- 
miration of  the,  for  the  Romans, 
229;  under  Pompey's  rule,  229;  Mes- 
sianic enthusiasm  of  the,  231,  232; 
Samaritans,  hatred  of,  by,  365-307; 
conservatism  of,  399;  deputation  of, 
wait  on  Jesus,  459;  incUgnation  of, 
when  Christ  contrasts  tlieni  with 
heathen,  400;  kingdom  of  God,  as 
imagined  b}',  400;  sacred  money  of, 
appropriated  for  water  conduits, 
506;  burial-places  of  criminal,  788; 
future  hopes  of  resurrection,  790. 

Jewish  education,  47;  husband,  rela- 
tion of  to  his  wife,  117;  tribal  divis- 
ions, 557;  hatred  of  all  races.  435. 

Jewish  exclusiveness,  rise  of,  46;  de- 
nounces Greek.  46;  no  Gentile  to 
learn  Hebrew.  47. 

Jezreel,  plain  of.  401. 

Joa  er,  high  i>riebt,  aids  Quirinius,  199 
death  of,  202. 

John  the  Baptist,  early  life  of,  2^ 
249:  fate  of,  &c.,  357;  opinions  re 
specting,  359,  300;  mode  of  bapti.M: 
by,  275;  locality  where  he  baptized 
273;  Ij-ing  in  prison,  461;  sends  dis 
ciples  to  Jesus,  461  ;  prisoner  ii 
Machaerus,  507;  murdered,  510. 

John,  St.,  324;  was  ho  of  priestly  race 
014. 

Jordan,  the  river,  17;  description  o 
the,  272;  great  plain  of  the.  27  i;  val 
lev  of  the,  273;  desciiptiou  of  the 
570. 

Joseph,  husband  of  Mary,  73:  death 
of,  242;  legend  of  body  of.  6!4. 

Josenh  and  >[ary.  route  of,  from  Naz- 
areth t)  Jerusalem.  81. 

Jospnh  of  Arimalhea.  asks  Pilato  for 
Ch"rit,fs  body.  788,  789. 


8 


INDEX. 


Judaism,  "  Hedge"  round,  48;  revival 
of,  under  Ezra,  170;  first  steps  to- 
wards open  separation  from,  418. 

Judas  the  Gaulonite,  devotion  of,  200. 

Judas  Isoariot,  first  apparent  thought 
of  treachery  in,  522,  speaks  respect- 
ing Christ's  anointing,  705;  disap- 
pointment of,  706;  betrays  Christ  to 
tlie  authorities,  706  ;  eats  tlie  sop 
with  Jesus,  713;  effects  of  conduct 
of,  on  the  disciples,  719 ;  furthers  his 
treacherous  schemes,  711 ;  remorse 
and  anxiety  of,  774,  775;  suicide  of, 
775. 

Judas  Thaddseus,  belief  of,  in  the 
Messiah,  722. 

Judea,  size  of,  61,356;  barrenness  of, 
83;  wilderness  of,  258,  259;  strength 
of  caste  in,  627. 

K 

Khans  or  Caravanserais,  84. 

Kidron,  valley  of  the,  148. 

Kingdom  of  God,  Israel  as  the,  59; 

successive  developments  of,  59. 
Knots,  illegality  of  tying,  &c.,  on  the 

Sabbath,  448. 


Lamb,  Passover  offering  of,  150. 

Lamb  of  God,  title  of  Jesus,  330,  321, 
323. 

Last  Supper,  place  of  Jesus  at,  710;  Je- 
sus eats  the,  with  disciples,  717,  718. 

Law,  reading  of  the,  135,  the,  ex- 
plained by  the  Rabbis,  171;  Christ's 
not  wishing  to  destroy,  but  fulfil  it, 
425;  sacred  the,  426;  "  food  or  drink," 
metaphor  for  study  of,  136. 

Lawyer's  question  as  to  inheriting 
eternal  life,  601.  602. 

Lawyers,  Christ's  speaking  against 
practices  of,  487,  488. 

Laying  on  of  hands,  132. 

Lazarus,  raising  of,  617;  legends  re- 
specting, 617. 

Leaven,  parable  of  three  measures  of, 
492 ;  of  Pharisees,  remarks  concern- 
ing, 545. 

Lebanon,  537;  valley  of,  565. 

Leper,  Christ  cureth  a,  390 ;  cere- 
monies for  the  puj'iflcation  of  a,  392, 
393. 

Lepers,  Christ  heals  the  ten,  5S2,  583. 

Leprosy,  cleansing  of,  390-392,  393 ; 
contagiousness  of,  391;  pmiflcation 
from,  392. 

Life  of  Christ,  difficulty  of  writing  a, 
109. 


Light.  Christ  the,  of  the  world,  593 

Literature,  heathen,  the  Golden  Rule 
found  in  all,  442. 

Loaves,  miracle  of,  and  fishes,  538. 

Longsuifering,  patience  towards  of- 
fenders, 576. 

Lord's  Prayer,  the,  439. 

M 

Machaerus,  fortress  of,  291,292,  mean- 
ing of,  462. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  on  Christ.  4. 

Madness,  insinuation  of  Christ's,  ac- 
cepted apparently  by  Mary, 484 

Magdala,  description  of,  471 

Magi,  the,  100,  101 ,  legends  of,  107.  de- 
rivation of  word,  108. 

Magic,  vast  Rabbinical  science  of,  480 

Magistrates,  meeting  of,  to  condemn 
Christ,  755,  756. 

Malachi,    his   prophecies  concerning 

Mammon,  tlie  god,  631 ,  632 

Man  lame  f  oi'  thii-ty -eight  years  cured, 
447. 

Manna,  legends  respecting,  516. 

Mai-iamne,  the  first,  wife  of  Herod, 
2.5-:i4. 

Marriage,  Pharisaic  doctrine  of,  429 

Marriage  ceremonies  in  East,  330 

Martyrs  imder  Herod,  239, 

Mary,  the  Virgin,  74;  her  character, 
76;  Magnificat,  77,  in  Temple,  79; 
appearance  of,  80  ,  rebuke  of,  by 
Jesus,  160;  family  of,  327;  anxiety 
of,  to  withdraw  Christ  to  Narareth, 
485;  visits  Capernaum,  501;  inter- 
view of,  with  Christ,  503;  goes  to  see 
Christ  on  the  Cross,  784.  785. 

Mary  Magdalene,  healing  of,  474-476; 
and  other  women  go  to  embalm  Je- 
sus, 794,  they  find  the  stone  rolled 
away  from  the  tomb,  and  an  angel 
sitting  within,  794. 

Mary,  Martha,  and  Lazarus,  601. 

Matthew,  St., 402;  made  adiseiple,403; 
feast  in  house  of,  404;  sees  in  Jesus 
the  fulfilment  of  Isaiah's  prophecy, 
458;  invitation  of,  great  principle  in- 
volved in  it,  403. 

Mechanical  piety  of  Pharisees,  420. 

Medical  treatment,  Jewish,  499. 

Memory,  feats  of  one  of  the  Rabbis, 
178. 

Messiah,  ideas  respecting,  among 
Jews,  5.5,  56;  expected  advent  of.  56, 
birthplace  of,  57, 104;  to  appear  first 
in  Galilee.  57;  Jewish  Ideas  of  king 
domof,  58;  to  be  of  tribe  of  Judali, 
103 ;  idea  concerning  the,  in  Psalxus 


INDEX. 


9 


of  Solomon .  2^4-236;  in  Fourth  Book 
of  Esdras,  JSili,  2.'5? ;  Tision  of  the,  to 
Ezra,  2;J7;  heralds  of  the,  2;W;  ex- 
citement at  the  near  approach  of 
the,  'Sis,  241,2i)(3;  John's  expectation 
of,  267;  expectation  of,  general,  99; 
Christ's  divine  consciousness  of  be- 
ing the,  4-J4;  Jewish  conception  of, 
41)4,  5i;i;  Rabbis'  conception  of,  519- 
621;  ideas  of  Pharisees  about  the, 
541;  Jesus  proclaimed,  551;  Peter's 
confession  of  the,  551;  difficulty  to 
instil  idea  of  suffering,  554;  ideas  re- 
specting, 587;  Christ's  public  declar- 
ation that  He  was,  587;  feeling  of 
some  that  Chi-ist  was  the.  589 ;  pun- 
ishment for  acknowledging  Christ 
as,  ()07;  kingdom  of,  633;  advice  to 
the  disciples  respecting  the  coming 
of,  638,  639;  opinions  i-especting  the, 
690;  Davidic  descent,  691. 

Messiahs,  doctrine  of  two,  325. 

Iliddle-age  preacher,  284. 

Miracles  of  five  loaves  and  two  fishes, 
512;  of  coin  in  fish's  mouth,  569. 

Miracles,  beginning  of,  at  Cana,  3.33, 
3:i4;  reasonableness  of ,  3:^5 ;  of  heal- 
ing, 385,  386;  as  a  religious  influence, 
387;  curiosity  to  see  discouraged, 
387;  Christ  did  not  lay  stress  on 
them  alone,  483;  wrought  by  disci- 
ples, 563  •  others  besides  disciples 
permitted  to  work,  572. 

Miraculous  conception,  not  a  Jewish 
idea,  75. 

Misconceptions  of  Mary  concerning 
Christ,  484. 

Mission,  Christ  sends  the  Seventy  on 
a.  582. 

Months  of  the  Hebrew  year,  578. 

Jloral  worthlessness  of  Pharisaic 
righteousness,  427. 

Morning  meal,  486. 

Moses,  almost  deified,  .517. 

Slother  and  brethren,  Christ  explains 
who  are  His.  485. 

Moinitain.  Clu-ist  retires  to,  to  escape 
people,  514. 

Mourning  for  dead,  494. 

Multitudes  tatight,  476. 

Murder,  Christ's  definition  of,  428,  429. 

Mustard-seed,  parable  of,  492. 

Mystery,  love  of  in  Rabbinical  teach- 
ing, 180. 

N 

Nablous,  town  of,  363. 

Nain,  the  "beautiful,  "460  ;  young  man 

restored  to  life  at.  461. 
Napoleon,  on  Jesus  Christ,  2-10. 


Nathaniel,  327,328. 

Nation,  division  of,  Haberim  and  Am- 
ha-aretz,  175  ;  rejoicing  of,  on  death 
of  Herod,  181. 

Nations,  Jewish  idea  of  number  of, 
582. 

National  enmity,  434. 

Nationalities,  gathering  of,  in  Jerusa- 
lem, at  Passover  time,  144. 

Nativity,  the  cave  of  the,  95. 

Nazarene  Rabbis  accuse  Christ  of  de- 
moniacal possession,  .502. 

Nazarenes,  Christ  grieves  over  their 
imbelief,  .505. 

Nazareth,  characteristics  of  life  in, 129; 
description  of,  110,  161 ;  people  of, 
112;  a  view  from,  113, 114;  Christ 
visits,  502. 

Nazarite  i-ules,  249,250;  legend  of  a, 
251. 

Net,  gathering  good  and  bad  flsh,para- 
ble  of,  493. 

New  Moon,  time  of  the,  139, 140. 

Nicanor'sGate,  90. 

Nicodemus,  the  Pharisee,  352,  353;  a 
rich  benefactor,  584 ;  speaks  timidly 
for  Christ,  590. 

O 

Oaths,  the  use  of,  430. 
Old  f  amihes,  Ekiglish  and  other,  decay 
of,  73. 


Palestine,  climate  and  vegetation  of 
13,  14;  physical  geography  of,  14; 
fertility  of.  15;  ancient  populousness, 
16;  historyof,in  the  generation  before 
Christ,  21 ;  climate  of,  14 ;  northern 
boundary  of,  17;  smailness  of,  11; 
position  of,  on  map  of  the  ancient 
world,  11. 

Palsy,  man  pick  of  the,  cured,  621. 

Pan,  legend  of  death  of,  247. 

Parable,  application  of,  to  Jewish  pre- 
judice, 624;  first  to  a  great  multitude 
from  fishing-boat.  489:  of  the  debt- 
ors. 469;  the  prodigal  son,  629,  630; 
rich  man  suddenlv  suminoned  be- 
fore God,  488;  the  "lost  sheep.  O-'S;  a 
familiar  way  of  instructing.  4><9  ;  pe- 
culiar adaptability  of.  to  the  people, 
609;  the  unjust  steward,  631;  the 
woman  with  the  lost  silver,  62S. 

Paralytic,  healing  of,  401. 

Paralyzed  man,  397. 

Parents.  <lutv  of  honouring,  528,529. 

Parthians,  the.  27,  28,  271. 

Passover,  ceremony  of,  150-152;  feast 


10 


INDEX 


of  the.  1-11;  length  of,  153;  meaning 
of  ia  Hebrew,  141 ;  number  of  sacri- 
fices at,  151 ;  ceremony  of  the,  de- 
scribed, 151 ;  order  of  eating  they, 
710;  singing  of  psalms  at  the,  <;»; 
preparations  of  the  disciples  for  the, 
708,703;  time  of,  453. 

Peace,  the  Roman,  271. 

Pearl  of  great  price,  parable  of,  493. 

People,  agitation  of  the,  respecting 
Jesus,  738;  Jesus  consoles  the,  on 
His  way  to  execution,  778.  779 ;  they 
scoff  at  Christen  the  cross,  782,  783; 
listened  standmg,  Christ  sat,  476. 

Perea,  description  of  district  of,  219; 
Jesus  urged  to  leave,  040. 

Perjm-y,  sanctioned  by  Rabbis  if  puri- 
fied by  an  offering,  430. 

Persian  religion,  the,  96;  influence  of, 
on  Judaism,  97. 

Peter,  St.,  special  mention  of,  335, 
415;  first  interview  with  Christ,  325; 
enjoined  by  Christ  to  teach  Hisilock, 
808;  Christ's  blessing,  551;  Chri.st's 
charge  to,  5.52,  cuts  off  a  servant's 
ear,  743;  and  John,  follow  Christ 
after  liis  arrest,  744, 7i>4;  denies 
Christ  tlu'ice,  754,  755;  his  impulsive- 
ness, 649,  743;  mother-in-law,  illness 
of,  cured,  385;  house  of,  Jesus  in,  4.)1 ; 
C12,  death  of,  3,  as  "  the  Rock,''  552. 

Pharisaic  conception  of  righteousness 
426;  hjiaocrisy  denoimced,  529,  530. 

Pharisee,  invites  Christ  to  his  house, 
4'd7;  Jesus  dines  with  a,  621,  623;  the 
word,  gradual  disuse  of,  428;  and 
Pubhcan,  parable  of  the,  C42. 

Pharisees,  and  Herodiaiis,  aUiance  of, 
5.38;  disloyalty  of  the,  «70:  craft  of 
the,  676;  6,000  in  Christ's  day,  49; 
numbers  through  the  empire,  49; 
and  SadJuce«s,  different  opinions 
of,  539,  542;  &c.,  attempt  to  arrest 
Christ  by,  588-590;  demnnd  proof 
from  Christ  of  His  true  Messiahship 
013;  Jesus  alludes  to  maxims  of, 
454;  jealousy  of  the,  301;  noble  prin- 
ciples of,  430,431;  different  classes 
of,  4.32,  626;  decay  of,  51;  rebuked 
by  Jesus,  032 ;  strict  rules  respecting 
those  with  whom  they  ate,  407. 

Phasael,  27,  28. 

PhenicJans,  famous  as  traders,  535. 

Phenomena,  natiu-al  explanations  of 
ordinary,  unknown,  446. 

Philip,  his  reign,  government,  &c., 
224;  mention  of,  ii.  49;  tomb  of ,  233. 

Philistia,  plain  of,  17. 

Phylacteries,  countless  rules  for  the 
straps,  <S.c.,  of,  472. 

Physician,  Christ  the,  of  so  als,  522. 


Pilate,  palace  of,  in  Jerusalem,  735, 
736;  cha.  actor  of.  756;  trial  of  Jesus 
by,  758-761;  Jesus  again  before,  704- 
708;  endeavours  to  save  Jesus  from 
the  cross,  770-772;  public  works  of, 
for  Jerusalem,  207;  government 
of,  2G5. 

Pilate's  offences  to  the  Jews,  506. 

Pilgrimage  to  Gerizim,  269. 

Pilgrimages,  abuses  during,  591. 

Pilgrims  to  Jerusalem,  150;  approach 
of,  towards  Jerusalem,  145;  depart- 
vu-e  of,  from  Jerusalem,  158;  journey 
of,  to,  102, 163. 

Pius  Scipio,  proconsul  of  Syria,  196. 

Places  at  feasts,  order  of  taking,  621, 
022. 

Plain  of  Esdraelon,  people  of,  113. 

Polycarp's  martyrdom,  3. 

Pompey  and  the  Jews,  239,  murder 
of,  22;  triumph  of,  229;  takes  Jeru- 
salem, 229;  notices  of,  21,22 

Pool  of  Bethesda,  Chri^t"s  meeting 
with  the  man  healed  at,  450. 

Poor,  the,  and  Christianity,  8;  in 
Heathen  r.nliquity,  9,  in  Jewish.  9. 

Possessed,  cure  of  man,  384. 

Possession  by  spirits,  ideas  of,  1'* 
Christ's  day,  SW. 

Potter's  Field,  Judas  and  the,  775. 

Prayer,  efficacy  of  united,  676;  earn- 
est, heard,  parable  to  prove,603;  fre- 
quency of,  by  Pharisees,  438;  Jewish 
antiquity  of,  408;  special,  for  feasts, 
567;  superstitions  eoncerniiig,  408; 
the  Lord's,  438, 439. 

Preaching,  Christ's,  to  be  the  sign, 
484;  differences  between  that  of 
Christ  and  of  Rabbis,  421,  i-emarks 
on  Christ's,  421. 

Pi-escrii^tions,  some  Jewish,  499. 

Priesthood,  Jewish,  decay  of.  62;  Jew- 
ish, 61;  number  of,  01,02;  dignita- 
ries of,  63 ;  poor  members  of,  C2. 

Priests,  fears  of  the  chief,  as  to  the 
resurrection  of  Jesus,  791 ;  genealogy 
of,  63;  legal  age  for  consecration, 
63;  consecration  of,  64,  dress  of, 
64;  duties  of,  05;  marriage  of,  05; 
priestly  to-wTis,  65;  support  of,  66. 

Princes,  Asmonean,  friends  of  the,  187. 

Procurators  of  Roman  provinces,  194- 
207. 

Property, the  di.sciples  retained  enough 
to  provide  for  their  dailj-  want-j,  473. 

Prophet,  Jewish  idea  of  a,  274. 

Prophets,  Oalilaean,  590;  false,  mis- 
leading the  people,  583;  decay  of 
the,  231. 

Proselytes,  foreign,  in  Jerusalem,  99; 
number  of,  99. 


INDEX. 


11 


Proverbs,  last  chapters  of,  date  of, 
565. 

Proverbs  and  parables  of  the  Jews, 
127. 

PubUcan,  making  a,  a  disciple,  as- 
tounding novelty  of,  408;  apparent 
inaprudence  of  admitting  a,  as  disci- 
ple, 404;  derivation  of  word,  401. 

Publicans,  at  Capernaum  many,  401 ; 
greed  and  tyranny  of,  401 ;  hatred 
to,  intense,  402;  outcasts  from  soci- 
ety, 402;  and  people  receive  eulogy 
of  John  with  joy,  464;  good,  613. 

Publicity  shunned  by  Jes  as,  392, 546. 

Publius  Sidpicius  Quirinius,  gover- 
nor-general of  Syria,  194. 

"Purification"  in  different  religions, 
i.  561. 

Purification,  the  feast  of,  89-90;  ii. 
639. 

Purim,  feast  of,  166. 


Question  raised,  if  Jesus  were  the 
Messiah?  479. 

Quiet  home  life  of  Jesus  with  His  dis- 
ciples, 473. 

Quintilius  Varus  comes  to  Jerusalem, 
187;  plunders  Jerusalem,  188;  the 
Temple,  188;  advances  again  on  Je- 
rusalem, 189. 

Quirinius,  Legate  in  Syria,  194. 

Quotations  from  Old  Testament  in 
New,  108. 

R 

Rabbi,  ancient  sermon  of,  136;  differ- 
ent professions  of  a,  168;  meaning  of 
title,  52;  to  follow  a,  588;  things  un- 
becoming in  a,  371. 

Rabbinical  custom  to  teach  a  form  of 
prayer,  439. 

Rabbinical  rules,  strict  observance  of, 
176;  working  of,  in  Jewish  daily 
life,  177. 

Rabbinical  schools  as-  old  as  Jacob, 
52;  in  heaven,  53. 

Rabbinism,  Jesus  a  dangerous  enemy 
to,  455. 

Rabbis,  accepted  money  from  their 
scholars,  473;  activity  of  the,  396; 
anxiety  of  the,  re,spectLiig  Christ's 
resurrection,  804;  anxiety  of,  and 
dread  of  Jesus,  448;  Chri.st's  attack 
on,  for  not  keeping  law,  586,  587; 
bigotry  and  fanaticism  of  the,  441 ; 

•  Christ  proclaims  them  a  hindrance 
to  true  knowledge,  457 ;  condemna- 
tion of  conduct  of,  487;  custom  of. 


with  regard  to  offenders,  575;  depu- 
tations of,  sent  to  crush  Christ,  523; 
difficulty  of  learning  endless  pre- 
cepts of,  .527;  disciples  of,  323;  dis- 
pute of  Jesus  with  the,  33;^;  hostile 
feelings  of,  400;  hostility  of  the,  to 
Jesus,  637;  demand  a  sign  of  Jesus, 
637;  in  danger  of  losing  authority, 
478";  indignation  of,  at  Christ,  518;  in- 
furiated, provoking  Christ  to  com- 
mit Himself,  486;  iiisurrection  of,  in 
Jerusalem,  4;i3;  laws  of  the,  5:30;  and 
the  common  people,  2(2;  manners 
of  the,  627;  denounced  by  Jesus, 
628;  miracles  of,  .52;  inordinate  pride 
of,  53;  slavery  of  nation  to,  53;  any 
may  be,  55;  noted,  of  Christ's  day. 
158-1.59;  offer  to  be  disciples,  494; 
national  preachers  of  the,  240;  over- 
awed, 484;  passages  from,  respect- 
ing the  Messiah,  586:  pedantry  of, 
72(;  persecuting  spirit  of  the,  737, 
place  of  the,  at  feasts,  622;  pubUc 
addresses  of,  380;  questions  of  im- 
portance referred  to,  488;  reverence 
shown  to,  39(S;  seek  to  arrest  Jesus, 
619;  self-righteousness  of,  384;  ser 
mons  of,  400;  training  of,  47;  use  of, 
as  an  order,  47;  dignity  of,  50;  ira 
portance  of,  54;  unpaid,  .54. 

Rachel  weeping  for  her  children,  83. 

Redemption-money,  561 ;  of  firstborn, 
91;  modern  ceremony  of,  91. 

RefoiTn,  much  needed' amongst  Jew- 
ish leaders,  ii.  441. 

Reformations,  always  begin  with  the 
obscure,465 ;  temporary,  under  John, 
484. 

Religion  acted  for  gain,  438:  com- 
parison of  Roman  and  Jewish,  227; 
in  antiquity,  6-10. 

Renounce  anything  that  hinders  a 
godly  life,  190. 

Restlessness  of  Jews,  politically,  in 
Christ's  day,  43,  99. 

Resurrection,  Christ  appears  to  Mary 
after  His,  795,  796  ;  to  Peter,  798; 
to  the  Two,  on  the  road  to  Em- 
maus,  798-800;  Jewish  ideas  respect- 
ing, 561,  562;  opinions  of  Ewald  re- 
specting the,  792;  prophecy  of  by 
Jesus,  349,  SoO. 

RetaUation,  doctrine  of,  repudiated, 
431 ,  432. 

Retreat  of  Antony  from  Media,  31. 

Revenge,  sanctioned  by  Old  Testa- 
ment, 436 ;  the  idea  of,  cherished  by 
Jew  and  heathen,  431. 

Richter,  Jean  Paid,  on  Jesus  Chri.st,  1. 

Righteous,  meaning  of  word  amongst 
the  Jews,  93. 


IS 


INDEX. 


Riot,  dreadful,  in  Jerusalem.  506. 

Risings  in  GaUlee,  under  Athronges, 
Simon.  &c..  1S8. 

Rites  and  forms.  Christ's  vindication 
of  the  disuse  of,  bv  the  disciples,  -US ; 
only  necessary  when  religion  was  in 
its  chUdhood.  436. 

Rivals,  meaning  of  the  word,  7. 

Roman  Emperor,  omnipotence  of,  IS; 
empire,  at  the  birth  of  Christ,  IS. 
19:  feeling  of  sujjeriority  and  aver- 
sion to  the  conquered,  435 ;  generals, 
corruptness  of.  29  ;  religion  at  the 
time  of  Christ.  20. 

Romans,  contempt  of,  to  other  na- 
tions. T. 

Rome,  assimilating  power  of.  226:  de- 
puration sent  to.  2C4.  friends  of,  457; 
tribute  of  Judea  to.  246:  in  Christ's 
dav.  SO:  its  size.  IS,  19. 

Roofs,  Eastern.  397. 

Rousseau  on  Jesus  Christ,  1. 

Rule,  heathen  overthrow  of.  ideas  of 
Esdras  concemiug  the.  237.  238. 

Ruler,  the  young,  and  Jesus,  646-648. 


Sabbath,  commencement  of.  449;  Je- 
sus charged  with  violation  of  the 
Sabbath,  for  curing  the  man  at  the 
Pool  of  Bethesda,  450,  David  vio- 
lates, by  eating  holy  bread.  454:  du- 
ration of,  449 :  facts  respecting  Jew- 
ish observation  of.  606 :  grand  fidel- 
ity of  Jews  to.  454 :  Jesus  cited  be- 
fore tribunal  for  desecration  of,  451 ; 
Jewish,  383,  386 ;  maxims  of  Phari- 
sees concerning,  450 ,  miracle 
wrought  on  the,  605;  observance, 
extraordinary  strictness  of.  448,  449; 
preparation  for.  383:  service  in  syn- 
agogue, 383;  revelation  respecting 
observance  of,  449 :  rules  concerning 
food.  &c.,  449:  strict  observance 
of,  450;  the.  a  day  of  peace,  joy, 
and  refreshment,  455:  violation  of 
laws  by  Pharisees,  450. 

Sabbath^ay's  iovuney.  450. 

Sabbath  laws.  Jesus  places  himself 
higher  than.  454. 

Sacrifices  for  empire  and  emperor, 
standing  grievance.  48. 

Sadducees.  506;  doctrines  of  the,  538, 
539.  541. 

Salome  (daughter  of  Herodias),  danc- 
ing of,  at  the  feast,  300  ;  her  re- 
quest. 301. 

Salome  (mother  of  James  and  John), 
was  she  r«la«ed  to  the  yirg:iii  ?  326. 


Salutations,  506,  509. 

Salvation  of  Israel,  457. 

Samaria,  Christ's  journey  through, 
579.  580.  description  of.  361.  362;  re- 
built by  Herod,  36. 

Samaritans,  land  of  the,  225,  parable 
of  the  good,  602,  603. 

Sarepta,  Phenician  village  of.  461. 

Satan  imder  the  feet  of  Christ's  sei^ 
vants,  604:  in  New  Testament,  309, 
temptations  by,  of  Jesus,  309. 

Schleiermacher  on  the  Virgin  Mary, 
SS. 

Schools  in  Israel,  120-122;  in  Jerusa- 
lem, 170. 

Scribe,  title  of.  explained,  170. 

Scribes,  indigrnation  of,  399;  discom 
fitiu^  of.  401. 

Sejanus.  faU  of,  246;  influence  of,  in 
i       Judea.  205. 

I   Semicha,  laying  on  of  hands.  132 
!   Seneca  spoke  of  the  gods  almost  like 
a  Christian,  434. 

Sermon  on  the  Mount.  417,  418  ,  scene 
of,  418. 
\   Servant,  parable  of  the  wicked,  577. 

Servants,  various  duties  of,  132. 

Service,  Jesus  accused  because  of 
simplicitv  of  teaching,  471 

Seventy.  Clirist's  instructions  to  the, 
582 ;  significance  of  the  appointment 
of  the,  582:  success  of  mission  of 
the.  601. 

Shammai,  type  of  Rabbi,  399. 

Shechem.  description  of  valley  of, 
362.  363. 

Sheep,  shepherd's  anxiety  for  lost, 
574. 

Sheckel,  the.  347. 

Shunem,  village  of.  461. 

Sick,  Sabbath  rules  concerning,  456. 

Sign,  demand  for,  by  authorities,  349, 
543. 

SUoam.  fall  of  tower  in,  506. 

Simeon,  the  aged,  92. 

Simon  Boethus,  538. 

Simon  the  Cyrenian,  compelled  to 
bear  the  croap,  777. 

Sinjon  Maccabaeus,  48. 

Simon  the  Zealot,  416. 

Sin.  belief  in  earthly  punishments  of, 
605;  the  conception  ot  unknown  ia. 
antiquitv,  5 ;  no  idea  of,  in  antiquity, 
6. 

Sincerity.  Christ's  fundamental  de- 
mand of.  424. 

Slanders  by  Rabbis,  Christ's  refuta- 
tion of,  481. 

Slaves,  prisoners  sold  as,  30. 

Slavery,  condemned  by  Christ,  I;  in 
I      antiquity,  8. 


INDEX. 


1$ 


Soldier  pierce*  Christ's  side  with  his    ( 
spear,  788.  i 

Soldiers  cast  lots  for  Christ's  gar- 
ments, 781. 

Solomon,  Psalms  of,  229;  on  advent  of 
the  Messiah,  2*4-336. 

Solomon's  porch,  611. 

Son  of  Man,  57. 

Sower,  parable  of  the.  490;  explained, 
491. 

Spies,  Christ's  steps  dogged  by,  448. 

Spiritual  Head,  Christ,  of  a  new  fam- 
ily, 485. 

Star  in  the  East,  101 ;  legends  of  the, 
107. 

Stephen,  St.,  trial  of,  451. 

Steward,  parable  of  the  mijust,  631, 
632. 

Stoicism,  creed  of.  20. 

Storm  calmed  by  Christ  on  the  Lake 
of  Galilee,  495. 

Stranger,  position  of,  in  first  ages  of 
Rome,  4&1. 

Strangers  allowed  to  enter  during 
meals,  468. 

Suffering,  associated  by  Christ  with 
true  discipleship,  42;3." 

Superstitions  regarding  the  Temple, 
<£c.,  142. 

Supper,  parable  of  the  great,  623,  624. 

Synagogue  in  Capernaum,  459 ,  the 
great,  50;  Christ  visits,  504;  service, 
%3. 

Synagogues,  closing  of  against  Christ, 
533;  importance  of ,  129;  erection  of, 
130;  opening  of,  for  services,  131  ; 
arrangem  ?nt  of  the  interior  of,  131 ; 
worship  in,  134-136;  size  and  form 
of,  130;  ruler  of,  office  of,  132. 


Tabernacles,  feast  of,  165,  578,  579, 583. 
684,  591 ;  great  rejoicings  on  last  day 
of  feast  of,  588. 

Table,  manner  of  sitting  at,  467;  vari- 
ous ceremonies  connected  with  eat- 
ing at,  468. 

Tabor,  Moimt,  558.  j 

Talents,  parable  of  the  ten,  657,  658; 
lessons  on  the  parable  of  the,  658. 

TaUith,  the.  133. 

Talmud,  first  collection  of  traditions, 
&c.,  resulting  in,  526;  extracts  from, 
178. 

Tares,  among  wheat,  parable  of,  493. 

Tax  for  temple  paid  by  Christ,  568, 

Teacher,  reverence  due  to,  170.  | 

Teaching,  Christ's,  denounced  as  revo- 
lutionary, 528. 

Temple,    Christ    greater    than,    464  ;     \ 


Christ  teaching  in,  584,  585;  compar- 
ison of  the  body  to,  584  ;  court  of 
women  in,  592;  desecration  of  the, 
546;  buyers  and  sellers,  <S:c.,  expel- 
led from,  347;  fight  in,  at  feast  of 
tabernacles,  638;  gates  of,  560,  561; 
heathen  gifts  to,  3i ;  Herod,  descrip- 
tion of,  66-68 ;  Herod  proposes  to 
rebuild,  33 ;  Herod's  service  at,  61- 
68 ;  Jesus  questioned  respecting  de- 
etruction  of  the,  692,  693;  signs  of 
destruction  of  the,  702, 703;  morning 
service,  &c.,  153;  Jesus  in,  with  the 
Rabbis,  159;  defiled  by  Samaritans, 
568;  plunder  of  treasury,  204;  regu- 
lations for  priests  in  the,  142;  rend- 
ing of  the  veil  of  the,  at  Christ's 
death,  786-793;  scene  in  the  Temple 
on  the  arrival  of  Jesus,  665;  buyers 
and  sellers  turned  out  of,  666;  depu- 
tation of  authorities  of  the,  come  to 
Jesus,  669;  second,  inferiority  of,  to 
first,  61 ;  tax  towards  treasury  of  the, 
567,  568:  the,  on  the  day  after  tha 
crucifiLxion  of  Jesus,  793;  shekel  of, 
U7.  * 

Temptation,  incident  to  man,  306;  of 
Christ,  characteristics  of,  307. 

Temptation  to  Clu-ist  to  use  His  power 
for  Himself,  483. 

Teruma,  separation  of,  175. 

Testimony  of  two  men  received,  694. 

Theatre,  Herod's,  in  Jerusalem,  146. 

Theologians,  Christ's  change  of  con- 
duct toward,  523. 

Theology,  the  staple  of  conversation 
in  Nazareth,  4ii0. 

Theudas  and  others  promised  the  peo- 
ple great  miracles,  48;^. 

Thief,  the  penitent,  on  the  cross,  782. 

Thieves,  tne  two,  are  put  to  death, 
787. 

Thomas,  Christ  shows,  the  marks  of 
crucifixion,  805. 

Tiberias,  made  capital  of  Galilee,  anrf 
fortified.  210. 

Tiberius,  reign  of,  270,  271. 

Time,  Jewish  mode  of  reckoning,  625. 

Toil,  exhausting,  of  Christ,  478. 

Towers  watch,  for  shepherds,  86.  J 

Trade,  respect  for,  among  Jews,  55. 

Traditions  of  more  authority  than 
Scriptures,  526,  527. 

Traffic,  in  doves  and  sheep,  346. 

Training,  early,  of  Christ  by  Mary  and 
Josepn,  420,  421. 

Transfiguration,  supposed  scene  of, 
558;  witnesses  of ,  568. 

Travelling,  restrictions  on,  450. 

Treacherous  invitation  to  momiag 
meal  with  Rabbi,  486. 


14 


INDEX 


Treasure  hidden  In  field,  parable  of, 
493;  on  earth  not  to  be  sought  after, 
440. 

Treasury  of  Temple,  abuses  with  re- 
gard to,  528;  the  widow  casts  her 
mite  into  the,  687. 

Tribute,  Pharisees  question  Jesus  re- 
specting, 676;  answer  of  Jesus  to 
question  of,  676-678. 

True  purity  and  cleanliness,  486. 

Trust  in  God  and  Faith,  440,  441. 

Twelve,  Sent  forth  to  preach,  the,  507; 
the,  ask  Jesus  to  strengthen  their 
faith,  636 ;  self-denial  of  the,  641 ;  left 
all  to  follow  Jesus,  649. 

Tyre  and  Sidon,  description  of,  534; 
heathenism  of,  465. 

U 

Unbelief  of  the  Gadarenes,  498. 

Unclean  spirit,  Christ  said  to  be  pos- 
sessed with,  481. 

Uncleanness,  purifying  of,  172. 

Union  of  hostile  factions  of  the  na- 
tion against  Jesus,  457. 

Universal  religion,  first  proclamation 
of,  434 ;  idea  of,  scouted  by  antiquity, 
6. 

Unleavened  bread,  feast  of,  149, 150. 


Veronica,  legend  of,  317. 
Vessels,  burial  of  Tabernacle,  268, 269 
Vineyard,  parable  of  the,  660. 
Voice,  a,  heard  from  heaven  by  Jesus, 
689,  690. 

W 

War,  relation  of  Christ  to,  8. 
■Washing  of  feet,  &c.,  Christ  conform- 


ed to  such  forms  as,  472;  of  hands. 
&c.,  534,  525;  of  vessels,  &c. ,  525,  536, 

Water,  promise  of  living,  367,  368;  re- 
strictions of  uses  of  different  kinds 
of,  173;  wish  for,  589,  593;  walking  on, 
514,  515. 

Wealth,  unjust  uses  of,  632. 

Wedding,  parable  of  the,  feast,  673, 
674. 

Well,  Jacob's,  at  Gerizim,  363;  -woman 
at,  364 

Widow,  parable  of  the  importunate, 
641,  642. 

Wine,  use  of,  among  Jews,  332;  Christ 
is  ofi'ered,  on  the  cross,  779. 

Withered  hand,  man  with,  healed  by 
Jesus,  455. 

Woman,  in  antiquity,  9;  dress  of  Jew- 
ish, 133. 

Women,  those  who  followed  Christ, 
471;  position  of,  in  Israel,  116. 

Word  of  God  fi'equent  use  of  expres- 
sion, 57. 

Words,  explanation  of,  by  figures,  &c., 
179. 

Work,  excessive,  of  Christ,  511. 

World,  centre  of,  believed  to  be  Jeru- 
salem, 11  ;  ready  for  teachings  of 
Jesus,  434. 


Youth,  precocity  of,  in  Judea,   156 
spring  of  unfading,  517. 


Zacchfeus,  the  publican,  655,  656. 
Zacharias  and  Elisabeth,  66;  at  TeiH- 

ple,  70. 
Zealots,  title  of,  199,  765. 
Zerubbabel,  46. 
Zion,  145, 146,  147. 


0057TC     900 


HS 


Princeton 


